Butterfly Effect ; H. Potter

139. malfoy manor.

Harry looked round at the other three, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Hermione point her wand, not towards the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands, as heavy footfalls surrounded him.

"Get up, vermin."

Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground. Before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognisable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent; all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Antheia, Ron, and Hermione outside too.

"Get – off – her!" Ron shouted. There was the unmistakeable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, "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," said the horribly familiar, rasping voice.

"Leave them alone," said Antheia this time, "I can do magic without my wand, since you've rudely taken that away."

A different man turned towards her, his face lifting into a creepy smile.

"I've seen you before, pretty," he said. "Hannah Abbott, right? Why so snappy today?"

"That's not Hannah Abott," the rasping voice said. "I recognise her. This here is Antheia Lupin."

The Snatchers all howled in laughter and excitement. Harry's stomach turned over. He knew who this was: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.

"You know, girl, your father was quite the treat," Greyback snarled. "How's he doing? Disgusts me when werewolves aren't loyal to their kind."

Harry had never seen Antheia with this much fear in her eyes. His heart dropped at the sight.

"Delicious girl ... what a treat ... I do enjoy the softness of the skin ..."

"Search the tent!" said another voice.

Harry was thrown, face down, on to the ground. A thud told him that Ron had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.

"Now, let's see who we've got," said Greyback's gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over on to his back. A beam of wandlight fell into his face and Greyback laughed.

"I'll be needing Butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

Harry did not answer immediately.

"I said," repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain, "what happened to you?"

Harry did not answer immediately.

"Stung," Harry muttered. "Been stung."

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

"What's your name?" snarled Greyback.

"Dudley," said Harry.

"And your first name?"

"I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley."

"Check the list, Scabior," said Greyback, and Harry heard him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. "And what about you, Ginger?"

"Stan Shunpike," said Ron.