Flat in Bath

Bindings

The bindings pinched against her skin as the darkness surrounded her. As she came to, she knew that something was wrong. She was sitting, she knew that much, but she couldn't seem to make out the surroundings of the quiet room she was in.

Blindfolded. She had been blindfolded. Some sort of blackout charm.

Her head hurt and she was sure that she had been out of it for a good few hours. Whoever had stupefied her had made good work of making sure they had remained anonymous. Hermione wondered if anyone from The Order even knew she was here? Had anyone seen her being stunned and kidnapped? Would there be anyone coming for her?

She wiggled her hands within the bindings, her arms around the back of a spindly chair. Nope. They weren't going to budge. She moved her feet, realising that they weren't bound. How peculiar ... she wasn't immobilised from the waist down. It also struck her that she could feel a draft against her skin, which, to her horror, made her think that she was currently sitting there in her underwear.

Plain garments... white. They weren't the most attractive, which she felt glad of in her current predicament as she didn't want some disgusting Voldemort follower looking at her and finding her alluring.

Alarm, panic and shame suddenly rose up inside of her. What type of sick, fucked up and depraved individual would undress a lady before tying them to a chair? All kinds of horrible images rushed through her brain as she tried her bindings again, wishing she hadn't been so stupid as to have been caught mid-fight during a raid. She'd let her guard down momentarily, and would now more than likely be paying for it for the rest of her life.

She heard a noise and her head instantly turned in the direction of it. Hermione used her training to try and take in the subtle noises and use her other senses to dissect the situation. Was the noise a door opening? Was it someone quietly sitting into a seat opposite her? She could most definitely hear clothes rustling, and there was a strong smell of musky vanilla and spearmint within the smell of the otherwise musty room.

"Don't try to assess the situation." She jumped and almost shouted when she heard a voice directly in front of her, but not too close that she felt threatened. "There's no point, you'll only know what I want you to know ... see what I want you to see."

She frowned, a certain tone to the voice that she was familiar with ...

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, still testing her bindings. "You know there's nothing I will tell you. I'll die before you get any information out of me." She spat, feeling anger at the situation suddenly bubbling up inside of her.

She heard a snigger, a scrape of feet and knew her capture had stepped a little closer into the room. "What makes you think I want information?" he asked, sounding curious as his voice was kept low

and menacing. "What I want from you has nothing to do with The Order..."

Her blood froze. She recognised the tone in his voice and automatically registered what this man was saying to her. He was going to play with her. Toy, manipulate, possibly even torture her... all for his own sick enjoyment.

Hermione wouldn't be the first, and she wouldn't be the last either. Plenty of resistance fighters had been taken captive By Voldemort's followers. Taken captive and tortured or otherwise just for a Death Eaters enjoyment. Hermione just had to hang on to the hope that she would be rescued before something sinister or life threatening actually happened to her.

She lifted her chin in defiance, hoping that whoever it was caught the look of determination on her face through her blindness. "Do your worst, then..." she told him defensively. "Because nothing you can do will ever break me."