Hermione strode to Carrow's detention, not feeling anything but anger towards him. She didn't even feel fear, though, she probably should have. However, she was so fiendishly tired that she was incapable of complex emotions. She wasn't even affected by the stormy discussions of the morning Dark Arts lesson, which were heard in every corner of the school. As soon as Hermione had managed to leave Madam Pomfrey's, a terrified Professor McGonagall led the girl into her office and took a long time to regale her best student with strawberry tea and the omnipresent chocolate frogs while looking anxiously at the unnaturally calm Miss Granger. Then the Head of Gryffindor had advised her to go and lie down, and promised to discuss with Carrow his pedagogical methods. Hermione had tried her best to talk her out of it – 'cause what's the point? Of course, even McGonagall couldn't abolish another detention, which the outstanding student had received right in the first lesson of the Dark Arts.

Hermione hadn't gone to her bedroom – there was no time. Still having an essay to write for tomorrow's Potions, she endeavoured to at least briefly rough it out before going to Carrow's. She hadn't gone to dinner either so Harry and Ron brought some food to her in the common room. Slughorn wasn't a monster, but for Hermione it became a matter of principle – since she was back at Hogwarts, she wouldn't let the new orders break her and make her quit her studies. Ron and Harry had been exchanging glances with their accustomed amazement. Both of them had volunteered to accompany her to the class when the time came to go to Carrow, but on the stairs Hermione expressed a desire to go further alone – in case that vengeful bastard fancied torturing the boys along with her, for their sympathy to the victim. Her friends had promised not to go to bed until she returned and Hermione joked gloomily to prepare some bandages.

The second-floor was almost empty, since the lessons were over. Only three twelve-year-old girls were hiding in a window niche near the Dark Arts classroom. Probably they were also waiting for someone.

With a strong anticipation of something bad coming, Hermione reached her hand for the doorknob, but the door suddenly flew open by itself as a Ravenclawian student jumped out into the corridor, bumping into her. Hermione vaguely recognised her – it was the second-year Mary Jane Bishop, Muggle-born, her fellow sufferer in the last two duties in Hogwarts' laundry. Recognition was vague only because the girl covered her face with her hands, as if very upset, except Hermione thought she saw blood, not tears, oozing through Mary Jane's fingers. At first Hermione was dumbfounded and lost her power of speech for a second, then she turned to run after Mary Jane, who had already been picked up by her friends springing out from the niche. But Professor Carrow, appearing on the threshold of the classroom, squeezed the girl's shoulder with an iron grip.

"Let's go, Mudblood, you're already late," he said harshly.

Hermione tried to object, her eyes were entirely fixed on the girls hastily walking their companion to the stairs. They were crying, extremely frightened and very quiet, trying to leave the scary place as quickly as possible. Hermione was literally pushed into the classroom. She looked around the empty auditorium and sat down at the nearest desk, putting her school bag beside her. In the bag was her unfinished essay. If she were given some kind of long, but not very hard task, she could try to finish her homework at the same time. However, this idea was instantly worth forgetting as there was no sign of a prepared activity. Instead there was a man in grey, crumpled robes. He was standing by a window with his back to the entrance. When he turned on the sound of the shutting door, Hermione felt a chill down her spine. It was Fenrir Greyback, the crazy werewolf of Voldemort. Realising that she was in very serious trouble, the girl cautiously rose from behind the desk. Only now she noticed a few brown spots on her sweater: Mary Jane had definitely been bleeding.

"Hermione, our guest is in a hurry, so let's just cut to the chase," Professor Carrow began. "You'll take a potion, we'll evaluate its effect, and you can be free."

Hermione's eyes quickly darted from the teacher's face to the dangerous smirk of the werewolf and back. A potion? Evaluate its effect?

"And what kind of potion is it, Professor?" she asked as calmly as possible, figuring out whether she could make it to the door with a single leap. No, Carrow seemed to have locked it.

"That's none of your business," Amycus told her. "Petrificus –"

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione prudently jumped aside, snatching out her magic wand.

Carrow was disarmed, but Greyback instantly tensed and sprung from the window to the door with one quick non-human movement. Hermione, however, was no longer by the door. Feeling like she was in a nightmare, the girl dashed to the back wall, leaping over the desks.

"Impedimenta!"

She evaded it again.

"Expelliarmus!"

The werewolf dodged her spell too. But then, as Hermione climbed up onto a windowsill, the lights went out.

Bad. Unlike her, werewolves could see in the dark. All right, even if he bit her… Well, since there wasn't a full moon, it would be just a bite.

"Lumos!" trembling all over, the girl scanned the auditorium with the steady glow of her wand.

Something was stirring among the desks, but where? The room was too big for her to illuminate fully. The werewolf and the dark wizard were definitely able to see her much, much better.

