"Sounds like the girl's waking up, Mr. Greyback."

"We'll get to her. She isn't going anywhere."

Hermione groaned and cracked open her eyes. What had happened? Last she could remember, she, Ron and Harry were talking beside their tent. Now she was flat on her back, stars twinkling in the sky above as a breeze rustled the nearby trees. She tried to sit up, but her muscles refused to move, each one locked in place. All she could manage was to roll her eyes toward the voices. A tall, lean man with long gray hair crouched over Harry on the other side of the campfire. A smaller man stood behind him with a scroll and quill, and both were clad in black robes—Death Eaters.

The crouching man touched his wand to Harry's chest and said "Sanguimundi" in a raspy, barking voice. That had to be Fenrir Greyback. Hermione had never heard a voice like his before; it didn't sound human. An orb appeared above his wand, glowed softly, and vanished. "Half-blood."

"Looked more like three-quarters to me," the man with the scroll said.

"How many times have we been over this, Scabior? Muggle grandparents make you half-blooded."

"But that doesn't make any sense, if both your parents are wizards."

"It's your cause, not mine."

"It's just the Mudbloods I don't like. Without them, the half-blood issue would take care of itself."

Greyback shifted to Ron's side and cast the same spell. This time the orb flashed so brightly that he put his hand in front of his face to shield his eyes, and even Hermione had to close hers against the light.

"Merlin's beard!" Scabior gasped. "I've never seen it do that before."

"You would if you cast it on Madam Lestrange or one of the Malfoys. That is one impressive pureblood." Greyback grasped Ron's collar and pulled him up, his whole body tilting like a board. Ron sleepily mumbled something like "I'm up, I'm up." "Oh yeah, that's a Weasley."

Scabior wrote something down on his scroll. "Most of them are blood traitors, aren't they?"

"For now. You watch, though. They may talk big, but no one gets that pure-blooded by living that way. In a few years, the rest of them will be on your side, no doubt about it."

Ron must have woken up enough to catch that statement, because he gave Greyback a glare hot enough to melt a cauldron. Greyback laughed and dropped him, and he groaned as his head hit the ground. "We'll call on Percy in the morning. He can tell us which of his brothers or cousins this is."

Greyback shifted to Hermione and touched the tip of his wand to her chest, again casting the spell. There was no orb this time. Instead, it sparked violently, and she cried out in pain through clamped lips before she could catch herself.

"Mudblood." Greyback's lips spread into a smile that made Hermione's blood run cold, the points of wolf-like teeth touching his lips. "That means I get to keep you."

Scabior made a note on his scroll, and then the clear motion of crossing it out. "You're not going to eat her right now, are you? We're not nearly done for the night, you know, and it makes such a mess."

Greyback rolled his eyes. "Since you asked so nicely, I'll save her for later."

Part of Hermione wanted to laugh. They didn't expect her to believe this, did they? That this man was going to eat her? How ridiculous! Then Greyback looked at her again, and that part of her curled up and slunk away. This was the werewolf who had mauled Bill Weasley's face beyond recognition, the one who had killed the Montgomerys' youngest son a year ago, and the look in his brown eyes removed any doubt. He was indeed serious.

Greyback conjured a set of manacles. "Go look through their things and see if there's anything worthwhile. I'll take care of them."

"Just… remember what you said. 'Cause you remember what happened last time, right? Merlin's beard, what a mess. Blood everywhere."

"I would think you'd be used to it by now." As Greyback leaned over her, Hermione narrowed her eyes, and he chuckled. "Pretending to be brave, are we, my dear? Suit yourself, if it makes you feel better, but don't think you're fooling me. Your heartbeat gives you away. I can see it through your veins." He put his hand on her throat, his rough callouses scraping her. His eyes glazed over, and he tightened his fingers, digging his claws through her skin. Blood oozed down her neck from ear to collarbone, and panic gripped her. She forced herself to control it. He hadn't pierced a vein; she'd be bleeding far worse if he had. He'd only broken the skin.

"Greyback, what were we just talking about!" Scabior shouted from the tent.

"It's just a taste." Greyback lifted his bloody fingers to his lips and licked one off, a look of ecstasy crossing his face. Ron lost it, struggling furiously against the spell that held him fast.

"Oh look, now you've got him going."

Greyback shrugged, licking off a second finger. "So? He's body-bound; he's not going anywhere."

"It's just like Madam Lestrange says: we can't take you anywhere." Hermione could hear Scabior ransacking their things. Greyback finished licking the blood off his fingers and put the manacles on her. He had just conjured a second set when Scabior shouted, "Hey, Mr. Greyback, look at this!" He came out of the tent holding the Sword of Gryffindor. "What do you think of this?"

"Let me see it."

Scabior held it out to him. Greyback took it by the hilt, twisted his hand to look at both sides, and let out a low whistle. "That looks worth a nice Knut. I'd like to get it under better light."

"It can't be real, can it?"

Greyback put his hand in the air beside the blade, took a deep breath, and tapped it with a fingertip, then jerked his hand away and shook it as though burnt. "Silver. That's goblin-made."

"Whoa. Why would some kids have something like that?"

"Excellent question." He looked at the name "Gryffindor" engraved just below the cross-guard, then set it down and stood. "Weasley. Mudblood," he muttered, pointing to Ron and Hermione in turn. With Scabior trailing behind, he walked over to Harry, crouched beside him, and pushed his hair away from his forehead and his telltale scar. "Jackpot. Hello, Mr. Potter. I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you."

