“Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” said Greyback’s gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto 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?”
“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.
“Like ’ell you are,” said the man called Scabior. “We know Stan Shunpike, ’e’s put a bit of work our way.”
There was another thud.
“I’b Bardy,” said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. “Bardy Weadley.”
“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.
“Easy, Greyback,” said Scabior 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?”
“Penelope Clearwater,” said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.
“What’s your blood status?”
“Half-blood,” said Hermione.
“Easy enough to check,” said Scabior. “But the ’ole lot of ’em look like they could still be ’ogwarts age —”
“We’b lebt,” said Ron.
“Left, ’ave you, ginger?” said Scabior. “And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you’d use the Dark Lord’s name?”
“Nod a laugh,” said Ron. “Aggiden.”
“Accident?” There was more jeering laughter.
“You know who used to like using the Dark Lord’s name, Weasley?” growled Greyback. “The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?”
“Doh.”
“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!”
Someone yanked Harry up by the hair, dragged him a short way, pushed him down into a sitting position, then started binding him back-to-back with other people. Harry was still half blind, barely able to see anything through his puffed-up eyes. When at last the man tying them had walked away, Harry whispered to the other prisoners.
“Anyone still got a wand?”
“No,” said Ron and Hermione from either side of him.
“This is all my fault. I said the name, I’m sorry —”
“Harry?”
It was a new, but familiar, voice, and it came from directly behind Harry, from the person tied to Hermione’s left.
“Dean?”
“It is you! If they find out who they’ve got — ! They’re Snatchers, they’re only looking for truants to sell for gold —”
“Not a bad little haul for one night,” Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. “A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and three truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?” he roared.
“Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley on ’ere, Greyback.”
“Interesting,” said Greyback. “That’s interesting.”
He crouched down beside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted gray hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores at the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.
“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,” said Harry automatically.
“Funny ’ow they all thinks we wants to ’ear that,” jeered Scabior out of the shadows. “But none of ’em can tell us where the common room is.”
“It’s in the dungeons,” said Harry 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 was a short pause.
“Well, well, looks like we really ’ave caught a little Slytherin,” said Scabior. “Good for you, Vernon, ’cause there ain’t a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who’s your father?”
“He works at the Ministry,” Harry lied. He knew that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. “Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.”
“You know what, Greyback,” said Scabior. “I think there is a Dudley in there.”
Harry could barely breathe: Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this?
“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’ll reward us just for picking you up.”
“But,” said Harry, his mouth bone dry, “if you just let us —”
“Hey!” came a shout from inside the tent. “Look at this, Greyback!”
A dark figure came bustling toward them, and Harry saw a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor’s sword.