Hermione's head was still spinning from the rather violent disapparition. She was lucky, really, not to have splinched herself, given how much she had fought. Croaker's grip on her wrists was tight, his wand sharp between her shoulder blades.

'Get off me,' Hermione hissed at him, struggling frantically.

He frowned at her in annoyance and made a sharp jabbing motion with his wand. Everything went dark.

When she woke up, she was alone. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light creeping through the boarded-up window, she managed to make out the small room she was in, stone-floored with a rough wooden door. She heaved herself up and rattled the handle desperately but it was locked. Turning around, she studied the rest of the room, hoping to find something to use as a weapon. No rusty nails or sharp stones presented themselves, just a neatly-made bed and a few bits of furniture; a floral chamber pot and an ewer of water stood on the bedside table.

Judging from the chinks of sunlight which glowed and dimmed between the planks of wood, two days had passed before the door opened. Hermione had drunk all the water and her thirst was strong enough to distract her from her rumbling stomach. She had spent a good few hours trying to break down the door and prise the boards off the window and her arms ached. She regretted screaming at the top of her voice for so long now that her throat was like sandpaper.

Hermione was sitting on the bed; it was a little soft for her taste but not at all uncomfortable. When the door opened, the bright light from outside dazzled her and her hands instinctively shot up to shield her face.

'You've learnt to be quiet,' Croaker said, his voice clipped. With only a twinge of irritation, he noted Hermione tensing, readying herself for a fight. 'I wouldn't try anything if I were you.'

Rage boiled Hermione's blood and her thirst and her fatigue were forgotten. Snarling her wrath, she threw herself forward at the stiff, frazzle-haired man who had kidnapped her cousin, who was now looking at her like she was mould in the bathroom or a slow driver in front of him on the road.

Croaker's hand shot out and curled around her throat. The annoyance in his eyes sharpened but the fact that it never tipped over into anger was in fact rather frightening. He would have gladly killed her for simply being an inconvenience. Darkness started creeping into the edges of Hermione's vision and her heart thundered in terror as Croaker's gripped her with both hands now, frowning.

He let go of her and he sunk to the floor, gasping and shaking.

'I think you need more time in here to reflect on you behaviour,' Croaker said delicately before shutting the door.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she was left alone the second time. She lost track of the sun coming and going through the cracks, her mind caving in on itself as her throat dried up like baked earth. At one point, although she might have been dreaming, Hermione thought she heard Regan scream. And then, although again she might have been dreaming, she heard rain beating on the roof and her body screamed with need. Her head throbbing and clanging with every move, she crawled off the bed and clawed at the boarded-up window with bleeding nails, hoping some moisture might trickle in.

More than once, she thought she was going to die in that room. She thought of Draco. They were at the very beginning of something and it seemed horrifyingly unfair that she wouldn't find out how far they could have gone. She thought of her parents, who must be so frightened on her behalf. She wondered if Harry and Ginny were trying to find her, and if Ron was helping them.

Although it felt like a thousand years before Croaker opened the door the second time, Hermione later reflected that it could only have been as long as a human being could survive without water.

Croaker stood in the doorway, carrying an oil lamp in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

'Are you going to try and escape?' he asked.

Hermione shook her head.

'Are you going to attack me?'

She gave another weak shake of her head.

Croaker nodded curtly. 'Good.'

He held out the glass of water and she snatched it greedily from him. Nothing had ever tasted better.

'Incarcerous,' Croaker muttered, pointing his wand at Hermione's wrists. 'Come with me.

Hermione followed him out of the room. She swallowed. She was still thirsty.

'Where's Regan?' she asked softly.

Croaker ignored her question as he led her down a hallway. They seemed to be in a cottage. The window at the top of the stairs showed a snowy meadow.

In the small kitchen, Croaker motioned to the food set out on the table; it was a simple affair of bread, cold slices of ham, a hunk of mild yellow cheese, a couple of small reddish apples and a pot of strongly-brewed tea, but Hermione fell upon it like a demon. Wordlessly, Croaker sat opposite her, his wand between them on the table, and watched her eat. At one point, he got up to throw another log on the roaring fire and brush some cinders back into the grate. He waited until she had eaten all she could before speaking.

'You didn't bring the book like I asked. That was incredibly rude.'

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to take him. In spite of what he'd done, it was difficult to think of him as dangerous with such a peevish tone.

'Why do you want this book so much?' Hermione asked.

Croaker clucked his tongue, anger flaring in his cold blue eyes. 'That hardly concerns you, Miss Granger.'

'Who am I going to tell?' Hermione said. 'I'm guessing we're pretty far away from anywhere.'

