Okay readers, this is quite a dark fic, but I promise things will get happier later on. Sort of. But just as a warning to all, this is sort of a non-con/dub-con filled story, so if that is something you can't read, be warned.

It took her a while to regain consciousness. She would fade in to fluttering noise and weak images, then back out into the comforting darkness. She would hear voices and want them to be quiet, and then she would want to run to them, resist the darkness. But it would gently tug her back behind its hands. Then she felt her own eyes open and see a lightbulb hanging in a small room, a toolshed, tools on the walls. Her back against the wall. Hands wrapped tight in rough ropes. Not comfortable. Back to darkness. In that darkness she dreamed and remembered the moment, needing space, getting hit with a force that knocked her back and made her see colors and sounds. She was afraid. And then she woke up. She awakened to find herself trapped in a tiny toolshed with Scabior, the snatcher. She stared at him. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against a wall, and he sat on a box in a corner of the shed. She stared at him for a few minutes, trying to let the information trickle in slowly, so she did not panic. She had been caught. Harry and Ron were not with her, so they might be alright. She had been caught, but she was still alive. She had been hit with something, not a spell, and half of her face felt bruised. She was alive, she was in a shed with Scabior the snatcher. The panic started to squeeze her chest and she took long, slow, deep breaths to calm herself. She was in danger, but she could still escape. The fact that she had not been brought straight to Voldemort was a good sign. She bowed her head and willed the darkness to come back and swallow her, to deposit her safely in her tent with Ron and Harry. Or even in her bed at home, with her mum and dad downstairs eating breakfast. If only she hadn't wiped their memories, if only she hadn't put them in danger, if only …

"Are you the one who started S.P.E.W?" This comment was so incongruous that she almost did not understand it. She raised her battered face and spat an incredulous, "What?" in his direction. He heaved a great sigh and said with forced elocution through a clenched jaw, "I heard that you created the organization known as S.P.E.W."

She did not know what to do with this except answer honestly, "Well, yes. I did."

There was a long period of silence, and then he muttered, "That's good of ya." Surely she had misheard him. Surely this ruthless tormentor was not actually giving her a compliment in regards to her moral choices.

"How do you know about S.P.E.W.?"

"Word gets round."

"Around where?"

"To the Ministry. It was in your file."

"What?" She wasn't sure what shocked her more; that she was in a file in the ministry, or that he'd read and remembered her file. "What file? And why is S.P.E.W. in my file?"

"The aurors have files on any witch or wizard who could pose a possible threat to the Ministry. You are a 'potentially dangerous member of society' for, among other things, 'your exaggerated interest in the rights of non-human magical creatures and 'alf-breeds, possibly due to an inaccurate conflation between these creatures and her position as an individual with non-Magical parentage'."

"Did you memorize my file? Why were you reading it?"

"I had to track you, the three of you. I used my resources."

"And the information about S.P.E.W. was necessary for tracking me."

"No, but it was interesting." Silence fell between them again, and she shifted about, trying to lessen the tension in the ropes that bound her, while attempting to understand the man across from her. Perhaps she could use what he'd said against him.

"So you care about the rights of house elves."

His grin was almost a grimace when he said, "You could say it that way. But I would say that everyone gets fucked over at some point, it's just that some people aren't even acknowledged as 'everyone'."

"So you do."

"S'pose. Probably you should just wait quiet like, little mudblood, and thatta way I won't have to disrespect your rights, see."

"Why do you care about house-elves? You don't seem to care so much about humans."

"I don't care for coddling wizards and witches who got themselves into their situation."

"You think I got myself into this situation?"

"Probably. You look like one who goes in for trouble." His smile was a leer, but she ignored it.

"I'm trying to help people; I'm trying to help house-elves and the helpless too. Do you think Voldemort wants to help house-elves?"

"I don't give a fuck what Voldemort wants to do, I don't give a fuck what you want to do, just shut up and sit tight, or I'm gonna have to use force against you. And trust me, I'll enjoy it." This stopped her for a moment. She was afraid of him, she would not deny it. His glittering eyes were sincere in their intentions. But her fear of the Dark Lord ran deeper.

"What are they going to do to me."

"I don't know what he's going to do, but I know what I'll do." The fear seized her, but she let it pass, she had to take this chance while it presented itself.

"They're going to torture me, and then they're going to kill me, won't they."

"Maybe not, they might just torture you indefinitely"

"You act like that doesn't bother you."

