"Do it," said the stranger standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted gray hair and whiskers, whose black Death Eaters robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a voice like none that Harry had ever heard; a rasping bark of a voice. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat, and unmistakably blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails.
"That's right," rasped the other. "Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?"
Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely. "But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore."
"That's right," said Fenrir Greyback. "Shocks you that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"
"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasped Greyback. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out... Delicious, delicious..."
And he raised a yellow fingernail and picked at his front teeth, leering at Dumbledore. "I could do you for afters, Dumbledore."
"I'll do it," snarled Fenrir, moving toward Dumbledore with his hands outstretched, his teeth bared.
"Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list,'said a horribly familiar, rasping voice.
"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 a Butterbeer to wash this one down/ What happened to you, ugly?"
"I said," repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain, "What happened to you?"
"What's your name?" snarled Greyback.
"And your first name?"
"Check the list, Scabior," said Greyback, and Harry heard him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. "And what about you, Ginger."
"A Weasley?" rasped Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend..." The relish in his voice made Harry's flesh crawl.
"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she's a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barry. Who are you, girly?"
"What's your blood status?"
"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, Weasley?" growled Greyback. "The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?"
"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!"
"Interesting," said Greyback. "That's interesting."
"So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?"
"Well, well," said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry official. Harry's heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father will reward us just for picking you up."
"Ve-e-ry nice," said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks Goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"
"You know what, little girly? This pictures looks a hell of a lot like you."
'"... known to be traveling with Harry Potter",' repeated Greyback quietly.
"Well, this changes things, doesn't?" whispered Greyback.
"What's that on your forehead, Vernon?" he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry's nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taut scar.
"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?" breathed Greyback.
"It is!" rasped Greyback. "We've caught Potter!"
"To hell with the Ministry," growled Greyback. "They'll take the credit, and we won't get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who."
"No," snarled Greybeck, "I haven't got - they say he's using the Malfoy's place as a base. We'll take the boy there."
"Who's in charge here? Roared 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 lock, I'll get the girl thrown in!"
"Might as well take the lot. We've got two Mudbloods, that's another ten galleons. Give me the sword, as well. If they're rubies, that's another small fortune right there."
"Grab hold, and make it tight. I'll do Potter!" said Greyback, seizing a fist of Harry's hair; Harry could feel his long, yellow nails scratching his scalp. "On three! One - two - three -"
"We've got Potter!" Greyback roared triumphantly. "We've captured Harry Potter!"
"Come on!" said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffles their footsteps.
"We're here to see He Who Must Not Be Named!" rasped Greyback.
"You know me!" There was resentment in the werewolf's voice, "Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter!"
"Well, boy?" rasped the werewolf.
"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" said Greyback menacingly.
"That wasn't us."
"What about the Mudblood, then?" growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," interjected Greyback, "But it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold –"
"How dare you?" he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. "Release me, woman!"
"It was in their tent," rasped Greyback. "Release me, I say!"
"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her?" Greyback crooned, as he forced them along the corridor. "I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you, Ginger?"
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