CHAPTER 2 - A Little Persuasion

The landing was rough. The young witch's knees buckled as her feet touched the ground. Everything around was pitch black for her eyes, unused to the darkness, until Dolohov cast a silent Lumos, revealing a gravel path leading to a massive house. As her eyes adapted to the limited light, Greyback took hold of her arm and pulled her along, walking to the other wizard. Hermione attempted to pull back but stopped resisting when the werewolf gave her a dark glance.

The farther they walked, the closer they got to what soon appeared to be a manor. An immense, old, luxurious manor. Tall hedges ran around it, and across the gravel path stood a magnificent gate of wrought iron, with spikes and shapes intricately woven together to create a capital M in the centre of it.

Hermione shivered- Greyback was holding her close to him. Too close. His putrid stench was drifting under her nose every step he took, and his hand on her bicep was like a hot wire. The witch's eyes studied the gate further. Could the M stand for Malfoy- could this be his home? She'd never seen it but the Gryffindor had never really envisioned anything smaller considering Draco's character.

They stopped at the gate. On the other side, barely visible, a silhouette was walking towards them. Adrenaline rushed through her body once more as Hermione struggled against Greyback and tried to walk back. She couldn't be brought to him, she couldn't!

'Keep it down, kitten,' the werewolf swiftly grabbed her hair and brought her back to him, ignoring her pained squeals, 'you don't want me to punish you.'

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the young witch tried to ignore his sadistic grin. Greyback released her hair, snickering. As the silhouette kept approaching, Hermione rubbed the sore spot on her head, until the werewolf pulled her closer to the iron gate, placing her against his chest once more, ignoring her squirming. Dolohov lifted his wand, and the shadows stepped back. The Gryffindor could now clearly see the woman standing opposite them, her hands solemnly clasped in front of her. Looking up, she found blonde hair- almost white- framing sharp, aristocratic features. Could it be-?

'Cissy,' Dolohov grinned, lowering his wand.

The woman held her chin high. Even though she was a head smaller than he was, she still managed to look down upon him.

'It's Lady Malfoy for you, Antonin,' Her voice was like ice, sharp, noble and commanding.

'You're shaking, kitten,' Greyback purred in her ear, pulling Hermione further against his chest, 'you need warming up?'

She was shaking. From everything but the weather, for it was still scalding hot. Standing between the wizard and the gate, she truly felt like a tiny mouse trapped in a cage, ready to be a meal to a python. A gasp passed her lips when the werewolf suddenly ground his hips against hers, and she had to use every ounce of self-control not to puke. She'd felt something hard- against her lower back.

Trying to focus her brain on anything else but that sensation, Hermione turned to Dolohov and the Malfoy matriarch who were still talking rapidly.

'We got her,' Dolohov vaguely nodded in her direction, leading Narcissa's eyes.

Seemingly happy with that statement, the witch vanished the gate with a flick of her wand and walked back to the manor, Dolohov in her footsteps. After what seemed an eternity, Greyback pushed Hermione forward. The witch exhaled, releasing the breath she'd been holding, as they approached the front door.

The trio followed Narcissa Malfoy down a dimly lit hallway, the walls covered in empty paintings and half-burned candles. Trying to focus on anything but Greyback's paw on her arm, Hermione's eyes drifted to the older witch in front of her, properly taking in her appearance. There was no doubt this was Draco's mother. From the blond hair to the noble stance- it was incredible how much alike they were. Suddenly, Hermione's stomach twisted. Would Draco be there? He was a Death Eater, but maybe he wouldn't actually be there, with Voldemort? She didn't know if she'd be able to control her anger if he was, not after- not after he killed Dumbledore. Shaking the thought away, Hermione's thoughts drifted once more to Lady Malfoy, following the draping of her gown.

As she admired the expensive fabric of her light jacket, she became very aware of her own attire. She was still in her light blue pyjamas. Her very short, cotton pyjamas. Keeping up with Greyback, the witch tried to adjust her shorts and top to cover as much as she could. This really was the cherry on top.

Too soon to Hermione's liking, the group stopped in front of a heavy wooden door.

'Through there,' Narcissa gestured to the door before turning back to the hallway.

As she walked past the Gryffindor, the blond witch stopped, looking her up and down. Her nostrils flared.

'You could have transfigured those into something less- indecent.'

Although the irritation in her voice was very much present, Hermione could not help but feel a burst of warm gratitude filling her stomach. She didn't know Draco's mother, couldn't tell if she was truly upset by their presence- or if maybe, just maybe, she pitied the young witch.

But as Narcissa reached for her wand, Greyback snorted and firmly gripped Hermione's bare shoulder.

'Why?' He taunted, 'she won't keep them on for long, anyway.'