"It doesn't, you little mudblood bitch, I don't care what they do to you. I just mentioned it—I don't know why I mentioned it."

"Scabior, please—" He got to his feet. There was murder in his eyes and she shrank back.

"I can't kill you, but I can hurt you in ways that you probably wouldn't consider, you prissy little cunt." He stood over her, and she leaned back against the wall, trying to evade his oncoming blows. He struck her face, the bruised jaw, the broken lip. She couldn't help but cry out, and she pressed against the wall, bringing her shoulders up to protect herself, unable to shield her face with her bound arms. He grasped her neck, attempting to bring her around to face him. She resisted him, and he pulled her forward and almost off her seat. She fell against his body and recoiled backwards, trying to bring her feet up to defend herself. He laughed down at her, grabbed her legs and pulled so that her head banged against the wall and she lay on her back. She groaned at the pain in her head and tried to roll away, but he grasped her hips and leaned down to snarl in her face, "Don't try and fight me, little girl, I have too many reasons to hurt you."

"Then why don't you, you spineless sonofabitch." He let out a shout of anger and ripped the front of her shirt halfway apart, the buttons snapping off and leaving her defenseless. She screamed. She couldn't help it, the terror she felt threatened to rob her of her senses. But she'd discovered that on some repressed and hidden level, he cared if she lived or died. And since no one within the walls of Voldemort's residence would give killing her a second thought, she had to push this man. Even if it meant facing the one thing that could break her soul. She'd frozen beneath him, hoping he wouldn't go any farther, trying to stop trembling lest it provoke him. Her eyes were closed tightly, but she could hear him breathing rapidly. He must be staring at her. She knew that his action was a threat of more to come if she were to test him, but even with this much exposure she wanted to die, to disappear. Her blouse was open, the white cups of her bra half revealed. He laid his hand on her chest, above her bra, on the flat plane that was flushed and damp with perspiration. It was like he was holding her in place, pausing her motions as he looked and looked at her.

"Such a pretty mudblood whore." His voice lilted with cruel laughter, and he traced a finger down to where the cups connected. "There's a bow here. I thought you'd like bows."

"Do you like bows?"

"When they're nestled between your pretty tits I do. But generally, no."

"And you like house-elves?"

"Ugh, we're back on that again." He stepped back so his back touched the opposite wall of the shack a few feet from her, and slid down it to the floor. "I guess we have that in common." He was sprawled on the floor, entirely non-threatening. Except for his eyes. She sat up and looked at him. Her head still hurt, but the relief that he was no longer hovering over her outweighed the dull throb.

"Have you met many house-elves?" Instead of answering her, he smirked.

"Which one of those boys were you fucking?"

"Neither, now answer my question."

"Yes, I have met many house elves in my time."

"Did you own one?" He barked out a laugh. Before she could blink his hand shot out and snatched her calf, and he pulled it towards him, just hard enough to lift her foot off the ground.

"No. I did not own one. Tell me, were you a self-righteous bitch before you became a witch?"

"Yes. Well, sort of. What do you mean, became a witch? I've been a witch since I was born." Then he was on his knees, in her face, gripping the back of her neck and holding it.

"What is in your blood? What do you think it is? It is not magic blood, it is human blood, mudblood. You're not fit to lick their shoes." He released her and pulled back to look in her eyes. She saw the usual cruel pleasure, but there was pain there as well.

"What are you?" And then he was on her, he pushed her down by her throat and held her there, then his head lowered to her chest and he ripped her bra away, bow and all. He bit into her right breast and she tried to arch away from him, tried to stifle her scream. He held there for a moment, marking her and leaving a bruise, and then he licked her. Licked her nipple long and smooth, and she felt that feeling all over her body. Then he pulled away. His hand had been choking her, but she hadn't noticed. She felt him move away from her, presumably to his former spot, but she laid still. She let herself examine the sting of where his mouth had hurt her, and the wet thrumming pleasure of where he had not. From her prone position, she asked in as steady a voice as she could, "Are you a pureblood, then?"

He chuckled. "No."

"Are they coming for me?"

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"I want to play with you first."

"Oh."

"I'm not a mudblood, either, if that's what you're thinking."

"So then, a half-blood."

"Wrong again."

"I don't understand."

"I am a half-breed." She sat up and stared at him. "Well, a mixed-breed. I'm an Urisk."

Her eyes went wide.