Chapter Forty-Six:
( the malfoy manor )

*warning, mentions/acts of torture, trauma, and
harmful thoughts. if you continue, please go on with caution. tip: you may want to skip when harry and ron get taken to the dungeons if you feel the need to.

▂✫⌒*･ﾟ

             SPENCER SQUEEZES RICKY'S HAND sensing his tremendous amount of fear. Her eyes neatly scan around the darkness and the only light she sees is Hermione's wand being pointed onto Harry's face and suddenly there is a bang. Harry's face have swollen under Hermione's spell and she gives her a nod in understanding knowing that no matter what— Harry Potter shall remain hidden. Spencer realizes her mistake in holding Ricky's hand and lets him go quickly. She can find a way out of the mess, but he will not be involved. He cannot get hurt. He can't. Ricky turns to her quickly, his eyes filled with horror and she shakes her head nervously. 'I'm sorry,' she mouths the word to him knowing that he wants nothing more than to crumble onto her arms.

             She turns just in time for someone to start rummaging through her pockets and immediately takes her wand out of her grasp. Spencer struggles trying to escape the man's arms, but he holds her own tight and pushes her forward to where other Snatchers are formed. When she glances around (some of her hair covering her sight), she notices that Ricky, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are being hold against their will as well. All of them, just like her, trying to wrestle their way out of their grasp.

             "Get — off — them!" Ron shouts at the men holding the girls. There is the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh. Spencer closes her eyes knowing what that mean and she hates it. She hates how she cannot do anything about it. Ron grunts in pain and Hermione screams, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"

             "Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list," A raspy and ugly-sounding voice growls. "Delicious girl... What a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin..."

             Spencer pales not knowing the familiarness of his voice and yet knowing just by the tone that it was the same werewolf that had bit a four-year-old Remus Lupin. Fenrir Greyback, a vicious man who only turns even worse as a werewolf. One that hunts after children and kills for the joy of it. The one who had bit one of her former housemates, Amarantha Hale. Now he is the monster, not Remus, not Amara. Not any other werewolf like her former professor but him. Fenrir Greyback is the monster.

             "Search the tent!"

             Spencer grunts while the man who holds her forces her to stare at her boys who are thrown to the ground facedown. She winces when she hears their thud as they head against the floor. The young Montague pushes back her elbow, but it does no effect to the buffer man and instead he laughs. She glares at all of them straight away and it only increases when Greyback appears onto her view.

             "Now, let's see who we've got," Greyback's gloating voice announces overhead, and the boys are rolled over onto their back. A beam of wandlight falls onto their face and Greyback laughs when he spots Harry's disfigurement. "I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

             Harry does not answer immediately. This seems to anger the hot-headed werewolf and Harry receives a blow to the diaphragm that makes him double over in pain. "I said, what happened to you?"

             "You actually 'asked'—" Spencer bitterly corrects before the man holding her twists her arm further back. She cuts herself off and huffs with furiousness in her system.

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

             Greyback nods appreciatively and then grabs his jaw tightly. "What's your name?" He snarls inhumanly.

             "Dudley," Harry speaks without thinking— which is quite obvious because Dudley? Since when is that considered a wizard's name? Spencer bites back her tongue to not let out a whimper to show how scared she truly is.

             "And your first name?"

             "I — Vernon. Vernon Dudley."

             "Check the list, Scabior," Greyback shouts at the other men, and then he looks down at Ricky.  "And what about you?"

             Ricky swallows nervously before answering, "Graham Montague." Spencer closes her eyes and prays to Merlin that they believe him. That her useless cousin turns out to not be so useless. It is a pureblood name— why would he be running away? Who knows, but they have to believe it. Please, she begs internally, Not Ricky.

             A familiar look crosses to the werewolf's face and he stares at Ricky with a glare. "Yes, a Montague... pureblooded family," the werewolf growls in warning before his eyes fall onto the redhead. With a close eye on Ricky, Greyback then pulls Ron upwards and repeats the question.

             "Stan Shunpike," Ron croaks out.

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

             Spencer gazes away immediately when she hears another thud in Ron's way. It is painful hearing her friend's suffering and her being weakly held against her own well. Not even her brain can get them out of this situation because they are stuck with dozens of Death Eaters and only five of them. She is powerless compared to them when all she wants to do is create a bubble of defense or luck. Merlin, she's completely helpless.

             "I'b Bardy," Ron spits out, and Spencer can tell that his mouth is full of blood. "Bardy Weadley."

             "A Weasley?" rasps Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little girlfriends..." The relish in his voice makes Spencer's flesh crawl.

             "Easy, Greyback," Scabior warns over the jeering of the others.

             "Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she's a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?" His remark is obviously told toward Hermione, his scrutinizing eyes having not even see her own face.

             Hermione clenches her jaw and although she sounds terrified, she also sounds convincing when she tells him, "Penelope Clearwater."

             And, of course, here comes the question that they have been waiting for. "What's your blood status?" Greyback questions, narrowing his eyes as if there is a right answer which to them... there is.

             "Half-blood," Hermione reveals. The werewolf leans closer to the point where he is only an inch apart from Hermione. Spencer twitches despising how the man is checking her out like a piece of meat. Perhaps it was the wrong move to do as Greyback finally turns to her. His head tilts in wonder while he makes his way toward.

             The werewolf narrows his eyes— again, the look of familiarity passing through his own before he widens them. A gaunt smirk appears on his scarred, disgusting face and he lets a finger pass through her jaw outline up toward her temple. He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear and then with his dirty hands he grabs her face and pulls it to the side. Spencer widens her eyes in surprise already knowing what he is checking for. And then, she hears his wicked laughter.

