(A.N. – Thank you for your interest! Would have updated sooner but exams have been killing me more than I thought, haha. They're over now though, woo! A whole vacation to write!)
Nightfall came much faster than Hermione had expected, although it didn't take long for the men to leave their shop even before the evening had come. Or man, she thought to herself, having taken a brief cat nap between the time she'd been thrown out of the store and the time she was now sitting here, looking out over it and waiting. They both would have left, however, no one dared stay in Knockturn Alley over night, no one. Not even the crazy ones.
So what was she doing here? Well, one couldn't expect a burly old man and his grandson/strong arm to keep Hermione Jane Granger from what she wanted, could they?
No, of course not. She'd been stocked out here longer than the number of split ends on her bushy hair and, damn it, she was determined. So when the clock finally struck 10pm, Hermione felt safe going out for a second shot at getting her books.
She crept silently out of the little alley she'd been residing in for more than a few hours, disguised in her makeshift-veil and glasses as a know-nothing, lounging in the stoop of a vacant building's backdoor where she could just faintly see the door of the shop she was stalking out. The old man had left hours ago, around 5 o'clock. That was about the time she fell asleep however, only a little cat nap, and had awoken to find the sun setting over Knockturn Alley and the last of its frightening merchants shuffling out with boxes and suitcases concealed under their cloaks.
Hermione poked her head around the worn stone wall of her alley, seeing no one coming in either direction, just the faint lights illuminating the damp cobbles. No lights were on save for these street lights and no lights from the apartments overhead were illuminated. It would appear that Knockturn Alley itself had packed up and left, leaving only this movie-set behind, orange and antique.
"This'll be easier than I thought..." she murmured to herself, stepping out into the street normally, not trying to skirt around street signs or posts or anything. Honestly, she was the only one here in this Ghost town, it was silly.
She crept into the niche between the bookstore and another adjacent store and, stealing one last glance behind her to make sure no one was watching, perhaps that strange strong-arm from earlier, Hermione approached the back door.
"Well, First things first… Alohomora." She whispered, gesturing with the skill of a highly-educated witch to the door knob. Honestly, Hermione didn't expect anything to happen, and she was prepared for it with a whole slew of other unlocking charms and techniques that would make even the most experienced hit wizard's head spin.
Surprisingly enough, a soft click met Hermione's spell, and the door popped over very gently, as if it were welcome her inside. She just stood there for a moment, shell shocked… had Alohomora really worked on this door? Really? Were they that foolish? Would an owner of a dark arts shop really be so foolish as to use such a weak locking charm that even alohomora would break through…? Well, Hermione thought to herself, furrowing her brown in the faint glow of streetlights, they probably weren't that bright. They were on the side of the Dark Arts… most people on this alley were. It was possible, it was possible. Oh, rats, enough thinking about it, just get the book and get out before your parents start freaking out.
Nodding to herself, Hermione took her own advice and pushed the door open just a bit more, slipping her lithe form inside and shutting it once again with a very faint click.
"Lumos." She whispered, wand held before her defensively. A thin, discreet beam of light seeped out of her wand as if sensing her apprehension, illuminating the dusty objects around her. Hermione was in the backroom of the shop where all of the books appeared to be stored. She briefly drew her wand over the things around her, the faint light creating shadows of all shapes and sizes on the walls. At first, some resembled humans, causing her teenage heart to flutter within her chest, sensing fear. But she was determined… this was not the time to wimp out, not after all of this. It was all or nothing, she thought to reassure herself, stepping forth further into the room, all or nothing.
"Okay… where is it… Not back here, I wouldn't expect… no, storage… Okay…" Hermione sighed a great calming sigh to ease her nerves. Yes, she'd gotten into some trouble into her day, but she'd always done it with a noble purpose in mind and a whole gang of the willing. Tonight, well, she had a noble purpose, but she was alone. And in violation of the law.
