She would have screamed. She wanted to scream. But the Death Eater had his hand clamped firmly over her mouth.
When he turned her around, she did the only thing that she could think of. She kicked upwards, as hard as she could.
And missed as he spun her to the side and slammed her against the wall.
Christabelle was still screaming.
"So, Granger," the man said, holding her so that she could barely breath, "how do you like feeling helpless?"
Hermione was turned away from him, fighting for breath, but she knew the voice. It was different than it had been. Deeper, harsher…changed. And it scared her far more than it had ever done before.
Malfoy?
She struggled harder than before, stretching one of her hands down to where her wand rested in her pocket. The tip of her finger touched it. Just a little more and she would have her wand and could possibly free herself…
"Don't even think about it, Granger." His hand closed around her wrist, jerking her arm around behind her. Hermione winced in pain as her arm bent the wrong way.
"Why don't you just stun her, Draco?" came another very familiar voice. Smooth, arrogant, and chilling. But she couldn't place the voice.
"That would only spoil the fun," said Malfoy. "And don't try to get to your wand again, Mudblood." He held her tightly so that she couldn't move, reached down with his free hand and took her wand, tossing it to somebody that she couldn't see.
"Then why not bind her hands? Wouldn't that be far easier?"
She felt him nod, heard him whisper something, and then felt coarse rope twist itself around her wrists, burning her skin as it did so. She closed her eyes, trying to keep from making any sound, trying to keep the sudden pain at bay.
"Oh my, I think you've hurt her, Draco," came another, incredibly mocking voice. "We need to go. The Dark Lord will not be pleased if we tarry too long."
Malfoy picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She kicked, trying to hurt him in anyway possible.
"Didn't I tell you not to try to harm me, Granger?" he asked, almost lazily. "Must not have. Locomoter Mortis."
Hermione felt every muscle in her legs seize up and she found that she could not move them. Then, realizing that her mouth was unobstructed, she began to scream.
From where she hung she could see the hem of a dark robe, the flash of leather boots. "Can't you shut her up?" came a low growl, almost bestial.
"Thought you liked screams, Greyback."
She tensed at the name. Fenrir Greyback. The one who hurt Bill and Lupin and countless others. He was there, right behind Malfoy. Right where she could see him.
"Besides," continued Malfoy, "her screams will most likely draw pretty boy Potter and his Weasel sidekick."
No, she thought furiously. You won't use me to get to them! I won't scream anymore. Harry, Ron, don't come! If there is any chance that you can hear me…don't come! She clamped her jaw shut, silencing herself. And then she twisted her hands violently, as though trying to free them from the binding. She heard the Death Eaters laugh in their harsh way as they saw that, thinking exactly what she wanted them to think. But really…
She was trying to touch the bracelet. With enough effort, by twisting her hand so that the muscles cramped and pain shot up her arm, she was able to touch it. Then she performed a non-verbal spell and the metal heated until it was almost unbearable.
Hermione relaxed. Now they wouldn't come. They would get away. They would be safe.
She remembered, before they had left, how she had thought about the fact that they could very well run into trouble on their journey. How this very thing could happen. How Voldemort could try to use one of them to trap Harry.
And so, using the charm that she had used on the fake galleons in their fifth year, she had spelled several objects. Glasses, a watch, the bracelet. Whenever one of them was in danger, she had told them, say the incantation to turn it cold as ice. That would mean that you needed help desperately. If it turned hot…well, then it meant that coming back for that person was certain death.
Please, remember what I said, she thought, her eyes still closed. Please, please don't come for me.
"What should we do with her?"
For a moment Hermione thought that they were talking about her.
"Leave her," Malfoy said, in the new, harsh voice of his. "She is worthless to us."
"Leave her? A muggle? Can't we just kill her?"
Christabelle. They were talking about Christabelle.
Malfoy shifted Hermione on his shoulder. "What do you think we should do, Mudblood? Kill her?"
She heard Christabelle's terrified scream.
"No! Don't! I swear, if you kill her—"
"You'll what, filthy little Mudblood?" the Death Eater with the smooth voice asked. "You'll kill us?"