             "Oh, gentlemen," Greyback smirks triumphantly. "We have found Spencer Montague."

             This time, she does not do a good job in covering up her surprise and fear. He knows how she looks like— she did not even get a chance to lie and say that she was someone else. Her eyes briefly glances at the others and she spots their sudden fear knowing they could not help her. Spencer forces herself to stare back at the werewolf and she raises her chin up... might as well continue with it.

             "Congratulations," she sneers in disgust. Spencer clenches her jaw when the werewolf presses his hand on her neck. She can feel her skin start to turn into a light shade of blue before he lets go.

             "Your aunt did say you were a feisty one," Greyback darkens his eyes, swiping his tongue across his lips while eyeing her up and down. Spencer is not surprise to find that it is her aunt who has told him about the marks their part of the Montagues have. The one behind their ear where there marks a little snake and an 'M' to prove their worth as a pureblooded family and taking part in being Slytherins. It is a bind that no one can break except the caster and despite being a disappointment to the family, Mordra would never take it off her. Spencer hates how easily he was able to notice that she looked like her aunt and her sister. It is what made Greyback even check the back of her ear. All because of the resemblance.

             His nasty breath makes her grimace and yet she cannot turn away because of their hold. "Why are you with them? And that boy there— he is your cousin?"

             Spencer nods sharply. "You heard him, didn't you? Graham. He doesn't have the same mark as me, if you wanted to check. Mordra didn't put it on him nor his parents," she informs him truthfully and with a lie all the same. Obviously, Ricky is not Graham in any shape or form, but Mordra did only tattooed her parents, Morgana, and her. Cursed, more like it. Quite honestly, however, she forgets she has it. Except that one time Harry cut her hair and he spotted it in surprise. Him and Ricky are the ones who know she has it to identity as a wonder of the Montagues. Daniel is lucky not to have it (he knows about it too because she asked if he had it).

             "And why are you with them?" Greyback repeats the question threateningly.

             "My cousin wanted to help me escape you mindless imbeciles while I found them along the way," Spencer forces out confidently, raising an eyebrow to try and prove a point. Greyback growls at the name she calls them and motions for the man holding her to lead her with the prisoners, taking her away from the rest of them momentarily. Spencer pulls onto her arms but it does nothing except hurt herself. "I'm the one who said his name— not them!" She shouts knowing they were about to accuse them of being part of the Order or associated with. The man holding her puts his dirt-filled hand on her mouth and practically carries her away.

             He starts binding her back-to-back with other people she did not realize had been caught as well. Her eyes widen in surprise when she spots a familiar boy her age just a few steps away from her. He is also in the same position as her and it is only when the man leaves that he gasps out, "Spencer?"

             "Dean," she murmurs quietly, her eyes widening by the moment. Beside him is the goblin that she heard months ago... the one that had been with Ted and Dirk before their deaths. Her past classmate appears exhausted and under-fed almost like her except dirtier by the looks of it. He has been there longer than her which makes sense. There is a haunting look on his eyes and her own soften knowing he must have seen their deaths. "Are you handling right?"

             He seems surprised by her question and hesitantly nods before he eyes her carefully (and not like how Greyback had done). "What about you? Are you hurt? Are you alone? I thought you'd be with—"

             Spencer shakes her head quickly and motions to the entrance from where the Snatchers took her. Dean seems to understand what she means and quietens down immediately having a guess he should not mention Harry's or Ricky's name. The two of them quiet down when they hear the rustles of struggling and then comes the familiar figures of her friends all making their appearance. Harry still is on with that awful swelling of his and she figures he cannot see, but her eyes met Ricky's, Ron's, and Hermione's and they seem to release a sigh of relief upon noticing her. They then notice the others with her and their eyes widen as well. However, none of them talk until the men leave from their sight and hearing.

             "Anyone still got a wand?" Harry whispers from across her. Ron and Hermione snap their attention away from Dean and answer with an affirmative no. "This is all my fault. I said the name, I'm sorry —"

             "Harry?" Dean assures, squinting his eyes as if that will help him see past the disfigured person. Though, they all know he definitely knows it is him because one, the other four of them are there and two, Dean recognizes Harry's voice having been his dorm mate for six full years.

             "Dean?" Harry repeats in the same tone, not having the same vision as everyone else.

             The boy beside her gasps in realization and his eyes widen in horror. "It is you! If they find out who they've got—! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold—"

             He immediately stops talking when they overhear Greyback start speaking once more to whoever else is with him. "Not a bad little haul for one night," Greyback appreciates, hearing some rumbles coming from the tent making them realize they are checking it out. Spencer notices Hermione's eyes widen in fear. The Sword of Gryffindor has been left outside since Hermione was cleaning it... oh, no. She glances down at her own necklace and is glad to realize that she always keeps her own bag miniatures when not needed. It still does not matter. They now have the sword. "A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, Mordra's little niece and nephew, and three truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?"

             "Yeah. There's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere, Greyback." Spencer scrunches up her nose having the same troubled feeling in her system just as she did back at Godric's Hollow and at Luna's house. Something is telling her that they are about to be in a deep hole they cannot crawl back from. Technically, it has already begun with her. Those stupid Snatchers do not even realize she would most likely be with Harry and Hermione— aren't they the ones who have been spotted?

             Greyback crouches down beside Harry. "So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What House were you in at Hogwarts?"

             "Slytherin," Harry answers automatically.

             "Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that," jeers Scabior out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."

             "It's in the dungeons," Harry, surprisingly to Spencer, answers clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff and it's under the lake, so the light's all green."

