A/N: I should warn you, this chapter is one of the more disturbing and graphic chapters, at least for quite a while. I don't think it's too bad, but this chapter earns the T rating.

Last chapter:

Sheild Charms don't block Unforgivables, Hermione remembered a split second before the red jet of light touched her blue shield. And then the curse hit.

A Matter of Priorities

Part One: Malfoy Manor

Chapter Two: Malfoy Manor

Pain. Pain and nothing else. All-encompassing, all-consuming. She barely noticed her own screams.

And then it stopped.

Someone said something – she didn't catch what – and silver threads wound themselves tightly around her. She didn't fight it, she couldn't; she was lying face-down against the floor, shaking and gasping and trying hard not to cry. As she watched, Nott Jr. knelt next to her and picked the wand up off the floor. Her chance was gone. She was caught.

"Idiot," Nott Sr. said derisively, nudging her with his foot. Hermione didn't look up. She was still waiting for the world to come back into focus. "What were you trying to do?"

Hermione said nothing, still staring at the ground. She was still shaking, though whether from the Cruciatus or from common fear she didn't know.

"What were you trying to do?" Nott repeated more harshly. Hermione didn't answer. "Cru - "

"L-leave!" Hermione gasped, trying vainly to remember her ruse.

"Are you telling us to - " started the fat Death Eater, raising his wand.

"No!" Hermione interrupted, panicking. "I w-was trying to l-leave." Her voice shook terribly, as if she were sobbing.

"Why?" demanded Nott Jr.

Hermione looked up, terrified, unable to think of a good enough lie. Nott Sr.'s eyebrows narrowed. "Cru - "

"Look!" shouted the dark-haired Death Eater. "Look at her hair!"

Grimacing, Hermione looked back at the floor. This was it, then. There was the familiar but still unpleasant melting sensation as her body shrank and remolded itself into an easily recognizable Hermione Granger.

She couldn't hide her face for long: someone cast a Hover Charm and Hermione was pulled up to dangle a few inches from the ground. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope….

"Granger!" the younger Nott yelped. "It's Granger, Potter's Mudblood friend!"

"Are you sure?" Nott Sr. asked, his eyes narrowing. He moved closer to Hermione, so close she could feel his breath against her face. She tried to pull away but the spell prevented it.

"I'm sure," Nott Jr. said, so excited he was almost breathless. "She's in my year, I've had classes with her for six years. And you've seen the posters, you know it's her."

"Check the wand," suggested the dark-haired Death Eater.

Nott Sr. pulled it out of his pocket and held it close to his nose. "Vine wood, ten and three-quarters inches, flexible – this is it. Granger." With a hideous leer at Hermione, he pushed up the sleeve of his robe and pressed a finger against the skull-and-snake tattoo. He closed his eyes for a moment, communicating the information to someone – Not Voldemort, please not Voldemort – then his eyelids flew open and he grabbed Hermione's arm.

"I'm taking her to headquarters," he said authoritatively. "Selwyn, Portkey."

The dark-haired Death Eater reached into his robes and withdrew a long white quill – no, not a quill: the tip wasn't sharpened. It was simply a feather.

Nott took the feather and held it against Hermione's arm.

"One…two….three," he counted, Hermione felt a tug behind her navel and she was spinning off to some unknown hell.

Hermione had mastered Portkey travel three years ago, but now she landed face-first on a hard wooden floor. She looked up through her eyelashes, careful to keep hiding her face. She could see two pairs of dragonhide boots, a woman's high heels, and a pair of dirty bare feet, all nearly concealed by long black robes. If this was Headquarters, whose feet were these? She didn't dare look up to find out.

"It's Granger," Nott said.

"Really," drawled a cold voice. It sounded familiar, but somehow off….it took a few seconds, but then Hermione placed it: Lucius Malfoy. She shivered involuntarily. If Malfoy was one of her captors, things didn't look good.

Nobody spoke a word, but Hermione suddenly flew up off the floor, banged her head on the rather high ceiling, and fell back to hover a few inches above the floor, head aching and eyes streaming.

Through her tears, Hermione could see four indistinct black-robed figures. Even with her vision blurred, Hermione recognized a slim, pale, blond family of three and a tall woman with wild black hair. Oh no, oh no – Hermione blinked. It was her. Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Well, Draco – is it?" Bellatrix asked, almost hungrily.

