Hermione slowly opened her eyes. For a moment she thought they were still closed for she was surrounded by darkness. Well, if I can’t see I can certainly still hear. She strained her ears for some clue to where she was.
There was a faint rumbling beneath her feet that sounded familiar but she couldn’t place, likely because of the lancing pain coming from her head. She reached up to feel a large gash on the back of it, sticky with blood and dirt. Simple enough to heal. She summoned from her memory a list of healing spells and fumbled in the gloom for her wand.
Her pocket was empty. This is ridiculous, thought Hermione, I never go anywhere without my wand anymore. Slowly, she remembered patrolling the halls, the Death Eaters and the shattering window. Was she still in Hogwarts? If not, then where? As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Hermione searched the room for answers.
It was a small, dark room. The air was thick with a musty, old smell. A few boxes and crates were stacked haphazardly and old burlap sacks were scattered on the uneven floor. Hermione groped her way towards one of the larger crates and used it to push herself to her feet, staring past it.
Two dark slanted eyes peered back at her. And a goblin stepped out of the darkness.
Hermione jumped backward, banging her already injured head on the wall behind her.
As Hermione looked more closely she saw the goblin’s hands were chained. No need to get in a fret, it appears we’re in much the same predicament.
Goblins had always struck her as cool and collected, their clever faces betraying nothing. But this one had a harried expression and there was an edge to his movements that she had only seen in textbook pictures of Goblin rebellions.
“Groetzen, ghoek uw hras en zakrann ris?” asked Hermione politely.
The goblin's reaction was mixed. He looked pleased and cynically disbelieving at the same time. “Few wizards today bother to learn our language.”
“I only know a smattering,” confessed Hermione. “I have been reading some goblin literature lately and thought it would be fascinating to study it in its original language, so I’m teaching myself Gobbledegook. For some reason, they don’t teach languages at Hogwarts.”
“At the moment, I doubt they are teaching anything at Hogwarts.”
A small fear wound its icy fingers around Hermione’s neck. She had only been thinking of her own apparent capture. She had not considered what could have happened at Hogwarts. Suddenly she remembered Mcgonagall’s evacuation message. What had happened to the school!
“I was captured three days ago when meeting with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. He Who Must Not Be Named infested the place with Death Eaters in a matter of moments. Most of the Aurors were in Transylvania searching for him, the Ministry was hopelessly outmatched.” The goblin was watching Hermione carefully for her reaction.
“Some of your Ministry wizards fled. Those who remained were completely incapable of withstanding the Dark Lord’s power. Desk-bound wizards aren’t suited for fighting armies. The Death Eaters rounded up everyone still alive after the fighting. I resisted.” There was a nasty gleam in the goblin’s eyes. “I think that was why I was taken here.”
“And what about Hogwarts?” Despite being told the wizarding government had just been essentially taken over, Hermione had ears only for her school. Hogwarts was older than the Ministry itself. Its guardian was Dumbledore, the best wizard in the world in Hermione’s opinion. And her friends were there. If the school had been taken, it represented the true fall of the wizarding world as she knew it.
"I overheard two of the Dark Lord’s henchmen speaking of it. The castle fell two days ago. It is likely he will use it as his base of power. I heard he has a certain obsession for the place. This is about the only useful thing I have gleaned from their conversations. They spend most of the time in dispute about what He Who Must Not Be Named wishes to do with the non-muggle prisoners. They have not returned since you were thrown in here.”
Hermione had so many questions she wanted answered. How many students had escaped? Had Ron? What were they going to do with the muggle prisoners? But she shied away from them. They were just too painful to think about. So she asked only the most basic.
“And where is here exactly?”
“At the moment? Look to the window.” He extended a long gnarled finger toward it.
Hermione reached over and tugged at the dusty curtains.
Light flooded the room. Hermione squinted to see the landscape roll past her. Connecting the moving scenery to the rumbling below her, Hermione realized where she was.
“It’s a train,” she gasped. The goblin smiled at her astonishment.
“Yes. Careful not to touch the window, it’s magically protected and would give you a nasty shock.” The goblin’s smile widened.