             There is a short pause. "Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Slytherin," Scabior scoffs in surprise. "Good for you, Vernon, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who's your father?"

             "He works at the Ministry," Harry lies. "Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

             "You know what, Greyback," Scabior chuckles amusingly. "I think there is a Dudley in there."

             "Well, well," Greyback hums,  and Spencer can hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knows that Greyback is wondering whether he has indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry official. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."

             "But," Harry tries to say, his mouth bone dry, "if you just let us —"

             "Hey!" Comes a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this, Greyback!"

             A dark figure comes bustling toward them, and Spencer notices a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They are completely done for. They have found Gryffindor's sword. Their access to destroy the Horcruxes has been discovered and unless that are stupid— they will take it for themselves. She just cannot believe the luck they have been having this whole time. Absolute rubbish.

             "Very nice," Greyback smirks appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"

             "It's my father's," Harry lies, hoping against hope that it is too dark for Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. "We borrowed it to cut firewood—"

             "Hang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet!" Spencer stares at Hermione and takes note on how frightful she is now compared to before. Despite sitting in the darkness, Spencer closes her eyes and focuses on listening to the two men talk. She knows nothing good will come out of what they read— that is where it will be revealed that Spencer had been spotted with Hermione, and Harry. She is correct. "'Hermione Granger,'" Scabior is saying, "'the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with 'arry Potter and Spencer Montague.'"

             She hears the creak of Greyback's boots as he crouches down in front of Hermione. "You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you," he growls threateningly, eyeing her and then Spencer.

             "It isn't! It isn't me!"

             Hermione's terrified squeak is as good as a confession. Spencer cannot blame her. They are all in a grave they cannot dig themselves out of. Her eyes meet Ricky's and she looks at him hoping that he will notice the way she hopes he comes out of this well. Ricky gulps in fear and slowly nods back to her, reassuring her the same thing.

             "'... known to be traveling with Harry Potter and Spencer Montague,'" repeats Greyback quietly. A stillness has settled over the scene. "Well, this changes things, doesn't it?"

             Nobody speaks: Spencer senses the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and she can sense her friend's panic around the air. Greyback gets up and takes a couple of steps to where Harry sits, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features. "What's that on your forehead, Vernon?" he asks softly, his breath foul in Harry's nostrils as he presses a filthy finger to the taut scar.

             "Don't touch it!" Harry yells. Spencer is taken back by his reaction and only then realizes his face has been scrunched up in pain meaning Voldemort has somehow reawaken their connection.

             "I thought you wore glasses, Potter?" breathes Greyback. And as if the universe wants them dead, one of the other Snatchers cries out, "I found glasses! There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait —"

             And seconds later Harry's glasses are rammed back onto his face. Spencer curses herself internally knowing those glasses would not have even break even if they try. They are enchanted to be unbreakable. The Snatchers are closing in now, peering at him.

             "It is!" rasps out Greyback. "We've caught Potter!"

             They all take several steps backward, stunned by what they have done. Spencer glares at the wretched men. "Do we take them to the Ministry?"

             Hopefully not, she prays. Except, then she regrets it a few seconds later when Greyback growls, "To hell with the Ministry. They'll take the credit, and we won't get a look in. I say we take them straight to You-Know-Who."

             That is worse, never mind, Spencer pales at the thought.

             "Will you summon 'im? 'ere?" Scabior asks, sounding awed, terrified.

             "No," snarls Greyback, "I haven't got — they say he's using the Malfoys' place as a base. We'll take the boy there."

             Spencer thinks she knows why Greyback is not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they want to use him, but only Voldemort's inner circle are branded with the Dark Mark (apart from the teenagers): Greyback has not been granted this highest honor. "Are we completely sure it's him? 'Cause if it ain't, Greyback, we're dead," one of his men warn carefully.

             "Who's in charge here?" roars Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. "I say that's Potter, and him plus his wand, that's two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you're too gutless to come along, any of you, it's all for me, and with any luck, I'll get the girls thrown in!"

             "All right!" Scabior agrees. "All right, we're in! And what about the rest of 'em, Greyback, what'll we do with 'em?"

             "Might as well take the lot. We've got Mudbloods, that's another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they're rubies, that's another small fortune right there," Greyback orders strictly. The prisoners are dragged to their feet. Spencer grunts when her arms are held back again. "Grab hold and make it tight. I'll do Potter! On three! One — two — three —"

             They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Spencer is being squeezed among Dean and she can feel his shaky breath clearly fearful for his life and exhausted at the same time. Her eyes close as she senses the darkness and the sudden twist around them. They reopen once she feels her feet touch the ground. The prisoners lurch into one another as they land in a country lane. Her eyes spot wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looks like a long drive. Even without ever being there, Spencer knows it is the Malfoy Manor. Spoken as a great building— bigger than her own. She keeps her mouth shut not knowing how to react to this. She cannot cry for they will see her weak, she cannot scream, she cannot help her friends because Spencer is completely helpless.

             One of the Snatchers strides to the gates and shakes them. "How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't — blimey!" He whips his hands away in fright. The iron is contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which speaks in a clanging, echoing voice: "State your purpose!"

             Spencer rolls her eyes at the idiocy of the Snatcher. He does realize they are in a manor completely filled with Death Eaters? Even her own is guarded with this type of formality.

             "We've got Potter!" Greyback roars triumphantly. "We've captured Harry Potter!"

             Not even a second later, the gates swing open.

             "Come on!" Greyback yells to his men, and they are shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffle their footsteps. Spencer sees a ghostly white shape above her, and realizes it is an albino peacock. She stumbles and is dragged onto her feet by some Snatcher. Light spills out over all of them and she squints her eyes before a familiar face comes to her view. The person who once comforted her during Christmas is now the one whose house she is in.

