She definitely had it with her that night –perhaps in her coat pocket?-, though she doubted that they would leave her…

It would seem she had overestimated the intelligence of her captor. Or captors.

'One thing at a time, Hermione,' she thought, taking a deep breath. 'Just one thing at a time.' No good could come from worrying.

Keeping on tip-toes, Hermione edged toward the opposite corner of the room where a familiar bundle lay, tossed haphazardly on the ground. A faint glimmer of hope sparked in her eyes as she bent down. Yep- those were hers; her pants, her shirt, and her coat. She felt a wave of nausea at the thought of a stranger undressing her, but it passed quickly as she withdrew a wooden rod from the pile of clothes.

Thank Merlin.

She debated whether or not to change into her own clothes, but opted against it. Her captor could walk in at any moment, and she needed to be ready. First find a way out. She could always buy new clothes later.

Still, she grabbed her coat. You never know when it could come in handy.

Hermione draped the brown trench over her shoulders, grasping her wand in sweaty palms. Nerve-wracking was the best description. She had no idea of what awaited her outside this door, but it was worth a shot.

"Alohomora," she whispered, pointing her wand at the locked door. There was no click; no hint of any change.

Slowly, Hermione reached for the doorknob, a brown curl falling from behind her ear as she did so. She didn't even notice. With two hands, she turned the doorknob with ease, and breathed a satisfied –but still quiet- sigh. Good. She was out.

Quickly, she poked her head out of the doorframe, glancing anxiously from side to side. The corridor was dark and as finely decorated as her room. Dark marble lined the ground, scrubbed to a perfect shine. Portraits and tapestries adorned the walls, interrupted by the occasional unlit torch. The ceilings were high, with an almost gothic design. Still, the corridor was empty- that was the important thing.

With that in mind, Hermione stepped cautiously into the corridor, shutting the door quietly behind her. No use tipping anyone off to her escape. She stopped for a moment to adjust her coat before stepping barefoot down the corridor. Her wand felt slimy in her hands, by fault of her nervous sweating. It wasn't the first time she'd been in imminent danger, but it was her first time facing said danger alone.

Enveloped in the darkness of the corridor, it was hard to make out much around her, though she kept a wary eye out for any sign of movement. She stayed close to the wall, and low so as not to wake any portraits. This was unfamiliar territory, and there was no saying whose side the portraits were on. Unfortunately for her, if there were any windows, they had already been covered; Hermione had no idea what time it was.

Amid the eerie stillness, and with no company but her own fear, the young woman quietly approached the corner. She pressed her wand into her chest, mentally preparing herself for battle, as she stole a quick glance into the intersecting corridor. She would have to choose; left or right.

"And where do you think you're going?"

A voice called from behind her, strong and equally cold. Wait…didn't she know that voice?

She spun around quickly, pointing her wand shakily before her.

"Expelliarmus," the man said, and Hermione felt her wand rocketing from her hands, falling with a sharp clap to the floor.

It was still dark, and she squinted, trying with great fervor to make out the figure before her. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Whoever he was, she bloody well knew that she didn't like him. What with the kidnapping and all.

There was another utterance of words, but before she could comprehend the sounds, she fell to the ground. The last thing she saw before blacking out for the second time was a malicious glint of grey.

(The next chapter will be from another's point of view, though I'm sure you can guess by now who that 'someone' is.)