Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to do really evil things with her characters, on occasion.
Chapter 3 - Kidnapping
The tenth anniversary of Voldemort's defeat was to be celebrated by a spectacular charity ball. The gala event was the talk of the wizarding world, as everyone speculated on who would attend and who would not. Invitations were sent out all over Britain, and entrance required a modest fee, with the proceeds to benefit the Orphans' Fund.
Hermione, engrossed as she was in her research, ignored pleas from her former friends, telling all of them that she was too close to finding an answer to the question no one else would ask. She turned them away every time they dropped in or called to talk to her about it, until finally the visits and the calls stopped. None of them wanted to hear about her research, her theories, but she knew she was getting close to figuring it all out.
The night of the ball found Hermione settled on the sofa in her flat's living room, with books and papers scattered around her, though most of them were within easy reach. The only pattern she'd been able to find in the attacks was that in each case the perpetrator was stopped before the Ministry was able to mobilize a team. Prior to leaving the Ministry, she'd made copies of the existing case files, and Harry had brought her others for a while after she'd finally resigned. That had stopped just over a year ago, and all she had on the most recent incidents was what little she had been able to glean from the papers, both wizarding and Muggle.
Her latest attempt to find an answer had yielded nothing, and she was just sitting back with a frustrated sigh when the lights went out. Instantly, she was on her feet, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. That was when she realized that the glow-stones she'd placed in strategic locations in the event of a power failure weren't working the way they were supposed to, either. A rush of adrenaline and anticipation coursed through her, and she crouched to make herself a smaller target, her lips moving soundlessly as she wove a quick magical shield around herself. After a moment's thought, she added a layer to prevent physical attacks, and a moment later there was a soft puff of air followed by a ripple of energy as something impacted that second shield.
A voice spoke, entirely too close for comfort, but she didn't understand the words; she whirled toward it and cast a silent Stupefy, the red light of her spell illuminating the room for the span of a few seconds. She picked out several other possible targets, her mind automatically comparing this information with the layout of the room's furniture, plotting an escape route. There was no time to think about who these people were or why they were in her flat, though she could guess easily enough that it had to do with what she'd been working on. A spell flashed from another part of the room, but it went too far left of her to even need to worry about it other than to cast another silent Stupefy in the direction of the caster.
More voices, all of them in different languages, and two more spells came at her. The shield charm brightened, then flickered and winked out of existence; before she had a chance to replace it, a woman's voice said, "Incarcerous." Immediately, Hermione found herself bound by the conjured ropes, unable to move so much as a finger, and she toppled to the carpeted floor.
Footsteps approached her, and Hermione peered upward, trying to see something, anything, in the slowly returning light from the glow-stones. She caught a flash of blonde hair, a pale face that looked familiar, and she gasped in surprise before letting out a whisper of, "I know you."
"No," came the reply, the woman's voice as cold as ice, "you really don't." The lights were going out again, and Hermione barely heard the Stupefy that finally knocked her out, she only knew that everything went dark.