The sun hadn't yet risen, but the color of the sky had started to turn from black to a deep navy blue. In a matter of an hour, the light would have been enough to wake Hermione from her deep, much-needed sleep, but for now, Sirius thought it was best to let her rest.
He rose from beside Hermione and silently padded out of her room, making for the kitchens. He wasn't much of a sleeper anymore. In his younger days, he could sleep well past noon, but after Azkaban, and living on the run before being cooped up in Grimmauld Place, Sirius found that his sleep was always easily disturbed.
There would be no going back to sleep, so rather than wake Hermione, he settled for an early cup of coffee and a lonely tour around the drafty Wray castle. As fall approached, Sirius could feel the chill set in. He always appreciated cooler weather, but was always glad to have a warm bed.
With a piping hot mug in his hands, Sirius sat in the wing backed chair he had occupied the night before. With his wand he sleepily sent sparks into the hearth, setting the fire ablaze again. His mind remained relatively blank as he reached the bottom of his coffee, but Hermione remained ever-present, as she always was. She was as a will-o-the-wisp; her face would surface and vanish in his mind as he completed the most mundane of tasks. It was for this fact that Sirius had to strain his ears for the sound he thought he heard.
Hermione's voice, calling his name. There was silence. Sirius stood quickly, alertly. Just when he thought he was imagining things, there it was.
"Sirius!" her voice from upstairs. The mug crashed to the flagstone floor, and Sirius pulled his wand out of his trousers, running for the stairs with bare feet.
Hermione was in the place between asleep and awake when Sirius left the bed. She was distantly aware of the change in pressure beside her in bed, but was too tired to open her eyes or even call out for him. Sleep overtook her again in a matter of seconds. It felt indeed that only seconds had passed since Sirius had left the bed before he returned. His weight, his warmth, returned beside her.
She sighed and turned over to face him, rolling into the crook of his arm, where he cradled her gently. She laid there a moment longer, in the dim pre-dawn light, before she breathed him in. Only, it was different. He smelled different. He felt different.
With her senses flaring, Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she looked up at the man who was most decidedly not Sirius Black.
"Good morning, beautiful," the man said, placing his hand suddenly over Hermione's mouth.
She managed to call out to Sirius, but was muffled by the pressure of his hand. She reached for her wand, which rested on her bedside table, only to have her wrist pinned to the bed.
Soon, all of the man's weight rested on her. He straddled her waist, sitting atop her, his hands on her mouth and her wrist. With her free hand, she reached up to claw at his face—(Dolohov? Could it be him? It was too dim to see properly)—and successfully scratched him, drawing blood from his cheek. He took the hand from her mouth, and grabbed her other wrist, pinning it down too.
Now able to cry out, she called Sirius's name again.
"Sirius!"
"Now, now, solnishko, that won't do," Dolohov said, pulling his wand from his robes, and pointing it at Hermione before shouting "Incarcerous!"
Ropes materialized and began to wrap around Hermione—her legs, her wrists, her arms, and finally her mouth was gagged. Struggling against the restraints, Hermione was hoisted from the bed and slung over Dolohov's shoulder. He held onto her thighs, feeling at their bareness. Hermione's sleep shirt rode higher as she fought against the Death Eater.
Hermione felt the wind pushed from her as Dolohov's shoulder pressed into her stomach. She couldn't have cried out if she wanted to, and his strength was overwhelming. He carried her effortlessly down the hallway.
"Have you got them?" Dolohov said aloud, to whom Hermione was not sure.
"Yes," she heard a familiar voice, then a rustling of papers. "We'd better hurry, Black's heard us."
"Black?" Dolohov asked, his tone mirthful. "Been a naughty girl, haven't we, Hermione?"
Hermione struggled, screaming through her gag.
"Hermione!" she heard Sirius shout from the stairwell. He raced up the stone steps, and she could hear his feet pad against the floor.
Still facing away, she couldn't see the ensuing duel. Bright streams of light shot past her as curses and spells were hurled each way, but before any of them could make contact with the man carrying her, he Disapparated away from Wray castle, tearing her from safety into the unknown.
The room she was in was dank, dark, and the nearest window was several yards off. It was a dungeon, she was sure. She was dropped from Dolohov's shoulder and placed on the floor, where her bare feet met damp stone. Though she was entirely bound by ropes, Hermione strained against them in an attempt to strike out at her abductor.
He chuckled at her attempts, and placed both of his hands on her shoulders before pressing her against a stone wall. His body pressed against hers.
"Now, I'm going to have to leave you for a bit, and since we both know you're too smart for your own good, I'm going to have to leave you with this," Dolohov brought out a silver chain, yarn-like and thin, and draped it around her neck. Instantly, both ends of the chain fastened together and shone brightly.
"No!" Hermione shouted through her gag.
"Dear me, where are my manners?" Dolohov grabbed the gag from Hermione's mouth and pulled, allowing her to speak.
