Hermione didn't care for the bloodstained blanket she was wrapped in before she was hefted over his shoulder. It was confining and just a little too real for her tastes. Where Augustus had been able to procure the copious amount of blood with which he soaked the blanket, she didn't want to know. Lying perfectly still as he carried her, she appeared to be nothing more than the remnants of the Muggle girl he'd snatched off the street days earlier. It wasn't uncommon for those in their circle to spend several days with a chosen victim simply for the fun of it. Tom, the elderly proprietor of the well-known establishment, always turned a blind eye to the worst of the atrocities committed by his paying patrons. His life was safer that way.