             Narcissa Malfoy, also known as Draco's mother. Her eyes falls upon hers, and for a moment, Spencer swears she sees concern on those eyes of hers before it disappears completely. And then, the woman turns away from her and stares right at the Snatchers. "What is this?" She demands in a cold tone— not the one that tried making conversation to lift her spirits.

             "We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Greyback croaks desperately. Narcissa, with that stiffen back of hers, chins up and tilts her head scrutinizingly. "Who are you?" She questions, eyeing the Snatchers with obvious displeasure.

             "You know me!" There is resentment in the werewolf's voice. "Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter!"

             Greyback seizes Harry and drags him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too. Spencer glares at everyone else simply watching them— despising how they only watched them suffer.

             "I know 'e's swollen, ma'am, but it's 'im!" pipes up Scabior. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'is scar. He has been said to travel with Montague! Look these is 'er. And this 'ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who's been traveling around with them, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Ere, ma'am —" Narcissa moves forward toward Harry and narrows her eyes, examining his swollen face. Spencer keeps her mouth shut, watching the women with interest wondering what she would do. She still prefers her over her husband, but Draco's mother still has those purity views as well. Not just that, but as she has thought before, she is a mother firsthand. Meaning that they are simply rewards to her perfect family. Scabior thrusts the blackthorn wand that Harry used right at her.

             Narcissa stares down at the man unimpressed. "Bring them in," she orders firmly.

             Spencer snarls at the man holding her and her friends as they get shoved and kicked forward up on some broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits. It is no different since the Malfoy's are basic in every way possible with their stiffened smile and back and manners.

             "Follow me," Narcissa comments, leading the way across the hall. "My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know."

             Her chest falls because she knows that statement is true. Draco Malfoy knows exactly how Harry looks for all the time he spent bullying him at school. He will recognize Hermione, Ron, Ricky, and Spencer and even if he does not notice the familiarness in Harry's face... he'll know. Spencer pales at the thought before letting her mind wonder— hope that maybe Blaise is right. That he is just a good person deep down being forced to develop into this treatment because that is what he was expected to do. Spencer was never friends with Malfoy, but they were acquaintances. The two of them did not like Morgana and preferred each other instead every time. He is a whole prat in every sense, but he was not evil. You know what sucks?That this is the closest she has felt with Blaise in physical terms because despite what has gone over to them in their sixth year... and whatever is happening now, Blaise and Malfoy are best friends. Troubled, but still each other's.

             The drawing room dazzles after the darkness outside. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rise from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as they are forced into the room by the Snatchers.

             "What is this?"

             The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy falls on Spencer's ears. Though, that is not where her attentions heads towards to. Instead, they fall onto the blond teenage boy. He is slightly taller than he used to be and he is rising from an armchair where he had most likely had been sitting comfortably in and not in a pile of rocks like Spencer has been sitting on for a while. Malfoy is still somewhat good-looking with his pale face and pointed white-blond hair. He appears restless and ill like how he had been during their sixth year when he planned with Theodore to complete the Vanishing Cabinet and where he himself had to kill Dumbledore.

             "They say they've got Potter," Narcissa's cold voice utters. "Draco, come here."

             Greyback forces them to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier. Spencer feels a sick feeling in her stomach. This is it, she realizes. They will diminish in the Malfoy manor— all of them will be the last person she sees. Her eyes glances to the side and notices Ricky's figure against hers. Noticing the fear in his skin, she stretches however much of her hand and finally grasps his hand. He tries turning to see her, but it does not matter because he knows. In his weak moment, Ricky squeezes her hand in return and Spencer forces herself not to start getting emotional.

             "Well, boy?" The werewolf growls expectantly. Spencer glances up at the chandelier and notices an unfamiliar face staring back at her. It takes her more than a second to realize that is her. She knew how completely horrible she had to appear, but this? There is a pale-skinned person staring at her. Bags heavy under her eyes, hair frizzy in a way that reminds her of her aunt (no wonder she was easily figured), scars printed across her face, her clothes completely filled with dirt and nature. Her eyes... one would think they would not look different and yet Spencer does not recognize them. They appear older and grieving. Cold and distant. Colorless despite them supposedly having a tint of color within that lightness of brown.

             "Well, Draco?" Lucius Malfoy is what causes her to stare back at reality. Malfoy is standing right in front of Harry and yet avoiding his eyes. He glances at all of them and does not at the same time. He only stares at their bodies, but not their faces. Spencer wishes she can stare right at him. To make him see how much she is exhausted. To perhaps communicate with him that there is still a chance...? "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

             "I can't — I can't be sure," Draco finally admits. Spencer softens her gaze. That gives them something. He does not prove to them if it is or not. The two boys avoid each other's gazes which is completely odd coming from them. Boys who would always vilifies the other and somehow when it actually comes to the part where they can end each other's life— nothing happens. They are only scared and lost.

             "But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Lucius forces Draco to lean in closer, his voice extremely excited that Spencer barely recognizes it as his own. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv —"

             "Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" Greyback interrupts menacingly.

             "Of course not, of course not!" Lucius ignores impatiently. He approaches Harry himself, comes so close that Harry can most likely see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail even through his swollen eyes. "What did you do to him?" Lucius asks Greyback. "How did he get into this state?"

             "That wasn't us."