As suddenly as it had appeared, the warmth in her guts vanished, blown away by the shivers running down her spine. They weren't- not in front of Voldemort, and the others- Merlin, they couldn't. Hermione's instincts yelled for her to fight and run, run as fast as she could; but she remembered the werewolf's words, 'you don't want me to punish you'. She definitely didn't. Her last hope was Lady Malfoy, and so she looked up to her with pleading eyes, silently begging her to take her away from them.

'You won't behave like an animal in my house,' Narcissa seethed as she grabbed Greyback's paw, not lending a single glance to the young witch.

'We'll see about that, Lady Malfoy,' Dolohov growled, pushing the witch's hand away.

Before Hermione could reach out to Narcissa once more, the door opened and both wizards strolled in, pulling her forward.

The room was wide, dark and barren. Stone walls, mahogany floorboards- everything felt cold despite the large windows and the fireplace in the corner. Her bare feet stumbled as Greyback pushed her forward. They approached the centre of the room and the massive table where dozens of Death Eaters were seated, their black robes melting in one dark mass. A wave of relief washed over the witch as she realised Draco wasn't there. At the head of the table, a pale figure sat, slowly turning to face her.

Before Hermione's eyes could fully settle on Voldemort, Greyback forcefully threw her down before him. The young witch landed on her hands and knees, barely saving her face from colliding with the floor. It knocked the breath out of her. Head still down, she attempted to calm the shaking in her limbs.

'Ah, Dolohov, Greyback,' a cold voice echoed around the room, Voldemort's she presumed, 'well done.'

As the Gryffindor attempted to push herself off the cold floor, a weight settled on her lower back, forcing her down once more. A pained cry escaped her lips, Greyback's boot pressing on her spine. The scraping of a chair, then footsteps approaching.

'Well, well, 'Voldemort tutted, the warning in his voice making her shiver, 'this is not how we treat our guests now, Greyback- is it?'

The weight was lifted off her back, air flowed back to her lungs. And yet Hermione wasn't given any reprieve- she was pulled back up and dropped on her knees, but she kept her head down. She couldn't look at him. Voldemort was standing six feet before her, but she kept her eyes on the floor.

The Dark Lord was not having it. With a motion of his hand, Hermione's head snapped up to meet his gaze. She had no choice but to confront the face of the man who caused so much pain and chaos, to herself and the entire wizarding world. To Harry. His face was white and skeletal- his red, snake-like eyes made her shiver.

'So, you are who they call-' Voldemort turned to the table for confirmation, 'the brightest witch of her age?'

'That's bicorn crap!' Cried a shrill voice, which Hermione realised belonged to the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange, 'She's a filthy mudblood, nothing more!'

The dark witch, whom Hermione vaguely remembered from their visit to the Ministry during their fifth year, was glaring at her with hateful eyes.

'Language, Bella,' Voldemort tutted.

The Dark Lord started circling her, and Hermione's breath itched when he walked behind her, his voice almost a whisper.

'You're Potter's mudblood- Miss Granger. Is that correct?'

The young witch swallowed her rage- she was not anyone's anything! But now was not the time to argue. Instead, she tried to focus her eyes on a spot on the opposite wall and remain quiet. She would not speak. Any information he'd want, he'd have to take it.

'Am I to understand your muggle parents didn't teach you manners, young lady?' His voice was tinted with annoyance, and Hermione was almost compelled to answer. She resisted.

She heard someone speak at the table. She couldn't catch what was said, but the men started snickering. As Bellatrix cackled, the young witch realised everyone was looking at her. And she didn't like the look in their eyes at all.

Voldemort circled back in front of her, but his eyes weren't looking down.

'Her wand.'

Hermione inhaled shakily as Dolohov passed him her wand. Seeing her most prized possession in the dark wizard's bony fingers was more painful than she could have ever envisioned.

'I guess you won't be needing that anymore,' Voldemort nonchalantly commented as he examined it.

He seized the wand at each end, and Hermione couldn't look away as the wood dangerously started to bend.

'No-'

It had been but a whisper, yet it was all he'd wanted. Voldemort released her wand, looking at her with a satisfied grin. The young witch closed her eyes in shame. How could she have been so weak?

'Well,' the dark wizard purrs, 'I see we just need a little- persuasion.'

'I'll make her talk, my Lord.'

Greyback grabbed Hermione's shoulder with a strong grip, his claws digging into her skin. But Voldemort intervened before she could push him away.

'We need her alive, Greyback. You can have her when I'm done with her. Bella?'

'With pleasure, My Lord,' was the enthusiastic response from the dark witch as she got up from her seat.

Never in her life had Hermione imagined she'd be subjected to the cruciatus curse. The pain was like nothing she'd experienced. It was as if her muscles were set on fire as her head was pricked by a thousand needles, and there was nothing she could do to calm it all down.