"Take it off!" Hermione shouted, her eyes filling with panic.
"And allow you full use of your magic?" Dolohov's eyes twinkled. "That wouldn't be very wise at all, would it?"
Hermione seethed at the dark haired man before her. He backed up a moment, removing the ropes from Hermione with his wand, and replaced her restraints with iron manacles chained to the wall.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
"I think I'll allow my partners to introduce themselves first," he backed up a few paces. "What they want and what I want are very different things." His lips curled into a sickening grin, and he laughed to himself.
With the iron door padlocked behind him, Hermione was left in the chilly dungeon on her own, her magic dampened by an enchanted silver chain. She was dressed only in the sleeping shirt she wore the night before, her hair wild and unkempt, her legs bare and covered in gooseflesh. In an attempt to warm herself, Hermione sank to the floor and drew her legs to herself.
Unwilling to accept her fate, she pulled at the chain that tethered her to the wall, only to find that it was secure. The metal dug uncomfortably into her skin. When that failed, she reached up with her hands to find the silver chain at her neck, and pulled. With the first tug, it glowed. The second tug made the chain heat up, burning her neck and her fingers.
She pulled her fingers away in pain, crying out. She looked at the red skin of her fingers, and knew she would blister soon. She shook out of pain and fear. Still, she had to keep fighting. She knew that one known Death Eater had her—she was bright enough to know that where there was one, there were sure to be more.
Pulling her wrists up, she tried a bit of wandless magic, muttering "Alohomora". The manacles remained locked, and the chain again seared into her neck.
She had read of this kind of charm, but after they were outlawed, Hermione thought they had passed into history. Clearly Dolohov had inherited a magic blocking chain, as so many dark wizards inherited dangerous items from their families.
Hermione would have to be smart. She couldn't use magic—not now anyway. She would have to be patient and wait for her captors to show their faces.
Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't expected Sirius Black to be standing in his living room, shaking in anger and fear, but here he was. Kingsley had been roused from bed to shouts of his name, only to find the wizard pacing his living room.
After Sirius had explained what happened, Kingsley threw on his robes and sent his Patronus to all the Aurors in the Ministry. Without a word, the two of them Apparated to Wray castle, and searched for evidence into Hermione's whereabouts.
"Sirius, I know she's in danger, but I need you to calm down for me," Kingsley was saying to Sirius, who paced around the banquet hall. "Tell me exactly what happened."
Sirius recalled hearing Hermione scream his name, but left out details of the night before. He recounted climbing the stairs to find Antonin Dolohov and another wizard Disapparating with Hermione in restraints.
"The other wizard," he said. "What did he look like?"
Sirius ran his hand through his dark hair. "About my height. No older than thirty-five… sandy brown hair."
Kingsley was quiet a moment. "Did he speak to you?"
"Well, if you can consider hurling curses and spells at me speaking, Kingsley, then I suppose so."
Kingsley turned to one of the Aurors who had just entered the room.
"Blithe!" The lanky blonde Auror dutifully approached his Minister.
"Has all the research team been located?"
The worry on the wizard's face was apparent. "Sir, we've found all but two."
"Who?" Kingsley's eyes grew dark and serious.
"Hermione Granger, of course, and… Vincent Gillespie."
Kingsley's jaw flexed. "Get a picture into the Prophet."
Blithe nodded knowingly. Sirius didn't like the terse silence between the two wizards.
"Who's this Gillespie?"
"Did this other wizard sound American to you?" Kingsley asked.
"I don't know, maybe. That, or Canadian. I can't really tell the difference sometimes."
"Sirius," Kingsley pulled a wallet-sized photo out of his back pocket. He handed it to him.
On it were four people, arms around each other, laughing and looking back and forth—Kingsley, his late wife Miranda, a caramel-skinned witch Sirius assumed was Miranda's sister, and another man. It was the same sandy brown haired man who had absconded with Hermione and the stack of papers and books.
"That's him, Kingsley, that's the man who left with Dolohov," he said.
Kingsley ran his hand over his forehead.
"Who is he, Kingsley?"
"He's my brother-in-law. My wife's sister moved to America after she married him. He's been working on this whole crisis with Hermione. He's a skilled curse breaker."
"Kingsley… Why has your brother-in-law kidnapped Hermione?"
Kingsley shook his head. "He never gave me reason to believe he could be capable of something like this, but just last week he said something to me that didn't sound like him at all. He's a good man, Sirius, I can't truly believe he could do something like this."
"Even the most skilled curse breakers can still be Imperiused, Kinglsey," Sirius said, trying not to lose his temper.
"You're right Sirius." Kingsley looked around at the Aurors who were trying not to pay too close attention to the powerful wizard who had just had his betrothed kidnapped. "I think… I think we can handle this. Why don't you just go back to Grimmauld Place? Wait there until we get her back."