             "Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," Lucius hums in thought. His gray eyes rakes Harry's forehead. "There's something there," he whispers, "it could be the scar, stretched tight... Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

             Malfoy gets closer and Spencer from the corner of her eye can see him swallow deeply, fear written on his face. For some reason, this angers her. He is fearing what? They are the ones heading to their death. Spencer forces those thoughts out of her head. She does not want to die bitterly. Her jaw clenches and she can see the Slytherin slightly tremble on his place until he finally repeats, "I don't know," and he walks away toward the fireplace where his mother stands watching.

             "We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa calls to her husband in her cold, clear voice. "Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord... They say this is his" — she is looking closely at the blackthorn wand — "but it does not resemble Ollivander's description... If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing... Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"

             Greyback growls in annoyance before grasping Spencer's arms forcibly and her hands separate from Ricky's hold while she hisses in pain for a few seconds before stopping herself completely. "What about her, then? The youngest Montague? Mordra's niece who was seen in the run with him?"

             Lucius brightens up among noticing her, his head nodding rather quickly in excitement while Narcissa keeps her lips in a thin line as if finding no excuse for this. Either way, Spencer stares at them both. Not stare... more of a glare where she is daring them to say something even though they will. Lucius leans in closer to her almost in awe as if she is the one giving them hope to whatever troubles they have with Voldemort.

             "Ah, yes, yes, that is her!" Lucius exclaims, his eyes darkening upon noticing her and most likely remembering the dinner they had back at her own manor.

             Spencer clenches her jaw and spits, "Fuck you." Greyback pulls her hair back and she bites back her tongue to not let anything more than a small sound of discomfort. Lucius glares at her insulted, smoothly wiping her spit from his cheek with his finger. He calls for his son and motions to her. "That is Montague, correct?"

             Draco forces himself to stare at her and his grey eyes meet her own unrecognizable ones. Spencer lets her own wander among his face, trying to read him more than before and it is incredibly easy this time around. He is not some tough boy or putting on an act. It is obvious to her that he is scared; fearful of something. She tries seeing the same hope of goodness Blaise has told her about, but she only sees a young boy trying to prove his family his worth. He says nothing and just stares at her and for a couple of seconds she swears she can see an apologetic glance— and it is gone rather quick. Lucius places his hand on his shoulder and Draco snaps out of his gaze on her and turns back to his father. "She... she looks unrecognizable," he does not lie, but he does not tell the complete truth.

             Greyback lets out a laugh of amusement. "Oh, don't worry about that, Mr. Malfoy. That is definitely her, check the back of her ear!"

             Lucius raises his eyebrows before remembering that same detail as well. He grabs Spencer's neck with his cold hands and she shivers despite not wanting to. Her eyes harden when she hears Lucius's voice proclaim that is her.

             "Then that is the Granger girl," Lucius points to Hermione immediately. He stares at Draco waiting for his confirmation and the boy stammers, "I... maybe...yeah."

             "But then, that's the Weasley boy!" shouts Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. "It's them, Potter's friends — Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name— ?"

             "Yeah," Draco clears his throat again, his back to the prisoners. "It could be."

             "And that... who is that?" Lucius sounds confused when most likely referring to Ricky. Before anyone can answer, the drawing room door opens behind her and Spencer mentally groans to herself when a woman speaks with a higher pitch voice, "What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"

             Bellatrix Lestrange walks slowly around the prisoners, and stops on Harry's right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes. "But surely," she mutters quietly, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

             "Yes, yes, it's Granger!" cries Lucius. "And the other girl is Montague! And there is Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"

             "Potter?" shrieks Bellatrix, and she backs away, the better to take in Harry. "Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"

             She drags back her left sleeve: Spencer notices the Dark Mark burning into the flesh of her arm, and knows that she is about to touch it, to summon her beloved master in an instant—

             "I was about to call him!" Lucius cries, and his hand actually closes upon Bellatrix's wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. "I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority —"

             "Your authority!" she sneers, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!"

             "This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy —"

             "Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," interjects Greyback, "but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold —"

             "Gold!" laughs Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his — of —" She stops struggling, her dark eyes fixing upon something Spencer cannot see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius throws her hand from him and rips up his own sleeve —

             "STOP!" shrieks Bellatrix. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"

             Lucius freezes, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strides out of Spencer's line of vision. "What is that?" She hears her question angrily.

             "Sword," grunts an out-of-sight Snatcher. Oh, the Sword that was 'meant' to be on the Vault.

             "Give it to me."

             "It's not yorn, missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it."

             There is a bang and a flash of red light: Spencer knows that the Snatcher has been Stunned. There is a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior draws his wand. "What d'you think you're playing at, woman?"

             "Stupefy!" She screams. "Stupefy!" They are no match for her, even though there are four of them against one of her: She is a witch, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fall where they stood, all except Greyback, who is forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Spencer watches cold as Bellatrix bears down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripping tightly in her hand, her face waxen. "Where did you get this sword?" She whispers to Greyback as she pulls his wand out of his unresisting grip.

             "How dare you?" He snarls, his mouth the only thing that could move as he is forced to gaze up at her. He bares his pointed teeth. "Release me, woman!"

             "Where did you find this sword?" Bellatrix repeats, brandishing it in his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"

             "It was in their tent," rasps Greyback. "Release me, I say!"

             She waves her wand, and the werewolf springs to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowls behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.

             "Draco, move this scum outside," Bellatrix orders darkly, indicating the unconscious men. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."

             "Don't you dare speak to Draco like —" Narcissa defends her son furiously, but Bellatrix screams, "Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"

             She stands, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turns to look at the silent prisoners. "If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed," she mutters, more to herself than to the others. "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself... But if he finds out... I must... I must know..."

             She turns back to her sister again. "The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do! Oh, I cannot believe I am going to do this— anyone, but her..."