After what felt like hours of tears and strangled cries, the pain finally stopped. The witch was lying on her side, her nerves achingly raw, her hair stuck to her face with sweat, and her throat hoarse from crying. A crumpled, sobbing mess.

'Look at me, filth,' Bellatrix ordered.

Hermione tried to open her eyes but her lids were so heavy. Displeased, the dark witch grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back, turning it to face her. The Gryffindor winced. As she struggled to open her eyes, her blurry vision settled on Bellatrix crouched down in front of her, grinning. It was as if she was admiring her handiwork.

'Is the little brat mudblood ready to talk yet?'

'Make her beg!' came echoes from the table, 'Teach that filth some manners!'

Cackling in response, the Death Eater pointed her wand to Hermione's face.

'I don't-' the girl managed to breathe between hiccups, 'know- anything.'

'Enough, Bella.'

Voldemort's words echoed just as the curse was about to slip through Bellatrix's lips. Her face immediately darkened. She threw the dark wizard an annoyed side glance and let go of Hermione, standing up again. But before she walked back to her chair at the table, she gave one final blow, a powerful kick to the girl's stomach, and spat inches from her face. Bent in two from the kick, Hermione's eyes fell on the spot where the spit mixed with the blood on the floor, wondering how such a small act could hurt her more than the blow to her guts.

Wait- blood? Hermione looked down at her trembling body. Her arms and legs were covered with tiny cuts, crisscrossing on her pale skin. They were small and superficial, most of them seemed to have already stopped bleeding, but they formed a small puddle of blood on the floor where she was lying. Bellatrix must have used slicing spells, she didn't feel it.

A silhouette caught her eye, hidden in the shadows against the opposite wall. Greyback. He was staring at her as if about to jump on her, probably attracted by the smell of blood. But his hand- he was touching himself through his trousers. Bile rose in her throat.

'So,' Voldemort walked up to her, 'I'm going to need some information. Now, you can give it to me-, his bare feet stopped by her face, 'or I can take it from you.'

If he was to break into her head, her mind wouldn't hold. He was probably the best Legilimens in the wizarding world, she didn't stand a chance. There was nothing she could hide. On the other hand, she could speak and lie. However, he probably would enter her mind afterwards and see the truth anyway. There was no way out of this.

'The lioness is still trying to be brave, I see.' Voldemort snickered at her silence, 'Legilimens!'

Similarly to the cruciatus curse, Hermione had never thought she'd experience somebody reading her mind. Least of all Voldemort himself. And no amount of thorough reading could make up for practice when it came to Occlumency. Despite her best efforts to clear her mind, there was no stopping the blade that slashed her mind open to revel in her memories. Everything from her childhood to Bellatrix's torture just before- he saw it all, her entire life. At first, she tried to push him away, she really did, but every attempt was pathetically discarded. Finally, he slowed his search when the memories of Dumbledore and Harry's meetings came about. Their discussions about Slughorn's memory, the Horcruxes…

'That old fool,' Voldemort seethed as he released the spell.

He started pacing in front of her trembling form, ignoring her sobs. She must have rolled onto her back at some point, every rise of her chest was a struggle on her muscles.

'It seems you know far too much, young lady.'

Was he going to kill her? She certainly didn't wish to die, but wouldn't it be her best option to stop suffering?

'Out.'

Chairs scraped against the floor as Death Eaters started to leave the room. Hermione slowly opened her eyes, staring at the intricately carved ceiling. Would it be the last thing she saw before her death?

'My Lord,' Greyback's voice was close, 'may I-'

'You will have her, Greyback,' Voldemort interrupted coldly, 'later.'

'Yes, my Lord,' the werewolf grunted and walked away with the others.

'Dolohov, McNair.'

Hermione heard both men approaching and stopping not far from her. Her breathing was still erratic, panic twisting her insides. Why wasn't he killing her?

'McNair, you are yet to be rewarded for your last exploits, are you not?'

'Err- yes, my Lord.'

She wished she could roll onto her side, curl into a ball and disappear. Oh, how she wanted it so bad.

'Well, here's your reward.'

She wanted to vomit. Her breath hitched in a sob as the words burned through her. A reward, that's all she was.

'My Lord, I could not possibly-'

'Walden!' Dolohov hissed.

'Do not make me repeat myself, McNair.'

A cold wave rolled over the room at Voldemort's seething tone.

'Yes, my Lord,' McNair hurried, 'thank you, my Lord.'

'Take her down to the cellar,' Voldemort ordered as he walked away, 'I'll need more from her tomorrow.'

'Yes, my Lord,' both men replied.

There was a strong gust of wind as Voldemort's cloak brushed the floor.

'Break her.'

And then silence.