A Stranger in an Unholy Land

~~~~ Chapter VII ~~~~

A Victim of Circumstance

"So good to see you again, old friend," said a cold voice as Severus Snape stepped into the room. He was dressed in the customary black robes with his mask in place. He didn't need to keep his face neutral, as the mask covered it and the Dark Lord would use Legilimency to determine how he was feeling anyway. This neutral mask seemed to have become his natural expression over the years. Pushing the thought aside, he stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. A chandelier hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room, directly above a large, oval-shaped wooden table. The light was bright, but not uncomfortably so. Severus approached the Dark Lord, walking the last few steps on his hands and knees, and kissed the hem of his robes. He stood and removed the mask.

"You sent for me, Master?" said Severus, his voice level. He betrayed no sign of emotion, and stood perfectly still, waiting for the Dark Lord to respond.

"Indeed I did," said the Dark Lord, turning to face Severus. He had his hood lowered; his eyes were almost glowing with hatred. "Rumour has reached me of a rather covert operation recently carried out by Dumbledore's band of Mudbloods."

A chill ran down his spine at the words. Severus instantly knew that this was bad. They had been seen somewhere along the way, or someone had opened their mouth. The question was, how much did the Dark Lord know? Did he know Severus was involved, or was he just checking his suspicions?

"You seem unsurprised," noted the Dark Lord. Severus never showed his surprise if he could help it, so this wasn't unusual. He must know that Severus had been there. But how much more did he know? There was a high danger of messing up here, and if he did, he would not be leaving the room alive.

"Indeed I am," replied Severus. He knew that lies would be foolish. Skilled as he was at Occlumency, he did not wish to push his luck and run the risk of faltering. He had to tread carefully. If he offered too much information, Voldemort would learn more than he should and the Order would be compromised. If he held back, he would know that Severus was lying and he would be killed.

"Good," said the Dark Lord, a smile appearing on his lips. Severus managed to hide his relief. "I was hoping you would not lie to me. Lord Voldemort knows when he is being lied to. You wouldn't dare lie to me, would you, Severus?"

His arrogance will be his downfall, thought Severus as the stared at him.

"Never," replied the spy.

The Dark Lord's smile dissolved in a few seconds and he walked towards the fireplace. Two large red armchairs were set up, and Severus could see Nagini coiled up on the hearth.

"Take a seat," ordered the Dark Lord, gesturing to the seat opposite the one he was now sitting in. Severus cautiously crossed to the seat, maintaining the neutral appearance he had so precisely crafted over the years. He sank into the chair, crossed his legs, and looked across at the Dark Lord. "Now," began the Dark Lord. "As a Hogwarts professor, you must be aware that the Hogwarts Express was ambushed three days ago. What you will also be aware of is that the next day at approximately half past eleven, several of the old man's associates within the Auror Division disappeared within five minutes of each other and returned the same way, all dressed in Muggle clothing. Could this be a coincidence?"

"Unlikely," replied Snape. He managed to maintain a cool exterior, but inside his head was spinning. The Dark Lord was hinting that he knew it was not a coincidence so saying 'it might be' was foolish, especially when Severus was known to be a sceptic and known not to believe in coincidences. Did the Dark Lord know of Potter's 'defection'? Personally, Snape didn't believe Potter had changed, having witnessed his deeds up close and personal. Severus would just as soon garrotte the boy as speak to him, but he had faith in Dumbledore's decisions.

Those foolish Aurors have no common sense! How could they allow themselves to be seen like that? Leave together, return together and dressed alike? What kind of amateurs were they? Potter had said they were lacking in certain skills just before Severus had left. They were, but it was not Defence skills, it was common sense and Operational Procedures, which the Auror Trainers should teach, not Hogwarts teachers. He made a mental note to give Potter a piece of his mind if he got out of the room alive.

But that was a worry for another time. At present he had to keep his mind on the situation at hand, lest his Occlumency slip and he would never see the light of another day. There was no point in worry about what has already happened, but it did put him on the spot. He was going to have to give away more than he would like. He could just break cover and not tell the Dark Lord a thing. Severus was prepared for that.