             "This is my house, Bella, you don't give orders in my—"

             "Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" Bellatrix shrieks. She looks frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issues from her wand and burns a hole in the carpet. Narcissa hesitates for a moment, then addresses the werewolf: "Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

             Spencer keeps her eye on Bellatrix that at one point she gets in front of her. The young Montague immediately regrets staring at her eyes once they make connection and Bellatrix freezes for a couple of seconds, her eyes bitterly angry before realizing something. The older woman tilts her head and analyzes her curiously— just like the rest, she turns her head to the side to spot the Montague emblem on her ear. And then, a simple smirk appears on her lips.

             "Well... I suppose it won't be so bad this time around, will it, baby Montague?" Bellatrix lets out a wicked laugh before she waves her wand around angrily and points it to the ground. Not even seconds later, another figure appears in the room and just by the shadow that Spencer visions first, her face turns completely white. Spencer underestimated how this path would seem to take. Right in front of her with a ripped black dress stands Mordra Montague. The woman glowers already in anger knowing who must have called her in, her eyes focused solely on Bellatrix with pure hatred.

             "What do you want, Bella?" Mordra hisses, taking out her wand possibly to destroy the whole manor. Bellatrix only smirks wider and elegantly motions to Spencer. Her aunt follows the woman's gaze and falls right at her. Slowly, the anger disappears and a darker look appears mixed with a small amount of gratitude. "You've brought me a present... how pleasant," she sighs with a complete change of mood.

             Mordra leans closer to Spencer and lets her fingers run through her cheek. Spencer glares at her hotly, hoping that in some way the glare will cause her to melt and be rid of forever. Her aunt smirks unpleasantly as she lets her finger pass through her jaw. "Spencer, you've been a very bad child, haven't you?"

             Spencer does not answer her. Mordra seems to take that as a win and stands up excitedly. "I choose her," she marks happily. Bellatrix raises her eyebrow amusingly and motions to Harry.

             "Then I choose him," Bellatrix declares. "If that is Potter, then the Dark Lord will come to label me as the favorite one."

             Mordra hardens her face and hisses, "So be it. But if you were the favorite one already, you would not have the need to fight me over him, now would you?"

             Bellatrix shrieks in anger and points her wand at Mordra which her aunt easily reflects. Narcissa takes a small step forward with her hand raised toward Greyback who has not yet moved from his spot to take them elsewhere. "You, werewolf, take them to the—"

             "Wait," Bellatrix interrupts sharply. "All except... except for the Mudblood." She points directly at Hermione with fascination. Mordra takes her time to stare at everyone before her eyebrows raise and it travels from Spencer to the person behind her.

             Her aunt gives her a smug smile and grabs Bellatrix's grabby hands who is already heading toward Hermione. "Take the brunette boy as well. He's a filthy Mudblood that should have died looooong ago," Mordra insists, her smirk widening at the frightened look that appears on Spencer's face. No, no, no, no, no, no.

             "No! Leave him! Take me, you bitch!" Spencer finally gives in, shaking her body to get out of the tight hold she is in. Greyback gives a grunt of pleasure. From close to her, Ron is shouting the same thing for Hermione. To trade places. She can feel Ricky freeze in fear and she continues shouting at them to not take him. "Take me! Take me!"

             Mordra gives her an innocent looking expression before grinning with her sharp teeth. "Oh, don't you get it, Spencer? You are going to be taken... but with me," Mordra reveals darkly. Bellatrix cuts Hermione and Ricky free from the others and then drags Hermione by the hair and Ricky with her wand. He is struggling to get out of the spell, his arms trying to reach out for Spencer who continues lashing out trying to get out from her own.

             "No!" Spencer yells out, hurting herself in the process of trying to get out. She can feel Harry trying to comfort her, but he does not help. Her mind is swaying to the left and right until she feels herself being cut loose and Spencer takes the chance to smack her feet onto Mordra's stomach, but all she does in the process is end up hissing in pain as Mordra throws her to the ground with her arms locked.

             The rest of her friends are getting taken away by Greyback while Spencer stays on the ground feeling completely helpless. 'Ricky' is repeating on her head countless of times because that is her only thought. She cannot think about anything else except him and Hermione. Her body is stuck on the floor for a minute before she is brought back to be on her knees and despite not being there, she can hear Morgana telling her 'I want you to beg on your knees!' over and over along with her friend's names.

             "Look at me," Mordra speaks softly, lifting her chin up to the point where the two of them are staring at each other. From the corner of her eye, Spencer spots Narcissa standing an acceptable distance between them, a slight grimace on her face at what she is watching. Draco is beside her staring completely in shock and frozen to his core, fear never leaving. Morda pauses for a few seconds before scoffing at herself. She flicks her wand effortlessly and then Spencer feels her whole body suddenly stand as if she is being controlled under the Imperio curse before her hands are being held tight by chains and then so are her feet. This time, she is not sitting but rather being forced to stand. "Better," Mordra smirks.

             Spencer breathes heavily before she coughs out, "Is it?" She is shifting in her spot hoping that in some way these chains will break if they are not magic bound.

             Mordra makes a face of innocence. "Oh," she pouts slightly to mock her. "We have a lot of catching up to do!"

             "You could have just ask if you wanted to bond with your niece, Mordra," Spencer sneers, dangling her hands hoping that they can slip out of there. Her aunt simply rolls her eyes and lets her wand trail after her jawline. Truth be told, Spencer is truly afraid of her aunt despite the words escaping her mouth. Morgana is different. She is someone she grew up with so it is challenging taking her completely seriously and yet Mordra has always scared her even as a child.