"History… Anthropology…Genealogy… Okay…" Hermione approached the shelves in the front of the store, wincing as she found it hard to read the titles of the books under the faint light. She increased her beam, but as she went down the line… she did not see the title she was looking for. 'Siempre Noir,' Hermione repeated to herself, growing antsy as she couldn't find it, 'Siempre Noir…' that Librarian had lied to her. They had, she knew it. How horrible, to come all this way out here and still not have what she needed, to break in and be in violation of so many rules…
"Looking for this?" A silky voice at her ear made Hermione jump at least two feet into the air and scream wildly, flinging herself around and flailing her wand.
"Expelliarmus!" She cried instinctively, the most useful spell she had to her defense without knowing who it was.
"Oof!" A man grunted in the dark as Hermione's wand went black with the spell, sending a few books falling to the ground from the sounds of it. He must have hit a bookcase, she thought, and aimed her wand once again, confused beyond reason.
"Taran… OW!" Had he said anything? Who was there? Whoever it was, was certainly powerful as Hermione didn't even have time to fire off a second spell before his own expelliarmus hit her square in the chest, firing her off her feet and into the shelf behind her, her wand soaring away and out of her fingers many feet away where she could hear it tap on the floor as it fell. The force of it though, it was like nothing she had felt before. Never, no student or death eater, no one had been THAT strong…
"Shameful…" the silky voice repeated as Hermione caught her breath on the floor. A figure came into the few orangey slivers of light streaking across the ceiling. She tried to scream, but the man murmured quietus, his wand in one hand and a book, 'Siemper Noir,' in the other. Hermione recognized him immediately as the strong-arm man in the chair by the window from earlier, the one who had thrown her out. Damn, and she thought they were gone…
She tried to kick him, tried to get up, but the man was quick to grab her around the shoulders, dropping the book with a loud THUMP and holding Hermione away. "No!" He scolded like she were a child, mockery dripping from every pointed feature of his dark, scarred face. "No! Silly girl… breaking in here in the night? Trying to STEAL? I know who you are… Little Miss Hermione Granger. My, you must know what the papers say about you, don't you? And now, oh no, stealing from a respectable businessman… On a downward -- OW!"
It was the man's turn to scream out now as Hermione utilized the only power in the female arsenal that she'd not yet reached out for – she kicked him in his nether regions. And, from the sound of his yelp, it must have hurt.
"Bastard!" Hermione cried as he was distracted and his spell fell short. She kicked him as he was down, crouched on the ground, and swiped her wand and the book, bolting for the door as fast as her legs could carry her, breathing too heavily to bother taking anything else. "And tell your master I've got what I –"
A triumphant yell quickly turned into a short, high-pitched scream as a bolt of firm, concentrated orange light erupted from the man's wand where he was still tucked down on the ground, hitting Hermione squarely in the back. "Tell him what?" The dark, scarred man laughed derisively, getting up gingerly onto his feet. "Aw, the little girl doesn't have much to say any more, does she…?" He smirked to himself, approaching Hermione's stupefied body where it lay, half inside the shop and half out. The man laughed again, a horrible, dark laugh, turning her over with his foot.
The book and her wand fell out of their respective hands, lying alongside her pitifully in the dust. Hermione herself was wearing a face of pure shock and fright, her almond brown eyes opened wide in terror. She must have known this wasn't good. The man chuckled again, levitating her body without a single word; a master of wandless magic. "Come on, beautiful… Someone's going to be happy to see you."
Whether it was months, hours, days, however long Hermione had been asleep, when she awoke she felt as if she'd been bombarded with thousands of stones, her body aching from every stretch of her skin. It felt as if she'd been on an all-day ski run with her family, a lovely vacation treat in the Alps. "Mum…" She murmured, stretching her arms over her head, fingers brushing a cold, damp floor. "Mum… it's so cold, turn up the heat, will you? Oh, Merlin, it's cold…"
Hermione sighed, turning over and wrapping her arms around herself, feeling her cheek pressed to a wet, hard floor. "Oh, geez…" She groaned, curling her knees in towards herself and giving another deeper, regretful sigh, having no recollection of the events before this. Hermione opened her eyes in one soft flutter, at first seeing nothing but black in front of her eyes and careful whisps of white light across the ceiling. Across pipes, boards, and muggle wiring… but there were no pipes, boards, or muggle wiring in her bedroom.