He had made a mistake in his youth and become a Death Eater. Many had died and suffered as a result, and his conscience was far from clear. He could never repay what he had taken from people; all he could do was try to stop it happening to others. He looked upon it as repaying his debt to society, thought the debt was greater than he could ever hope to repay. Every Cruciatus Curse he endured was his price of redemption, in his eyes. He deserved to suffer for what he had done, and in order to put it right he would give his life for the cause. Even if he did break cover, the Dark Lord would almost certainly be able to get the information from him by excessive Legilimency and prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, and Severus' death would accomplish nothing. He would be lost as a spy and the Order's main source of information would be gone. No, tactically, it made more sense to stay alive and functional, even if it meant giving the Dark Lord a little more than he should. Compromise today; pick up the pieces tomorrow. The price of losing an inner-circle source was too high compared to the little information about Harry bloody Potter.

"That is why you are such a good Death Eater," said the Dark Lord. Praise from him was almost unheard of. The shock of those words almost caused Severus' mask of neutrality to slip, but he regained his composure quickly. The Dark Lord continued. "You think; such a simple thing to do, but so many lack the ability to think, especially laterally. Bellatrix, Antonin, Walden - when it comes to violence and brute force they are at the top of their game; give them a puzzle and it is like teaching Kneazles to play Chess."

"Thank you, Master," said Snape, bowing his head. The Dark Lord's words were an ego-booster for Severus. Potter and Black always tried to show him up, but just because he didn't run around, wand blazing, blowing up everything in sight, didn't mean he was not twice the wizard they were. It was a pity the only one to recognise his talents, aside from Dumbledore and Flamel, was the very person he was working towards killing. How ironic, he thought. Then again, the Dark Lord was so sparse with praise, that Severus couldn't help but feel that the Dark Lord was suspicious of him.

"Where others see coincidence, we see preconception," continued the Dark Lord. "Dumbledore's little helpers were obviously on some kind of errand. The same loyal Death Eater also acquired from one of them, a receipt for the hiring of two large, black automobiles. Another foolish, but very eager, young source has informed me that two such automobiles arrived at Hogwarts. There were several occupants. Do you know who they might be, Severus?"

"One of them was myself," said Snape. The Dark Lord evidently knew what had happened. This was a test of loyalty. Severus knew he must pass this both for his own sake, as well as the Order's, and not in that order. Not giving up Potter was not vital to the cause; the boy didn't matter. But, Severus decided that, out of respect for Dumbledore, he would hold it as long as possible, but if push came to shove, he would give up the boy.

"My young friend confirmed this," said the Dark Lord. "You did well not to lie to me, Severus. I know what a skilled Occlumens you are. Now, please give me the names of the others in the convoy."

Severus paused for a second. The Dark Lord had mentioned another source who noticed them leave. He could obviously get the names elsewhere. There was no point in lying. On reflection, the contact must have been an Auror. The Dark Lord said the tout saw them leave and return to the Auror Division. The Aurors were compromised. Severus was torn between a glimmer of satisfaction that Potter's army was not as perfect as he claimed and the shock that the Light side has so many leaks in high places. Had the Order itself been penetrated?

Severus took a deep breath and began to reel off the names. He started with his car and then moved on to the other. The only change he made was swapping himself with Hestia Jones. This meant he had not been in Dumbledore's car and would not have seen its contents. He hoped this excuse was sufficient to fool the Dark Lord into thinking Severus was ignorant. If not, he ran the risk of contradicting himself and giving the game away, so to speak. As Severus was ever more aware, this was no game.

The Dark Lord sat motionless, committing each name to memory. He never needed to write things down. Severus admired his photographic memory.

"And where were these automobiles taken?" inquired the Dark Lord.

How much did he know? If he lied and the Dark Lord knew it, he would be killed. Occlumency was all well and good, but if Severus told him something he knew to be a lie, the Dark Lord would know he was being lied to. He would also know that since he didn't detect it, it had most likely happened before. Everything would have to be changed and the Order's information would be useless. Through excessive torture and Legilimency, the Dark Lord would find out everything about the Order. Severus had no choice but to tell the truth. .

"Trafalgar Square," said Severus.

"And what happened there?"