Maybe she could jump out of the window? No, it was too high up. So, she must make her way to the door. Although with two Death Eaters in the classroom, it was unlikely she would be able to reach it…

"Alohomora!" her spell pierced the darkness in the direction where the door was approximately located. Hermione really hoped she had made a direct hit. Simultaneously turning off her wand, she bounded to the floor and rushed diagonally to the exit, skirting the tables by memory. Strange – she overcame more than half the distance when her school robes caught in a chair. The chair fell over, drastically reducing Hermione's speed, and that, actually, saved her life. A gentle-green Avada Kedavra slid right in front of her face in a greedy desire to find a victim and discontentedly shattered against the wall. The voice belonged to Greyback.

"Incarcerous!" and that's Carrow, finally finding his wand in the bright flash of Avada.

Well, that's that. Hermione sank to the floor, hitting her knee painfully against the fallen chair. Thin cords bound her as tight as they could. If they don't kill her right away, what's next? Force-feed her with some sort of potion? Drag her to the Dark Lord? Would they ask about Harry or just torture her? Hermione would have cried if she hadn't been so terrified. For now she could only lie, blinking frantically. She'd better use Occlumency to be on the safe side. Who knew what these Death Eaters were capable of? In anticipation of a difficult graduation year, she had spent the summer holidays trying to link Potter's fragmentary stories with specialised literature and learn at least something in this regard. Now there would be an opportunity to test her knowledge.

Calm down and don't worry, everything has already happened. Now you should concentrate and continue to defend yourself with the few ways that are still open to you...

The candles burst back into flame, illuminating the gruesome pictures on the walls, showing all kinds of suffering caused by dark magic. Furious, aglow with battle, the wizards approached the girl.

"Cruc –" but the werewolf, oddly enough, stopped the professor's hand.

"Come to the point, Amycus," he said hoarsely, breathing like a dog. "My mark is burning, the Lord is calling me, and we have nothing ready yet. You've been instructed to check the potion, so check it, quickly."

Carrow nodded and took from the teacher's table a small dark glass bottle. The usual school phial – in such were stored all the extracts in the potions laboratory. The wide palms of the werewolf grabbed Hermione's head, tilting it back sharply. It was impossible to break free, but Hermione clenched her teeth as tightly as possible. What was this potion? What if it made her tell the truth or open her mind? Amycus uncorked the tight-fitting stopper and a thick, brackish liquid flowed through her teeth. Hermione tried to read at least the inscription on the phial – two little squiggles, the handwriting was absolutely illegible, it was unclear what kind of potion she was given.

"Enough," decided Greyback. "The last time we gave too much. If it goes up to her face, she won't be able to speak. The Lord doesn't need that."

And Carrow carefully, very carefully, closed the tiny bottle.

Hermione lay, sensing the wild beating of her pulse throughout her body. Her wand was right under her. If she managed to roll aside only just a little bit, she could pick it up. But not right now, when they get slightly distracted. Though, the Death Eaters were clearly not going to be distracted anytime soon – they looked at her tensely, without taking their eyes off her, and waited for the potion to work. Greyback was breathing foully and heavily, licking his lips dangerously. From nervousness perspiration stood on Carrow's forehead, he hastily wiped his face, but still didn't avert his gaze from the student. He waited for the effect. As did Hermione. The effect was soon apparent, and Hermione screamed.

"A decent one," Greyback nodded approvingly, taking the phial from Carrow, who sighed with great relief. Apparently, this was the end of his part of the assignment.

"Told you everything was fine, it's all about the dose," he explained gruffly as Fenrir straightened his robes, preparing for disapparition. "It begins with the hands, so you can see immediately what it's doing to you…"

"To me?" the werewolf shuddered with repulsion.

"To someone," Amycus corrected himself. "And then you need to add a little bit, depending on the circumstances."

Greyback nodded again.

"It looks creepy. I liked Cruciatus more," he said, looking down at Hermione. "Merlin's beard, begins with the hands. Clever!"

"Yes, he's quite a genius!" Carrow exhaled rather with horror than with admiration. "There will be an antidote soon, if it's necessary…"

Fenrir gave a wry smile:

"To the Lord? I don't think so. He never reverses his decisions."

"But add only bit by bit, as we've done today!" Amycus repeated hurriedly. The question of the experiment seemed to worry him very much.

"The Lord will sort it out," Greyback told him and disapparated.

All this time Hermione, lying on the floor, continued to scream. In the end more from fear than from pain. The sharp, inch-long spikes, breaking out from under her skin, grew so densely that there was hardly any skin left. At first on her palms, then on her forearms, but, fortunately, that was as far as they went. The torture stopped and the pain didn't get any more severe. But even that was bad enough. What was this abomination?! And what did Carrow mean they had no antidote for it?! At all?! And what should she do then?! Amycus had already lost interest in her and was heading to the door. Her wand was so close to her, but Hermione couldn't pick it up. Not with the spikes or her wand would be ruined. Maybe she could do it with her teeth?

On the threshold Professor Carrow, as if remembering something, silently turned around and waved his hand lazily, cutting the magical bonds on Hermione. Then the door shut behind him, leaving Hermione alone.