"The hell I will!" Sirius said. "In case you forgot what I was training to become before I was imprisoned without a trial, I'm going to stay on and make sure you lot don't cock up anything else. Now, if there's nothing else, Kinsley, I'll be off to find Harry."
Kingsley said not another word as Sirius left the banquet hall.
Hermione found, rather unfortunately, that the more she pulled at her restraints, the higher up it was pulled into the stone. An hour prior she had had plenty of slack, allowing her to stay on the floor comfortably, but now her arms were fully extended above her, though she was still seated. She huffed in indignation, and resigned herself to her situation.
Her stomach growled as she shivered on the dungeon floor. Just when she had given up all hope of seeing anyone, the iron door squeaked horrendously. In walked Dolohov, followed by a dazed looking Vincent Gillespie, a man in his fifties she'd never seen before, and Amycus Carrow.
Her stomach filled with ice at the sight of Amycus Carrow. He had taken over as a professor at Hogwarts following Severus Snape's takeover as Headmaster. He had shown he had more appreciation for the torture of students than for actually teaching. His presence could not be good.
"Miss Granger," Carrow croaked. "How kind of you to come."
Hermione remained quiet. She would not indulge him and his taunting.
"I'm sure you might be starting to figure out what you're doing here," Carrow looked over to the American curse breaker.
Hermione might have lashed out and screamed at him for being a traitor, but he looked… off.
"What have you done to Gillespie?" she asked calmly.
"Started to fight the Imperius, I'm afraid to say. Had to turn up the heat. He's a bit scrambled at the moment, but he'll be fine. Once you two complete the counter-spell, he'll be right as rain."
"Counter-spell?" Hermione looked at the men standing before her.
"Gillespie informed us last night that you were able to translate the journals. Found the solution. And our host was so insistent that you fix this whole mess."
Hermione looked over to the man in his fifties, who had hair that might have once been blonde. He wore spectacles, and might have otherwise been a very nice man, if it weren't for the fact that she was now a hostage.
"I translated the journals," Hermione said. "I was going to hand them off to Kingsley so he could fix this whole mess. I want nothing to do with blood magic."
"My son lost his magic because of you!" The unnamed man shouted. His fists clenched, and his knuckles whitened.
"Cormac?" Hermione blinked. "You're Cormac's father? Mister MacLaggen, I'm so sorry… But I didn't force your son to refuse."
"Why you little—" Edward MacLaggen stepped forward and bore down on the girl who was crumpled on the stone floor.
"Ed, Ed—" Amycus held back McLaggen, chuckling a bit. "Why don't you leave that to me and Antonin? It's what we do best."
He winked at Hermione, and began to usher the Imperiused wizard and the irate father out the door. He called back over his shoulder. "You'll agree to do the spell, Miss Granger. I think you'll find we can be quite persuasive."
With Carrow, MacLaggen and Gillespie gone, it was only Dolohov and Hermione who remained in the leaky dungeon. He stared at her a moment, and approached slowly. Hermione remained where she was, but looked up at her bound wrists.
Dolohov knelt in front of her, careful not to get his robes wet in the puddles surrounding them. He reached forward and grabbed Hermione's bound wrists, pulling them downward. The slack was returned to the chains, and he let her wrists go. Hermione looked up at him in surprise.
"Amycus and I have different methods, Hermione," he said, almost kindly. "You'll find that if you just agree, this whole experience will be a lot more pleasant."
"And if I refuse?"
"I know you've been Crucioed before, so you know what to expect. Amycus enjoys inflicting pain, Hermione, but I do not. Not that kind of pain anyway…"
Hermione's heart raced. She shuddered to think what Dolohov wanted.
"He'll hurt you, Hermione, and when he does, the only things that will get him to stop will be complete cooperation with the spell… and giving into me."
Hermione swallowed and looked at the older man, trying to find meaning in his expression.
"Ever since the Department of Mysteries, Hermione, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. You handled yourself so… forcefully. And when you Obliviated me, well… I like my witches with some fire in them."
He brought his knuckles up to Hermione's bare legs and caressed them slightly. Hermione recoiled to his touch, which made him smirk.
"When Amycus has had his fun, I daresay you'll feel differently towards me. But have it your way, Hermione."
With that, he stood and left the dungeon, leaving Hermione in a state of silent panic, hoping to find a way out of the hell she now found herself.
AN: Thanks all for your great reviews! They light up my day a little bit when I get them.
Just as an aside, if any of you are on Tumblr and want to follow along with my writing blog, my tumblr name is beneath-a-western-sky. I post pictures of things that inspire me, songs I listen to when I write, and any supplemental material (photos and such). Also, I know it's a tall order, but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway. I've been writing fan fiction for a while, but I've never encountered any readers who are artistically inclined. If anyone finds themselves doodling or tinkering around in photoshop, making things that correlate with what I write, I'd love to see what you come up with. If not, your readership is enough of a treat for me. :)