'I have no time for chatter,' Croaker said, his fingertips brushing the handle of his wand. Clearly he was thinking of using it. Hermione held her breath and put her hands on her lap, trying to look subdued.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'll help you. I'll give you the book, I promise. I'll do anything to make sure Regan's safe.' She risked a glance up at him; he was looking at her with great suspicion.

'Where is it? I take it that it's no longer in the possession of Mr Malfoy or the Ministry would have flushed it out by now.'

'We hid it,' Hermione said.

'Where?'

Hermione hesitated.

Croaker let out a great sigh of exasperation, stood up and marched out of the room. He came back moments later, dragging Regan by the hair.

'Get off her!' Hermione shrieked, standing up quickly, but Croaker simply shoved Regan into Hermione's arms.

'Regan, are you ok?' Hermione asked frantically, pushing her cousin's hair away to see her face.

'Mione,' Regan managed to mumble. Her face was covered with cold sweat and her pupils were huge.

'What's wrong with her?' Hermione demanded.

'A slow-acting poison,' Croaker said. 'She has about three hours, I would say. Then again, it might work faster on Muggles. Their physiology is slightly different. Now,' he said with exaggerated patience. 'Where is the book?'

'In the Peak District,' Hermione said. 'I'll show you!'

'You'll stay here,' Croaker said. 'Tell me where it is and I'll get it myself. And try and make the directions as clear as possible if you want me to get back in time to give your cousin the antidote.'

Hermione told him exactly where to find it and Croaker strode out of cottage. As soon as he was gone, Hermione grabbed a cool cloth from the sink and started to dab the sweat of Regan's brow.

'It'll be ok, he'll be back in plenty of time,' Hermione told Regan. Her voice was shaking, belying her words, but Regan seemed too feverish to tell.

'My stomach hurts,' Regan moaned.

'It's ok,' Hermione lied. 'Wait here a second.' She tried to make Regan comfortable on the chair and went to look around outside.

Just as she had feared, they were in the middle of nowhere with no one to call for help. They were near the top of a hill with nothing but white open fields and the occasional copse of trees below; judging by the lack of footsteps in the three-foot blanket of snow, Croaker had either disapparated or flown. If she squinted, she thought she could make out a hamlet towards the bottom of the hill but it would take hours to walk there and Regan was in no fit state to be moved.

Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around herself against the bitter wind and trudged around the side of the house. She came across an unlocked broomshed. The snow around it was disturbed and there was no broom inside, but Hermione made a note to herself that there was probably usually one broom in there.

She hurried back inside to where Regan had almost fallen off her chair.

'Here, come closer to the fire,' Hermione said as she felt Regan shivering violently in her arms, although she wasn't entirely sure if it was the right thing to do. With some difficulty, she pulled the chair and half-carried Regan towards to fireplace.

'I'm so sorry about all of this,' Hermione said sadly to her, feeling unbearably helpless. 'I'll get us out of here as soon as he cures you, I promise.' She wondered why she kept making these promises she couldn't keep. She hadn't been able to help Draco and now she couldn't help Regan.

After an hour or so, Regan fell into a deep sleep. Hermione kept checking her pulse every couple of minutes and panicking as it became weaker and weaker. Regan's lips had turned blue before Croaker came back, her breaths rasping and painful.

The front door swung open, letting in a gust of frigid wind, and Croaker pulled off his travelling coat, shaking the snow loose before setting it to dry in front of the fire. He was cradling the Grimoire in his arms like it was his firstborn son.

'The antidote!" Hermione reminded him, her voice unnaturally shrill.

'Oh!' Croaker said in surprise. He seemed to have forgotten she was there. He looked over at Regan's dying body with a detached interest and then shrugged. From an inner pocket in his robes he pulled out a small vial of iridescent bluish liquid and handed it over.

As soon as Hermione poured the antidote down Regan's throat, Regan started to cough and colour flooded into her cheeks. Hermione burst into tears and hugged Regan tightly around the neck.

'If you continue with that god-awful racket, I'll have you locked up again!' Croaker snapped, putting his fingers to his temples.

Hermione gulped back her sobs.

'Will you – will you let us go now?' Hermione asked tentatively.

'No, no, I couldn't do that,' Croaker said. He sat down in an armchair in the corner, his fingers trailing lightly down the spine of the Grimoire – he kept casting it furtive, greedy glances. 'You know too much.'

Regan was fully awake now, clutching Hermione's hand and eyeing Croaker with terror. 'What are you going to do with us?' she asked.

Croaker tilted his head to one side pensively. 'You'll stay here for now. I may find some use for you yet.'