She opened her eyes in time to see Fenrir move behind her, towards the direction that Christabelle's screams were still coming from. "I could just…just let me—"
"Fenrir. Look at the Mudblood."
Hermione had been struggling, trying to get loose. Trying to get to Christabelle.
"The Mudblood obviously doesn't want to see the muggle hurt. Could be very useful to us."
It was Malfoy's voice and it chilled her to the bone. No, they have to let her go…
Christabelle's screams cut off abruptly and Hermione could not tell if she had simply been silenced or if she were dead. But with her legs still frozen there was no way that she could move.
"Take her with us, then," said Fenrir, his voice very low, very dangerous. "But let me just—"
"If you do that, she will be worthless to us, Greyback," said the smooth voice. "Ah, look. The Mudblood's trying to get away again. Couldn't you just stun her, Draco?"
"Are you bastards ready to move out yet?" came a new voice. A woman's voice. "I've searched the house. Nothing here. No Potter. But I see that you got the Mudblood."
She knew that voice. Knew that voice and hated that woman. Not as much as Harry did…
She screamed something. Hermione wasn't even sure what it was. Being around that woman again, hearing Bella Lestrange's voice, knowing that if she just had her wand she could blast that woman to bits…
"Silencio," the murderer said in an almost lazy voice. "Honestly, boy, can't you keep a simple Mudblood quiet?" Hermione tried to speak but it was as though someone had stuffed cotton into her mouth, cutting off all sound. It was a terrifying feeling.
"Time to go," called out the smooth voiced man. "Look, the Dark Lord said to get the bitch and get back to him. We've wasted enough time. I've got the brat. Let's go."
There were a few small popping sounds and then Hermione herself felt as though she were being squeezed very tightly though an incredibly small space. Side-along apparition, she thought as they erupted back into reality.
As she caught her breath she realized that they were outside; the absence of her cloak left her bare to the elements and she was instantly drenched in freezing rain. Her clothes became soaked through, adhering to her skin. Her hair became waterlogged, hanging in dripping tendrils, falling over her face. The cold water splattered her wrists, cooling the rope-burned skin. That was the only thing good about the rain.
She could only see the spin of green and brown as they Death Eaters hurried along. Her stomach lurched and she struggled with a wave of pain and nausea. Jaw clenched, she fought to keep the bile down.
They were on a path of some sort; she could tell that from her position. The rain had long ago turned the dirt to mud and she could see that it was splashing up onto the hem of Malfoy's robes with every step he took. And occasionally into her face, into her eyes, causing them to smart.
Christabelle was still silent and Hermione craned her neck, trying to see where the girl was. There. They had stupefied her, by the looks of it, her body limp in the arms of one of the taller Death Eaters. Not Bella; that woman was walking to the side, her wand held at the ready. The white mask hid her features but from the way that the rain had plastered her robes to her body there was no doubt that it was she. The only women of the four who had captured her.
Was it Fenrir who held Christabelle? Hermione wasn't sure and she hoped that it wasn't. Christabelle…if anything happened to the child, Hermione wasn't sure if she could live with herself.
Why hadn't she been able to get her wand out fast enough? Why hadn't she been able to sense that there was someone else in the house? Harry and Ron, why had she agreed to stay behind, alone. Why had she assured them that she would be fine?
And why hadn't she been able to apparate from Malfoy's grasp?
She knew the answer to that question. It was insanely simple. She had been so tired, so cold, so…so fatigued and worn out that her powers had been on the fritz. If she had tried to apparate she could have ended up in an incredibly bad situation.
Not that it would have been worse than this…
She could do it now, try to get away. But there was no way to get Christabelle out of this mess. And she wouldn't leave that little girl. There was no way that she would leave the child to be tortured and eventually killed by Voldemort.
Or not Voldemort. One of the others; the child wasn't important enough to be killed by Voldemort. She wondered for a moment, which would be worse: death, or the bite of Fenrir Greyback?