“Did you try it?”
“No, I recognize the workmanship: it is goblin made. One of mine in fact.”
Hermione ran her hand down the side of the window. Etched into the pane was a goblin symbol and the name of the artist: Zasent.
Wonderful, goblins are experts at designing compartments that are impossible to get in or out of. And now I’m the cargo.
At that moment, the door of the compartment opened and two people strode in, a man and a woman. Both were dressed in the dark, hooded robes of Death Eaters.
“Watch the goblin, he’s a tricky one,” ordered the woman. She was tall, with hair pulled back so tightly it looked like it was painted on her. She had a very long aquiline nose that she used effectively to glare down at people. But all of this was lost on Hermione. She stared in horror at the woman’s one defining feature. In place of her eye was only an empty socket, as if it had been cut away and the area around it badly healed. It looked fresh.
“What goblin? Agathan, I don’t see one.” Sure enough, Zasent had melted back into the shadows.
“You see, I told you he was tricky.”
“Just as long as he’s still here. Now you both just stay quiet.” There were nervous lines around the man's mouth. Why? She highly doubted she inspired such fear. Were they scared of Zasent? It was unlikely. Wizards who cared much of blood purity generally didn’t think very highly of goblins. Then what caused the man the uneasy tremble in the man’s voice? Hermione saw his eyes flicker towards the window. The train was going much faster now and she could hear muffled shouting.
“Are we under attack?” she asked.
The woman called Agathan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a sharp one.”
She strode to the window, and pulled the curtains firmly shut. “Keep these closed,” she warned, and both left the compartment.
There was a few minutes of muted darkness and running feet echoing overhead.
Light streamed in as the overhead hatch was lifted and a man jumped down. He had a reckless, carefree grin etched into his craggy features and held his wand out in front of him as if he expected to have to use it. On seeing Hermione and Zasent his wand came up, but then he seemed to relax.
“Well you two don’t look like Death Eaters. Have you seen any delfini?”
“Any what?” Not here to rescue us then.
The man hadn’t waited for a reply. He jumped up onto a stack of crates, and swung himself up and out of the compartment.
There was no reason she couldn’t use this as an escape attempt. Leaping onto the nearest crate Hermione jumped, managing to grip the sides of the hatch. She hesitated for a moment. What about Zasent?
When she looked back into the compartment she saw only empty chains dangling from the wall. They looked as if they had been gnawed through. But that would take hours. Zasent must have bitten through them long before and left them clasped around his ankles so the guards wouldn’t know. He was just waiting for an opportunity like this. And he had clearly taken it. She had no idea goblins could move that fast.
Hermione heaved herself up out of the compartment. On top of the train, the wind tore and snatched at her robes, nearly unbalancing her. Over the howl of the wind she heard shouts as the Death Eaters fired hexes at their assailants, a motley crew of retired Aurors. What could be so important that with the wizarding government overthrown, they’d risk what few forces they had to attack this train?
“Hey, what are you doing out here?”
Hermione looked over and saw the two Death Eaters scrambling over the cars after her and considered her options. She was unarmed, with nowhere to run. The sounds of fighting were dying all around her as the Aurors Disapparated from the area. She had no idea whether they had gotten what they’d come for or not, but it was clear they were going to be of no help to her. Her only chance was to jump. Hermione closed her eyes and leaped.
She felt herself jerked backwards by her robes.
“Not so fast, you little mudblood.” Struggling and kicking, Hermione felt a wand pressed to her throat. Agathan brought her face in line with Hermione’s, hatred written all over it.
“You’ll pay for that little stunt” she hissed, and shoved Hermione to the ground.
Hermione spent the rest of the train ride under guard with her hands magically fastened together and her spirits sinking.
***
“The Malfoy family then. Lucius, highly regarded by the Dark Lord, is rewarded with four mudblood slaves."
The familiar name roused Hermione from her stupor. After being marched off the train she had been taken to a cavernous room, more of a cave than anything else. The uneven stone walls echoed when the smallest noise was made by the people shuffling around in it. It was a strange mix. Some were dressed in muggle clothing, others wore robes that were torn and bloodied. The most common thing worn was a terrified expression, although she caught traces of rebellion in the sullen eyes of some of the other prisoners.