Scabior tapped Greyback's shoulder. "Sir, Sir, do you know what this means? The higher ups have a reward up for him, 10,000 galleons. Ten thousand! Even splitting it, that's still—"

In a motion too fast to see, Greyback grabbed Scabior's arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees. "I can do the maths, Scabior. Now stop pounding on my shoulder."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Hermione expected Scabior's arm to break at any second, but just before it did, Greyback shoved him forward into the dirt. "Give me that mirror," he said, holding out his hand.

Scabior scrambled through his pockets to find a small round mirror and flung it into Greyback's waiting hand. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call the Coven. If Potter was worth ten thousand when he was running around free, he might be worth more now that he's in hand. Get him chained and stand him up, but don't undo the hex. Just hold him up and keep quiet."

"Yes sir!" In just a few seconds, Scabior had the body-bound Harry chained and on his feet.

Greyback pushed Harry's hair out of his face. Once satisfied, he leaned against a tree trunk and stroked the side of the mirror with one dirty, blood-stained finger. "Hello, Madam Lestrange. How are you this fine evening?"

"What do you want?" Bellatrix's voice asked from the mirror.

"A little guidance with one of our prisoners." Greyback turned the mirror around and held it out toward Harry. "What would you like us to do with young Mr. Potter here?"

"Merlin's beard! How in the world did you manage that?"

"The same way I managed the others."

Another voice came over the mirror, this one smooth and cold, almost hissing. "Who's with the boy?" Voldemort. Hermione had only heard his voice a time or two, and in battle at that, but there was no mistaking that hard, frigid voice.

"Who's with him?" Bellatrix repeated.

"Two kids his age. One of the Weasley boys, and a Mudblood girl."

"Have him bring them here," Voldemort said.

"You haven't eaten the girl already, have you, Greyback?" Bellatrix asked.

"Not yet. She's still in one piece, more or less."

"Breathing?"

Greyback chuckled, glancing at Hermione. "Yes, breathing."

"Good. Bring all three of them to Malfoy Manor."

"Meaning no disrespect, Ma'am, but can you remind me what's in it for us?"

"You impudent—"

"Dog?" Greyback finished for her. "I've heard that one. It's not much of an answer."

"There's a reward of ten thousand galleons."

"That was just for Potter. You're asking for three of them."

Bellatrix let out a disgusted grumble. "His friends aren't worth much. I'll give you 12,000 for the lot, and you can split it with your 'sitter' however you want."

"That's better, but it's not what I'm looking for. Forget the gold; I don't care about the money."

"I care about the money!" Scabior blurted out.

"Shut it!" Greyback bellowed with a fanged sneer that struck him silent.

"If you don't want money, what do you want?" Bellatrix asked.

"For three of them, three things." Greyback held up his hand and counted off on his fingers. "I want the Werewolf Registry destroyed, I want the Werewolf Capture Unit disbanded, and I want the employment ban lifted."

Scabior opened his mouth to argue, but a narrow-eyed glare and another fanged snarl kept him silent.

"Tell him," Voldemort said with obvious disgust, "that if he isn't here in half an hour, he'll have nothing but a Cruciatus Curse for his reward."

"I can hear him fine," Greyback interrupted as Bellatrix started to repeat it. "Perhaps you'd like to remind his lordship that I don't care about his precious bloodlines, and he knows what I do care about. I am the best Snatcher you people have, and there's no denying that, but it hasn't gotten me much so far. Now I have Harry Potter, the thing the Dark Lord wants most in the world. If even that's not enough to get me what I want, I'm obviously on the wrong side."

Bellatrix laughed, harsh and strident across the mirror. "You can't think Dumbledore's little play group will want you."

"No. But I know they want my kids." Bellatrix stopped laughing like a switch had been thrown. "If my price is too high for you, maybe Potter's willing to pay it."

"You can beat him for his insolence when he comes in," Voldemort said, his voice angry and yet almost chuckling, "but he deserves a bone for his hunting. Give him the three things he has asked for."

"When?" Greyback asked.

Not quite withholding a grumble, Bellatrix said, "The Registry can be destroyed in secret, so that will be done immediately. We can reassign the Werewolf Capture Unit to 'more pressing matters' in a few days. The employment ban will take longer, but if you bring those three to the manor alive, I promise it will happen at the first opportunity. In the meantime, there will be no way to check on your people, and no one to enforce the ban if they're caught. Is that acceptable?" She practically spat the last word.

"Quite. We'll be there shortly with your gifts. A good evening to you both."

He made a gentlemanly bow to the mirror and tucked it away, then snapped his fingers at Scabior. "You heard the alphas. Clean the girl up and get all three of them ready to move."

Scabior opened and closed his mouth several times before blurting out. "Six thousand galleons each, Greyback! How could you toss that away?"

"Shut it and get moving."

"You can't expect me to care about your agenda!"

Greyback narrowed his eyes into sharp slits. "If you don't shut it and do what I tell you, you might feel differently after the next full moon."

Scabior immediately clamped his lips shut. Without another word, he picked up the manacles Greyback had dropped and turned his attention to Ron.

Greyback snapped his fingers again, and Scabior whipped around with wide eyes. "You've earned a bone tonight, too, Scabior. Sword's yours."

"Really? You sure?"

"Do you really want to be arguing with me?" Greyback asked.

"No! Thank you! It's just… that's gotta be worth a lot of money!"

Greyback shrugged. "Money's easy; you can get money anywhere. Those three are buying me a lot more than gold ever could."