Devil Doesn't Bargain

The Mark

"Let go of me!" Hermione screamed as she thrashed in the steel grip of Rabastan and Bellatrix. They had her by her wrists, and try as she might, she couldn't yank free.

The crowd of followers created a barrier behind and before her, blocking any chance of escape as they moved toward the ballroom. Hermione screamed again, pouring all of her fear and frustration into it.

"Silencio." Abruptly, the sound in her throat cut off, and she was gasping for air. She hadn't seen who had cast it, but it didn't matter.

Malfoy!

I know, Granger, I know! Give me a second.

A second for what? I cannot be marked, I can't I can't I can't I won't

Shut up for a second! I swore I'd get you out of this, but I meant alive, not unscathed.

Hermione's cry died in her lungs, and she threw herself into the act of making her captors' job as difficult as possible. She kicked and spit, jerked and went limp. Even without a voice, she managed to annoy them so much that Rabastan finally put a full-body bind on her.

"Let's just levitate her, Bella."

"Fine!" Hermione lost sight of Malfoy as she shot into the air. Her eyes trained on the ceiling, she watched as they passed from room to room. The manor was enormous.

Above, the details became more and more ornate, from swirling engravings to delicate mosaics. Their steps echoed on the marble.

She had to think of something. If she could only get out of this body bind, then out of the room, and then the manor, maybe she could make it past the apparition wards—but no–she didn't have a wand. Malfoy still supposedly held it concealed in his robes. Perhaps if he tossed it to her, she could fight her way out...but she didn't like her odds against dozens of trained Death Eaters, not to mention Voldemort himself. Shit.

They passed through a colossal doorway, and both spells were released from her instantaneously. Hermione slammed onto the floor and groaned. These people really did nothing softly.

The lights dimmed so that only the torches remained lit on the walls. She couldn't hold in her gasp as she took in the ballroom.

It must have been quite beautiful at some point. It was spacious, with decorative tiles along the dancefloor. A monstrous chandelier hung in the center of the room, magically suspended. Everywhere she turned, she saw hints of life before Voldemort...there were little frilly chairs pushed against the walls, and punch tables shoved aside. In a corner stood a few cocktail tables that surely used to shine.

Now, everything was covered in dust, and long black curtains draped across the windows. A snakeskin draped through the chandelier sent a shiver down her spine, and she hastily looked down at her feet. She wished she hadn't. Under her toes was a nasty copper stain. Bloody hell.

A low drumming began, and Hermione jerked her gaze upwards. On either side of her, the Death Eaters had assembled into ordered lines, masks on. The Gold Masks arranged themselves toward the front, Silvers in the back. The sheer number of them was astounding. Her eyes followed the ranks down the lines until they landed on the front of the hall. Where she assumed another throne would lie, there was only a stone altar. Unease rippled through her.

Crack.

Voldemort apparated behind the altar, his gaze piercing into her own. He held out a slender hand, beckoning her forward. "Come."

No. This was a nightmare, she couldn't do this. A memory of Harry flooded her mind, of him roaring in the common room after seeing Malfoy's dark mark on the train. The hatred rolling off of him was a knife in her chest. She couldn't bear it if he felt the same about her, not Harry, Harry who was everything to her. She tugged on the mental bond in despair.