The rain was gone, she realized with a start. They were inside. Without warning, Malfoy dropped her to the ground. With her hands bound and her legs frozen, she fell on the hard ground—cement, by the feel of it—and bruised her body, knocking her head hard, scraping her arms and cheek. Blood dripped into her mouth, making her gag. She finally lost control of her stomach and vomited.
"Watch it, Mudblood. Don't get that filth on my robes."
She looked up and glared at the Death Eater that had spoken. Malfoy, and it had sounded much more like the boy that had taunted her through all of her Hogwarts than it had a moment before. She would have said something but her vocal chords were still unmoving.
She slumped backwards against a rough wall, taking the opportunity to look at her surroundings. They were in a relatively large room with a stone floor, cracks spreading out from the center as though something had been dropped onto it from a great height. There were two doors on opposing walls and one large window whose glass was covered in a layer of grim. A torch hung on the wall beside each of the doors, casting an orange glow over the room.
Christabelle was beside her, still unconscious. For that, Hermione was very glad. The poor child had been through too much.
"Malfoy. Zabini. Stay here and watch the Mudblood." Bella Lestrange had turned on her heel, heading out towards the left most door. She had removed her hood and her mask, her dark hair hanging down her back and swaying as she sauntered away. Fenrir followed after her, casting one last look towards them as he did so, walking with his back hunched slightly over in an almost feral way. Hermione shivered.
At least she knew who the last of the Death Eaters was. Blaise Zabini. It shocked her, actually, to find that two of the Death Eaters who had taken her were her same age. Why would Voldemort rely on two seventeen or eighteen year old boys?
That's why he sent Greyback and Lestrange, said a small voice in her head. She guessed that that was correct.
Malfoy removed his mask and tossed it onto the ground. It skid, making a sound like nails on a chalkboard, making Hermione wonder what it was made of. Metal? Maybe. Not wood, that was for sure. He pulled off his soaked robes, throwing them to the ground.
Without his features guarded by the mask and robes she could see how different he had become much more clearly. He was taller, for one thing, and had filled out so that he was no longer a tall, thin boy. His blond hair was longer, hanging in his face, plastered to his skull from the rain. He looked much more like his father.
But his face…she was shocked to see it. She had always known Malfoy as an arrogant boy with a narrower face that gave him a slightly rodent-like quality. Or ferret-like, but that wasn't the point…
The point was that now the rodent look was gone. He had grown up, that much was for sure. But replacing the rodent look was a grim mask. It almost looked as though he were ill; his cheeks were sunken and under his eyes were dark circles. His skin was incredibly pale, his eyes looking as though an artist had taken watercolor and washed it away, leaving the barest amount of color behind.
And in comparison to the dark Blaise Zabini, he looked like a ghost. Actually, his face looked quite a bit like how Harry had described Voldemort's.
Then she realized something that made her stomach begin to churn again. She realized that she would most likely be seeing Lord Voldemort very shortly. And this time there was no Harry that his attention would be focused on.
…
The house was cold, no lights shining from within.
Harry and Ron sat behind a fence, waiting. There had been no sound from the house for quite a while.
"Do you think…?"
Harry shook his head. "No, Ron. We can't go in. I swear, I want to. Ever since…" He took his glasses off, closing his eyes. "Well…we can't go in. If Hermione is still there than there are Death Eaters with her. She warned us; we can't just ignore that. And if she isn't there, than there is nothing we can do at this point."
Ron hung his head. "God damn it, Harry! I don't want to leave her! I can't just leave her in there! What if Voldemort gets his hands on her?" There was a note of panic in his voice. Harry sighed, fighting down his own panic.
"Then we have to find a way to get her back without getting caught ourselves. If we end up in their hands as well…than everyone is dead."
"Harry, what if they kill her?" asked Ron, looking up, his eyes wild. "What if—"
"Ron, calm down. I don't think they will kill her," said Harry, though he wasn't quite sure about that. "If they kill her then…then they have no edge over us. They will keep her alive…"
What neither one wanted to add or think about was what might happen to her now that she was in Voldemort's grip.
A/N2: Please review and tell me if you think I should up the rating on this story from 'T' to 'M'.
Anyway, hope that you enjoyed this, and look for another update this weekend.
Raven