A thin man with a hard expression painted on his narrow pointed face drifted above the crowd reading off names in a loud, nasally voice. He appeared to be walking on air. She saw other Death Eaters floating in a similar fashion. They were all at least ten feet higher than the grounded cowering muggles, who scrambled to get out of the way if one came near them. They’re trying to distance themselves from us. It’s not enough for them to believe they’re better than us. They want us to believe it too. It saddened Hermione that the muggles, many of whom Hermione was sure must be qualified witches and wizards, should be so intimidated by a simple levitation spell.
It was like an auction. No, it was an auction, except that it was people up on the auction block.
Not to them, though, thought Hermione, to them we are nothing. The condescension and disgust written all over the floating Death Eaters faces struck a nerve in Hermione that had been tucked away in the deepest chambers of her heart for almost six years.
She had been a very bright student before she went to Hogwarts, but the moment the first year textbooks touched her hands she started studying like crazy. She had been desperately worried that the other students, ones who were born into wizarding families, would be miles ahead of her. It was a relief to find that most of them knew a lot less. So Hermione kept studying. She really did love trips to the library and learning of all sorts. But a small part of her, buried under stacks of advanced arithmancy books and complicated spells knew there was another reason as well. That little voice whispered that she had to stay on top or Malfoy and the others were right to say that she was useless to the wizarding world. Knowing that little voice was wrong didn’t make it go away.
It gave her sympathy for other oppressed groups. When she discovered Lupin was a werewolf, she hadn’t breathed a word, even to Harry or Ron. She knew he was a good person, and a good teacher, and didn’t deserve the frayed clothing and gray sprinkled in his hair; testaments to the hard life he would always face. S.P.E.W. was another offshoot of her feelings, and she kept it up despite the laughter. Because even more than she feared receiving contempt for what she was, she feared, in a careless moment, she might accidentally give it. She had discovered that even her closest friends had small prejudices, and she desperately hoped she would never participate in such cruelty, she knew how much it hurt.
And now, muggleborns like herself were being auctioned off as slaves. As each huddled figure was led away, Hermione felt a piece of herself being ripped away. Her eyes hardened as she looked around at the Death Eaters. She wanted those pieces back.
When he called the Malfoy family name, the auctioneer beckoned to one of the other Death Eaters and whispered something in his ear. Hermione was close enough to hear the request. He was very concerned about pleasing the Malfoys and asked for mudbloods that were particularly docile and hardworking.
The Death Eater disappeared for a moment. When he returned he was leading a frightened young couple. Agathan, shooting Hermione a warning glance, vanished into the crowd. She also arrived after a moment leading a prisoner, this time a small, bald man, who was walking with a limp. Hermione stared, trying to remember where she had seen him before. And then she gaped. It was the man from the train, whom she had seen only a few hours before recklessly breaking into a compartment.
The cavalier attitude and confident expression had been shattered. Now, cold fear washed over the lines of his face. When he was thrust in front of the auctioneer, he cringed and threw up his hands to cover his face, as if to ward off blows. He was muttering something only he could hear.
Hermione shuddered. What could they have done to have wrought so great a change in so short a time?
At that moment another Death Eater entered and spoke to the auctioneer.
“Malfoy has denied your request. He thinks you lack the necessary spirit to take part in the next raid.” The auctioneer’s lip tightened, revealing his teeth, which he was grinding together irately.
“Lacking am I?”
“Oh no sir, I think you are very capable,” added the Death Eater quickly.
The auctioneer waved him away angrily. He turned to Agathan.
“Have you found a fourth mudblood for the Malfoys?”
“No sir.”
“Well who do you have that’s feisty, argumentative, likely to cause problems.”
Hermione felt herself being thrust forward.
***
Authors Note: Gobbledegook quote is loosely based on Dutch and means “greetings and how is your home and business?” If you’re waiting for interaction between H and D, don’t worry, they meet up again in the next chapter. What do you think about my explanation for aspects of Hermione's character?