             "Your sister has warned me how absolutely mouthful you are," Mordra comments with a hot glare. "She is right. You only want to annoy your the ones torturing you, don't you? Morgana complains about you far too much. Maybe, I should do her a favor."

             "I bet that like her you—"

             "Crucio!" Mordra catches her completely off-guard and Spencer lets out a scream of pain that she remembers feeling back at Hogwarts and yet this time it is even more powerful and experienced. Her insides are being set in fire and it is as if her body is slowly being killed. As quick as it comes, then it goes the same. Spencer feels her body tremble at what she experienced and groans despite not wanting to. Mordra hums in thought, tapping her chin curiously before she waves her wand and at the chains around Spencer's hands disappear. Before she has a chance to do anything, Mordra repeats the same word as before and Spencer falls to the ground completely vulnerable. It is stronger than the one before. And then Mordra stops again as if taking a short pause before the torture continues and Spencer's mind is yelling; she is yelling for how much it hurts and for her friends. Everything just hurts. The pain is overwhelming her body and this time the spell is lasting longer— it is still occurring and every inch of her feels like she is burning and in that moment Spencer is craving for death more than anything. Her hands goes up to her face wanting to rip it off and tear every bone in her body.

             Her aunt laughs with pure amusement and excitement. She crouches down before her eyes spot the necklace dangling from neck. "Ah! What is this?" Mordra points to the necklace with her wand. Spencer widens her eyes and shakes her head repeatedly.

             "No, no, don't touch that!" She shouts, bringing her hands up to her necklace and holding it tight as if that will help her not let it be taken away. Spencer ignores the way her necklace glows because of her touch on it. She cannot see that it is changing color to represent the way she feels; horrible, helpless, defeated, dead. Her mind forgets about it all within seconds when she hears a familiar scream reach her ears. Spencer feels her mind wanting to explode in anger, frustration, utter sadness when her best friend's yell reaches her ears. Ricky is yelling— he is shouting in extreme pain and then even with being rooms apart she knows he is crying and then she hears Hermione shout all the same because they are both being tortured. "Ricky!" Spencer cries out even louder than when she was crying for herself.

             Mordra rips the necklace out of her neck the second she gets the chance and inspects it with curiosity. Finding nothing to please her senses, she rolls her eyes and backs away momentarily. Spencer's mind is telling her to try and escape, but nothing is functioning correctly. Her body is weak and Ricky— that is what she keeps yelling for. She is hoping that with her shouts somehow he will make his way toward the doors with that bright smile of his that can always lift her spirits.

             The oldest Montague struts toward Narcissa and looks at her pointedly, narrowing her eyes suspiciously when she spots the woman having her eyes widen in fear, surprise, and concern for a few seconds. When noticing that Mordra is staring at her, Narcissa immediately returns to the cold and blank expression before staring at her expectantly. "Yes?" Narcissa questions coldly, noticing that her son has turned into a shade of green, his eyes widen in disbelief.

             "Take this," Mordra orders without any more to say and returns back to her niece. Narcissa glares once she turns around and then glances at the necklace curiously. Having no clue what to do with it, and perhaps pitying the young girl, she calls for Draco to lean closer. Her son does as told and his face is baffled with illness as if he is about to throw up or die. "Here, Draco," Narcissa whispers to her son, giving him a sharp look before crossing her arms and clenching her jaw when she hears Spencer let out two different screams at the same time. One crying out for her friend and the other in devastating pain finally begging to be rid of.

             Draco takes the necklace and takes a quick look at it before putting away on his pockets. If it is possible, he appears even more sick than before and he knows the reason why. He has seen a similar necklace in his best friend's neck. Before he can spend anymore time on those thoughts, his father calls for him and he leaves the room immediately not being able to handle hearing Spencer's scream any longer. Guilt starves him up, but not even that sensation will make him help her.

             Spencer is going to die.

Or become completely paralyzed to the neck down like how Neville Longbottom's parents turned out to be from when Bellatrix cursed them until they got to that point. Either way, she will die because her brain will stop functioning correctly and what is a person without being able to correlate well with others? To not be able to do anything? To not think? That is what Spencer lives for despite all the bad memories. Her mind is something on its own and right now every piece of information she has ever learned is running pass it like if this is the last time she will be seeing it so in some way— Spencer Montague is going to die.

             She wonders about what could have been. What if Morgana never turned out to be so cruel and instead take the role of being a sister? What if their aunt never existed or if she died long before? What if she chose to stay hidden near Blaise and stay close with Daniel and the rest of the Weasleys? What if Ricky never befriended her so he would simply be back at France hiding with his family instead of being tortured alongside her? Or— what if there is a life where she grew up happy and everything was completely beautiful?

             What if...? What if...? What if...?

             At some point, she can no longer scream. Her voice has become hoarse and there is nothing but tears streaming down her face. This wouldn't be happening if you just joined me! You're just like your brother! Disappointment! Worthless! Useless! Weak! Her aunt's voice sounds like it is far away onto some nonexistent land. Her mind no longer has words passing through and instead it is buzzing as if she is already a dead girl. Is she? Maybe... she does not know. Her hope has demolished. She cannot hear Ricky, Hermione, or Harry and Ron. She just wants to... give up.

             And she almost does.

             Almost.

Goodbye, friends.

             Just a few more seconds.

Goodbye, Daniel.

             Four.

Goodbye, Weasleys.

             Three.

Goodbye, Theo.

             Two.

Goodbye, Blaise.

On—

             "Expelliarmus!" Spencer opens her eyes widely once she hears the familiar voice of her best friend. She is weak, but it does not matter at that second when she hears his voice from behind her and her aunt's wand flies toward her. Still being chained to her feet, Spencer stretches out her hand and grabs her aunt's wand before acting fast, Flipendo!

