The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

25. Malfoy Manor

"If you love me let me go, 'cause these words are knives that often leave scars, the fear of falling apart. And truth be told I never was yours. The fear, the fear of falling apart." - This is Gospel, Panic! at the Disco

I look around at the other three, now mere outlines in the darkness. I see Hermione raise her wand, not toward the outside, but towards Harry's face: there is a bang, a burst of white, and someone's hands are on my shoulders, shoving me hard towards the ground, my head colliding hard with the corner of the table. I can feel a lump swelling rapidly on my forehead, accompanied by warm, sticky blood, slowly trickling down my face as heavy footsteps surround me.

"Get up, pretty."

Unknown hands drag me roughly from the ground. Before I can stop them, someone's hands are roaming my body in search of the wand I do not have. I clutch at my excruciatingly painful face, which is both throbbing and bleeding steadily down the right side of my face: judging from the way my world is spinning, I'd wager Ron has concussed me. I blink blood away from my eyes until my surroundings become clear again. Four or five people are wrestling Ron, Hermione, and Harry outside, too, the latter of whose face being almost unrecognizable; so swollen and puffy it appears he's suffered some allergic reaction.

"Get -- off - her!" Ron shouts. There is the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunts in pain and Hermione screams, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"

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

My stomach turns over. I know this voice: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who is permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.

"Search the tent!" says another voice.

I'm thrown facedown onto the ground. Great thuds tell me that the others have been cast down beside me. I can hear footsteps and crashes; the men are pushing over chairs inside the tent as they search.

"Now, let's see who we've got," says Greyback's gloating voice from overhead. "I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

I presume he has turned Harry over, who says nothing.

"I said," repeats Greyback, followed by the sound of him striking Harry, "what happened to you?"

"Stung," Harry mutters. "Been stung."

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

"What's your name?" snarls Greyback.

"Dudley," says Harry.

"And your first name?"

"I -- Vernon. Vernon Dudley."

"Check the list, Scabior," says Greyback, and I hear him move along sideways towards me, and I'm rolled onto my back. "Not so pretty after all, hm? What happened to you, girl?"

"Fell," is all I can manage, paralysed by both fear and pain.

Greyback gives a vicious laugh. "And what's your name, clumsy?"

"Petunia Evans," I say quickly.

"We'll see about that," he says, moving on to Ron, now. "And what about you, ginger?"

"Stan Shunpike," Ron says.

"Like 'ell you are," says the man named Scabior. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."

There is another thud.

"I'b Bardy," says Ron, and I can tell his mouth is full of blood. "Bardy Weasley."