Suddenly
Suddenly, Draco came around the corner. He was a predator, as he sniffed the air for her scent, muscles twitching, eyes glittering, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his blood. Hermione shuddered, hiding behind the crate, an old, broken down box of rotting cedar, and waited for him to spring. Draco had never lost a target yet, and Hermione was sure that she was not going to be the one to break his vicious streak. With his quick mind and quivering senses, Draco was the scourge of wizarding London and the most dependable assassin Voldemort had. Here in the warehouse, he was the Dark Lord's cat, his ears pricked for the sound of her slightest breath. And, like a cat, he was playing with his food.
Abruptly he stiffened, a look of satisfaction on his hollow face, his thin, pale lips pulled back to bare pointed yellow teeth. His eyes narrowed as they focused on the old cedar crate and he hissed. Hermione's heart leaped into her mouth and grabbing at the moldy crate she pulled herself up, feet slipping on the wet concrete, and ran between the crates that formed an aisle leading deeper into the warehouse. She pumped her muscles frantically and called upon every deity she knew, both benevolent and vengeful, for help. She learned quickly that she could not outrun him, hearing his leather boots pound a deadly rhythm on the crates just behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw his lean figure leaping from crate to crate, easily closing the distance between them. He smiled his cat smile and herded her toward her doom, effortlessly vaulting across the aisle and closing in.
And then, unexpectedly, to her dismay, blocking the freedom she so desperately sought, a dead end made of more old rotting boxes came in front of her. Turning, unable to stop in time, she slammed into the crates and they crumbled, disposing of their contents on her head and shoulders. She fell under the weight of the deluge, the cascading crates quickly covering her. Everything inside the crates fell with a metallic clanging—roughly cut iron pipes, and square cut bars of steel, and links of chain of a metal she did not know.
There was quiet following her burial, and in the calm she tasted the tang of blood in her mouth. Then, she heard a sound. It hissed in her ears, and it took her a moment to realize it was his laugh, a slithering, serpentine sound that left her cold.
"Got you."