Emma Potter; Going to War

109: Prisoners

Note: I've skipped ahead on the timeline. Ron is back one horocrux is destroyed. Emma and Draco are prisoners in Malfoy Manor and soon the trio is about to be too. 

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HARRY:

Harry looked around at the other two, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Hermione point her wand, not toward the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands as heavy footfalls surrounded him. 

 "Get up, vermin." 

 Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground. Before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. 

His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent; all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Ron and Hermione outside too.

"Get — off — her!" Ron shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"

 "Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list," said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. "Delicious girl . . . What a treat . . . I do enjoy the softness of the skin. . . ." 

 Harry's stomach turned over. He knew who this was: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery. 

 "Search the tent!" said another voice. Harry was thrown facedown onto the ground. A thud told him that Ron had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched. "Now, let's see who we've got," said Greyback's gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wandlight fell into his face and Greyback laughed. 

 "I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

Harry did not answer immediately. 

 "I said," repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain, "what happened to you?" 

 "Stung," Harry muttered. "Been stung." 

 "Yeah, looks like it," said a second voice.

 "What's your name?" snarled Greyback.

 "Dudley," said Harry. "And your first name?"

 "I — Vernon. Vernon Dudley." 

"Check the list, Scabior," said Greyback, and Harry heard him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. "And what about you, ginger?" 

 "Stan Shunpike," said Ron.

 "Like 'ell you are," said the man called Scabior. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way." There was another thud. 

 "I'b Bardy," said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. "Bardy Weadley." 

 "A Weasley?" rasped Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend . . ." 

The relish in his voice made Harry's flesh crawl.

 "Easy, Greyback," said Scabior over the jeering of the others. "Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she's a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?"