             Her aunt twitches back for that moment and collapses down completely caught off-guard. Spencer points to her chained legs before she is free of the binding spell. Ricky is not the only who has escaped Bellatrix's wrath as she sees Ron and Harry surround her protectively while pointing some random person's wand against the others. Harry points his wand at Lucius Malfoy and the man collapses onto the hearth. Jets of light flies from Draco's, Narcissa's, and Greyback's wands and the lights are messing up with Spencer's hazy visions but she ignores it because they are fighting and she cannot lose anyone— she cannot, she cannot, she cannot. Her own hand just points at whatever is being left around the manor and starts exploding things no matter what or who it is because she has grown to grow a deep coldness for anyone who are not her friends.

             Ricky grabs her hand and pulls her back when a green jet of light almost hits her from Greyback's wand and she freezes finding it hard to believe that he is alright— weak, but alright. Before she can say anything to him, her attention diverts toward Bellatrix and her own aunt. The Lestrange women is supporting an unconscious Hermione and is holding her shirt silver knife to her throat.

             "STOP OR SHE DIES!"

             Every one of them freeze and have their eyes widen.

             "Drop your wands," Bellatrix whispers. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

             Ron stands rigid, clutching some unknown wand. Harry narrows his eyes and straightens up, still holding Bellatrix's. Ricky is clutching onto what looks like one of the men who had snatched them and she is holding her aunt's who stares at her in a way that makes her believe she will murder her on the spot this time. But hasn't she already? It feels like it. The world around her is swirling. She just wants to close her eyes and lie on the cold floor. Is that too much to ask for? Hadn't she begged for her aunt to end it all?

             "I said, drop them!" Bellatrix screeches, pressing the blade into Hermione's throat.

             "All right!" Harry shouts, and he drops Bellatrix's wand onto the floor at his feet. Ron does the same with Wormtail's, Ricky with the Snatcher's and Spencer's with Mordra's. All four of them raise their hands to shoulder height— or at least Ricky and Spencer try to but despite the adrenaline they have upon seeing each other, they are still weak.

             "Good!" She leers. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

             You want to know the funny thing? Spencer completely forgot that this is what they were trying to avoid. That their battle is still with Voldemort. She is surprise to see that she did not forget he existed— or did she? No, no, not yet. Hurts— everything hurts. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

             "Now," Bellatrix mutters softly, as Draco hurries back to her with the wands, "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss and Mister Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl and boy, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

             "Leave me my niece so I can finish my job," Mordra steps in with a deadly look.

             At the last word there is a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looks upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it begins to fall. Bellatrix and Mordra are directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, the two witches throws themselves aside with a scream. The chandelier crashes to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutches the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions: Draco doubles over, his hands covering his bloody face. Ricky places Spencer under him in case any shards of glass falls onto them. It still fails to protect her and the two of them are hit.

             As Ron runs to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry takes his chance: He leaps over an armchair and wrests the five wands from Draco's grip, points all of them at Greyback, and yells, "Stupefy!" The werewolf is lifted off his feet by the five spell, flies up to the ceiling, and then smashes to the ground. As Narcissa drags Draco out of the way of further harm, Bellatrix springs to her feet, her hair flying as she brandishes the silver knife; but Narcissa has directed her wand at the doorway.

             "Dobby!" The woman screams, and even Bellatrix freezes. "You! You dropped the chandelier — ?"

             The tiny elf that Spencer had not realized had been there trots into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress. "You must not hurt Harry Potter," he squeaks.

             "Kill him, Cissy!" shrieks Bellatrix, but there is another loud crack, and Narcissa's wand too flies into the air and lands on the other side of the room.

             "You hairless dirty wretched—" Mordra gasps in horror, her eyes widening in disbelief as she watches a supposed house-elf disrespect his former owners. Her words are covered with Bellatrix bawling, "You dirty little monkey! How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"

             "Dobby has no master!" squeals the elf. "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"

             "Ron, catch — and GO!" Harry yells, throwing one of the wands to him; then he bends down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Ricky tugs Spencer toward Ron and Hermione, holding each other closely while they Apparate out of there and Ron (the others far too weak to even do so) takes the four of them to who knows where. Spencer closes her eyes completely weak and feels her whole body twist with her Aunt Mordra screams echoing in her head, "I WANT HER DEAD!"

             She is taken to darkness before she lands and then stumbles forward onto the salty ground. Spencer stays on her side having no more strength to continue on as she turns herself around to numbly stare up at the night sky. She groans loudly feeling every inch of pain hit her at once and tears begin streaming down her face again because she cannot handle it. She cannot handle it, she cannot handle it, everything hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Spencer feels herself twitching in pain and everything is throbbing. Someone touches her arm lightly and all she does is relive (stupid eidetic memory stupid, stupid, stupid) the scene where her aunt is torturing her and she is yelling: Just kill me! Just kill me!

             Spencer hears someone crying out to her. Male. Ricky? Probably, maybe. She just cannot seem to focus. It is like her body back at the manor forced itself to have some automated function that made her fight when the timing was right but after that? Back to how she was feeling before. Just kill me! Just kill me! Spencer shakes uncontrollably until she just stops.

             Her eyes close and everything goes silent— and oh, how much she despises silence more than anything.

▂✫⌒*･ﾟ

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
so im sorry. there are no words for
this except that we are going to murder
some people 😄 am i on that list? idk
u guys tell me 😊 but also dw i hate myself
for what i've done 👍

BUT before you do murder me lemme just say
that next chapter we will be getting a different
point of view. and scenario change. yeah 😋