Hermione's glance flicked over to the youngest Death Eater. Draco Malfoy looked even paler than usual and seemed almost scared - he was wearing his requisite sneer, but it was unconvincing, even to Hermione. It seemed that the life of a Death Eater did not suit Draco Malfoy.

But Draco looked the picture of health next to his father. Lucius's normally pearlescent skin was as sallow as Snape's, and in his eyes was a haunted look that she recognized from Sirius's worse moments. The war had taken its toll on Narcissa, too. She was paler and thinner than ever, and at the sound of Bellatrix's voice she had made a convulsive movement towards Draco, as if seeking to protect him. It made Hermione feel almost sorry for her.

At a harsh look from his father, Malfoy – no, Draco, she would need to keep them straight, even if it meant being mentally on first name terms with Death Eaters – Draco took a few steps forwards until he was almost nose-to-nose with Hermione, the Hover Charm lifting her up almost to his height. She stared at him, unable to hide her desperation. Please, tell them no, say you don't know me, please, she thought.

Draco looked surprised for a moment, but quickly hid it and turned back to face his family.

"It's her," he said flatly.

"Are you sure?" Narcissa asked nervously. "The Dark Lord – if we are mistaken - "

"Mother, it's her," Draco said, somewhat impatiently. "I've known her since I was eleven."

"Theodore identified her too," Nott added. He sounded as if he were sucking up – there was no other term for it. "And her wand matches the description."

"Give it to me," ordered Lucius. Nott placed it in Lucius's outstretched palm, and Lucius tucked it into a pocket of his robes. Hermione followed his movements carefully, memorizing the location of her wand. If she had the chance to get it back, she would take it.

"You are absolutely sure, Draco?" Narcissa repeated.

"Yes," Draco said, almost whining. Lucius glared, and Draco flushed and looked away.

"I will do it," Lucius said, and by Bellatrix's incensed look Hermione knew what he meant: he was going to tell Voldemort. Voldemort wasn't here, was he? Harry had said he was in Europe, but that was weeks ago. If he was here, if he wanted to see her – Hermione shuddered and the silver ropes cut deeper into her skin.

"Bellatrix," said Lucius. "Take care of the Mudblood."

Hermione tried to force her analytical side to take over, to notice Draco's and Narcissa's reactions to Lucius's words, to try to see in which direction Lucius turned after he left the room, to infer that the phrase "take care of" meant that Voldemort would not be coming to see her anytime soon – but she was so terrified by Bellatrix's slow smile that it was all she could do to keep breathing.

Bellatrix flicked her wand. Hermione flinched, expecting the Cruciatus, but instead a black cloth appeared in front of her face and tied itself around her eyes, blinding her. "Come on, widdle Mudblood," Bellatrix cooed. "Let's have some fun." Hermione felt herself propelled magically forward, her feet still dangling inches from the floor.

Bellatrix was either very smart or very paranoid: she led Hermione all over the house, up and down several flights of stairs and back and forth through countless hallways before opening a door and canceling the charm, so that Hermione, still bound and blindfolded, fell helplessly to the ground.

"Crucio," Bellatrix purred, and in the split second before the curse hit, Hermione thought of the Longbottoms and of Sirius and then there was only pain, and screaming, and laughter, and then the slam of a door and aching and silence.

It took ages for the trembling to lessen, for the dizziness to fade, but when it finally did Hermione became aware of just how uncomfortable she was. Still blindfolded, still bound, crumpled in a heap on the hard, cold floor, shaking in the aftermath of the Cruciatus, Hermione didn't know if she'd ever been more uncomfortable. She almost wished that someone would come untie her, but considering where she was, she decided she'd rather remain uncomfortable forever.

Panic pressed against her at the thought, but Hermione pushed it away, instead thinking back to the labyrinthine journey to the room. She was one flight of stairs higher than where she had been Portkeyed to: she thought there had been a flight up and two down, and then three up and one down, but it was hard to know for sure, especially with her mind and body still reeling from the Cruciatus. If she had to go through any more of those –

A click as the door was unlocked. Footsteps, heavier than Bellatrix's had been. "Finite Incantatem." That voice. She knew, even before the blindfold vanished, that it was Lucius Malfoy.

"Where is Potter?" he demanded, his wand pointed at her. Hermione simply looked at him, trying not to seem as terrified as she actually was. She tried to push herself up but her shaking wrist slipped and she fell back to the floor.

