(A/N: WARNING — this chapter of BWL contains blood, abuse, and harsh language. read at your own risk.)
CHAPTER NINE:
Third Person Narrative:
"I'm not asking again," called the hoarse voice once more, "get out here now! Or else we're coming in!"
Charlie looked around at the other three, now mere outlines in the darkness. Squinting, he saw Hermione point her wand, set toward the outside, but into Harry's face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and Harry buckled in agony, unable to see.
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"What are you —" Charlie began, panicking, as Harry's face swelled rapidly under his hands.
"Shhhh!" hushed Hermione, crossing the room and throwing her spare hand over her boyfriend's mouth. "Just trust me, okay?" she added in a quiet, terrified whisper, her body flush against his. "I love yo—"
Before Charlie could process what was happening, however, there were several pairs of heavy footfalls that surrounded them. Unknown hands harshly pulled Charlie from Hermione's embrace, restraining him in the midst of darkness. Then, unable to stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed his cypress wand.
There were screams and yells of anguish reverberating around the tent's canvas. Charlie had had his arms pinned behind his back, only able to see Harry's eyes physically reduce to slits out of the corner of his own. The crunching sound of glass sounded beneath their feet as Charlie and the others were bundled out of the tent; Harry's glasses had fallen off, shattering on the hard, solid ground.
As Charlie was dragged resistantly from the tent, he could briefly make out the blurred shapes of five or six people wrestling Harry, Ron, and Hermione outside too. His nostrils flaring with a newfound rage, Charlie managed to free one of his hands, desperately trying to fight his way towards Hermione.
"Get — off — her!" he shouted, but he was quickly silenced by the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh; Charlie grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"
"Your boyfriend's going to 'ave worse than that done to 'im if 'e's on my list," said the horribly familiar, rasping voice, and Charlie realized it was the same voice that had belonged to the Snatcher which smelt Hermione's perfume so many months ago. "Well, aren't yeh just beautiful," — Charlie heard Hermione whimper — "what d'yeh think, Greyback?"
"Delicious girl... what a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin..." came another horrific growl.
Charlie's stomach turned over instantly and he wrestled fruitlessly against his captors once more. He knew who this was: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.
"Search the tent," shouted the first voice abruptly.
Charlie was thrown facedown onto the ground. Two thuds told him that Harry and Ron had been cast down beside him as well. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.