She cried out suddenly, sitting straight up as if someone had slapped her across the face. "Mum!" Hermione screamed, feeling like she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn't battle her way out of. "Mum!" She repeated, blinking her eyes and staring around her, seeing the same picture although much clearer now. "Mum! Harry! Ron! …Dad!"
It wasn't just wires and boards, no, but a basement, a full-blown basement with ducts running along the floor into drains, dirt and mold on the walls, no windows but tiny vents near the floorboards. "Oh my god… Oh my god…" Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes and voice as she pulled herself up onto her knees like a child, pressing her hands to the cold, muddy floor but not caring, not having any idea but how to escape, how to get out of here. The shop all came rushing back into her mind, everything. The man, the book… Oh, god the millions of places she could be. In a cell, being tortured, dumped, kidnapped… oh my god… but the book. That bastard, he took the book… she was dead, and she had nothing.
"This… this is not good. Oh, lord, Oh, Merlin, Oh, why did I go and do that… no one knows where I am…" Hermione sobbed faintly, trying to hold the matter in. She didn't want to be a baby, she knew they were listening… maybe. Someone was. They had to be. Or maybe they left her to die, like those war films her Dad watched. Maybe this was where she would die, alone and in the dark… Damn, and she always thought she'd die something noble too.
"Ron… Tonks… Harry…" Hermione cried softly, as if willing someone to hear her. Anywhere. Someone to think of her, come to her rescue. She crawled forth helplessly, thinking maybe the walls would end. She could not fully see them although her eyes were adjusting slowly, but perhaps there would be a tunnel.. a way out… anything.
"Oh!" She cried out once again, fainter and more surprised, as her hand treaded on hair lying on the floor. Hermione quickly backtracked and, in the light, could see that it was not just hair, but a body. It, however, was bound to the floor with what seemed like ropes. An entire human body, long and skinny with a head of messy, unkempt black hair.
"Oh, no, Oh, no…" Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide in what little light was available to them. "Ha… Harry?" She whispered dangerously, afraid of whether he would respond or not. He didn't, and Hermione repeated it again, louder. "Harry? Harry Potter? Oh my god… Oh, no…" His face, his face was too shadowed over for her to be sure, but there was something red glistening in the moonlight, something red and metallic at his hairline. Hermione reached her fingers out to touch it apprehensively, feeling the warm, thick substance having spread far from that little spot, snaking itself down their forehead on a course with gravity. Blood.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried out, throwing herself over his chest in a dramatic show of emotions. "I'm sorry…" she sobbed into his chest, feeling her eyes give way to tears on his robes, black and adorned with buttons down the front. "I'm sorry… I should have known… they came after you, didn't they? Or were you here… but I never knew… Oh, Harry… I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Hermione sobbed into his clothes, one of her best friend's blood on her fingers and him lying beneath her, unresponsive, in this cold, dark basement. Who knew where they were, who knew… he could be dead, she could be dead, or waiting, or waiting… Oh, Gods… Hermione's free hand that wasn't grasping the robes followed his clothes to his face. A well-chiseled face that gave way to a greasy, hooked nose… But before she could formulate any thought process as to why this was wrong, before she could see through her dramatics to realize something was amiss, a strong, spidery hand grabbed Hermione's wrist where it sat on his face.
"I'm not Harry." A strong, silky and familiar voice commanded her firmly, sounding both irritated and downright inconvenienced all at the same time even as they remained underneath Hermione's body and her dramatics. She gasped and froze, that voice more than a little bit familiar to her over the years… the voice that had taken points from Gryffindor every day of the year for six years, the voice that had taught potions and defense against the dark arts and still hated every child with equal contempt, the voice that had killed Professor Dumbledore.
Snape.