𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟕 - 𝟗

I saw everything through a haze of nausea and panic.

One Snatcher—a big, round one—out of a group of four grabbed me. He held one of my arms twisted behind my back, and used his other hand to drag me towards the rest of the Snatcher group by my hair. I tripped, and they laughed.

There was conversation, but I couldn't make it out. Their voices sounded as if they were coming to me from across a Quidditch field, and the only words I picked up were ones like Ministry, registered, and check. A tall, lean one held a piece of ripped newspaper up to my face, and then they all went quiet.

The Snatcher holding me grasped my hair tighter, pulling my face closer to his than necessary. The sharp smell of whatever he had eaten for lunch cleared my pain-muddled head, but did nothing for my rolling stomach.

"What's your name, pretty?" He growled.

I tried to lean away from him, but he brought me closer, until I could count every unshaved stub of hair on his chin and my vision was going blurry again and my brain felt numb and stuffy and sticky.

"I said what's your name," he spat.

"P-Penelopy Clearwater," I choked out.

Another Snatcher, a new one this time that had been hanging around the back of the group, laughed again and stepped forward. "That right?" He asked, voice scratchy. "Because this don't look like no Penelopy Clearwater. This looks like a Malfoy." He shoved the newspaper image into my face, and my already unsteady breathing caught.

It was a blown-up picture of my face, a few years younger than I was now, but the resemblance was still unmistakable. I made a sound between a whimper and a gasp, then immediately felt my face flush. This was not me. I was not someone who cried when she got caught. I was someone who escaped. 

Something Weasley told me about Snatchers echoed distantly in my head. Don't tell Hermione this, but they're really stupid as trolls, Snatcher's are. Not too hard to get away from, especially if they've already had a few drinks. 

I straightened my posture as much as I physically could, ignored the sudden, shooting pain in my leg, and summoned my best Narcissa Malfoy voice.

"I don't know who you think you are, but my name is Penelope Clearwater. I just had to escape from a terrible pub, and although I'm flattered to be considered related to such a prestigious family, I am not Alexandra Malfoy."

They all stared at me stupidly for a moment, and then the tall one smirked proudly and said, "If you're not Alexandra Malfoy, how you know her name?"

I tried to scoff. "Everyone knows her name. She's the disgraced Malfoy twin. A runaway, all mixed up with Harry Potter and his little band. I don't live under a rock, you know."

Now the tall one looked a little less sure of himself, but still suspicious. "Well, we ought to take you to the Ministry, pretty, just in case you really are a Mudblood on the loose."

My heart skipped a beat. "That really won't be necessary," I announced, but my voice wavered, and they heard it.

The big one had just opened his mouth to say something more, but he was cut off by a crack of Apparation that I was becoming all too familiar with. A man, who I assumed to be another Snatcher, sauntered up to the tall one, sparing me only a bored glance before drawling, "We think we've got Potter. We're going to Malfoy Manor."

All of their eyes lit up with excitement at this. "You know how much we could get for him?" The one in the back asked giddily.

"You sure it's him, Scabior?" The tall one asked cautiously. "Because if you're wrong, we're in big trouble."