Exhaling harshly, Lucius flicked his wand and Hermione was lifted backwards off the floor and placed, sitting, on a bed.

"Where is Potter?" he repeated. Hermione did her best to glare, her lips pressed together in a pathetic imitation of Professor McGonagall.

"Won't tell?" Lucius asked, in a voice quite apart from his usual cool, calm tone. He sounded angry, almost desperate. "Think you can keep your dirty Mudblood mouth shut? Cr - "

Hermione flinched, and miraculously, he stopped. "I see Bellatrix has welcomed you already," he said stiltedly. "Perhaps I'd best wait, then – we don't want you to lose your mind before we've picked it clean."

His pale eyes met hers and Hermione looked away, fearing Legilimency. She had tried to learn Occlumency from books the summer after fifth year, but she'd never been tested and she'd rather not find out this way if she'd learned properly. The stakes were too high.

"Clever, Mudblood," Lucius said in a harsh whisper. "But intelligence won't help you here. You are helpless. Your every action, every thought is under our control. You do, you say, you think whatever we want you to. Now, tell me: where is Potter?"

"You can't make me do anything," Hermione said, trying to affect bravery. Her voice shook slightly, but she sat up straight and turned to face him, though she still avoided meeting his eyes directly.

"Can't I?" asked Lucius. There was something about his eyes, his mouth that looked dangerous. "Imperio!"

She remembered the feeling all too well: the blankness, the disassociation, the feeling of helplessness as her body did whatever Moody told it to. Hop around the room three times. Do a somersault down the aisle. Stand on your head.

Take off your shirt.

No. No! NO! Hermione tried to think, but her hands weren't obeying, they were grasping the bottom of her too-large T-shirt and lifting. Stop it. I don't want to do this, I can't, I won't –

Her hands faltered, but not enough. The shirt was off. She shivered in the cold air as her arms fell back to her sides, waiting to betray her at the next command.

Lucius stared at her, carefully but disinterestedly, almost scientifically really, his eyes touching every inch of Hermione's exposed skin. She fought, panicky, against the blankness but to no avail.

Lucius opened his mouth, and Hermione tensed, expecting another, a worse, command.

"Where is Potter?" he said, at the same moment ending the curse. Hermione picked up her shirt and clutched it against herself, not wanting to take the time to pull it over her head.

"Tell me, Mudblood - where is Potter?" Lucius repeated, almost shouting.

"I won't," Hermione squeaked, shaking uncontrollably. Lucius raised his wand, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself. Nothing happened. Hermione opened her eyes. Lucius was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. He lowered his wand.

"Lucky for you, I don't like filthy Mudbloods," he sneered, and then turned and left the room. The door clicked as it locked itself behind him.

Hermione sat there for a moment, shaking as she tried to process what had just happened. She hadn't been able to fight him. The Imperius, Legilimency, Veritaserum – those were weapons she could not fight against. She was down to two options, since it seemed that escape was impossible and there was no one here to Obliviate her: death or insanity.

Hermione closed her eyes against the hot tears that nevertheless spilled over. She was to young to die, too young to go through this. She still had so much to do: she had to finish Hogwarts, she had to give her parents their lives back, she had to tell Ron how she felt about him, she had to help find the Horcruxes, she had to make sure that Voldemort died….

A bubble of not quite hope, but determination.

She was in the Death Eaters' Headquarters. Even if she couldn't get away, she could still watch, listen, observe…if she could find out where another Horcrux was, if she could somehow let someone, maybe another captive, know…the odds were almost insurmountable, but if she could use this, if she could find another Horcrux, or find out where one was….

The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup. Those had been found and destroyed. Nagini. And the sixth…something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's. Probably Ravenclaw's, as Ron had once remarked: it was unlikely that the Heir of Slytherin would put a piece of his soul into anything of Gryffindor's. They had guessed that the sixth Horcrux was in Albania – hence the trip to the airport to buy tickets – but that was really only a guess, based on rumors and speculation. If she could know for sure…

She knew it wasn't much, but it was something. It gave her something to think about, something other than what inevitably awaited her.

She would not die. She would not lose her mind. And she would not let them get her memories. She would wait for her chance to escape, and while she was waiting she would look for the last Horcrux. She would keep her memories safe – the alternative was too horrible to consider – and she would get out of here.

Hermione wiped away her tears, pulled her shirt over her head, and began to plan.

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