"I was in the second car, I was not present. All I saw when my car arrived was a box being loaded into the first car and then the Aurors climbed into mine. One car headed to Hogwarts, the other to the Ministry to return the Aurors to their stations."

"I see," said the Dark Lord. "But if you were in the second car, which did not bear the box, you must have gone to the Ministry to return the Aurors, since I know the box arrived at Hogwarts. My question is, why did my source say that you arrived in the car at Hogwarts, when you just told me that you were in the second car which went to the Ministry? One of you must be lying."

Severus could have kicked himself. He had let the lie slip by contradicting himself. Luckily, through years of practice, he managed to maintain his mental and physical composure. He thought up a lie and he thought it up quick. He just hoped the Dark Lord didn't punish him for not telling the whole truth immediately.

"Because, Master," he began. "I told you what happened at Trafalgar Square. Whatever was in the box was loaded into the first car. My car picked up the Aurors. We drove off to an alleyway, out of sight of Muggles. Here we swapped cars. The Aurors took the second car to the Ministry. Myself, the werewolf, and Dumbledore took the first car back to the school."

"So you saw the box," pressed the Dark Lord. Severus was unsure whether his lie was accepted or not. He was scared. He had slipped and was kicking himself for it. He had never slipped so foolishly before. What had gotten into him? He hoped he had managed to keep his Occlumency shield strong and undetectable. If not, he would never see the light of another day.

"I saw the box, but not what was in it," said Severus.

"I see, and where was the box taken?"

"Dumbledore took it once we reached the school," said Severus. "I was ordered to return to my quarters."

"How big was the box?"

"About one and a half to two metres long, half a metre high and wide," said Severus. If he said it was something small, the Dark Lord would wonder why a Jeep was needed. But then again, he would probably wonder why Dumbledore did not just shrink the box? If Potter had been in a coffin and not on a stretcher, it could not have been shrunk as he was still inside. If Dumbledore tried to shrink a box with a living creature inside, the creature would be crushed. It was simple logic. It seemed obvious to Severus that the Dark Lord would know that there was something or someone alive in it. Hopefully, it was one of those things that are seemingly obvious to those who know it, but is really hard to guess if you didn't know.

The Dark Lord sat looking pensive for a moment. Severus was certain he was thinking along the lines he had just been. The question was whether or not he knew Severus had not told him the entire truth. At length, the Dark Lord moved. "Roll up your sleeve, and replace your mask," instructed the Dark Lord.

Severus cringed, knowing all too well the pain that was to come. He did as he was instructed and the Dark Lord extended a long bony finger to the Dark Mark. Severus managed not to cry out in pain as the Mark burned and turned from red to black. He hissed as it stung him.

The Dark Lord reclined in his chair, keeping his eyes on Severus, who rubbed his sore mark for a few seconds before pulling his sleeve back down. They sat in tense silence for nearly five minutes before the door opened and a figure in black robes entered the room. Was this the source that the Dark Lord had mentioned? Severus couldn't think of anyone else the Dark Lord would call. He watched, motionless, as the figure approached on hands and knees and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes.

"You called, Master?" said the Death Eater. The voice was male and, if Severus had to guess, he would say the man was a few years post-Hogwarts, aged twenty-four at the most.

"Indeed," said the Dark Lord. "Conjure yourself a seat." There was a pause while the Death Eater did as he was told. When he was seated, he glanced at both Severus and the Dark Lord. After a few seconds, the Dark Lord spoke again. "Did you find anything in the local press?"

"I did, Master," said the Death Eater, producing a newspaper from within his robes. Severus felt a chill go down his spine. What had he found out? If this source had discovered anything concrete, Severus might be compromised. The Aurors had allowed themselves to be seen leaving and returning. What else had they let slip? Fools! Severus cautiously moved his hand towards his wand as the source continued to speak. "There was a kidnapping, in broad daylight. The offenders left in two black Jeeps."

"Trafalgar Square?" asked the Dark Lord.

The Death Eater made a poor job of hiding his surprise. "You know, Master?" he asked.

That was a mistake, thought Snape. You should never question the Master's knowledge. He took a very dim view of people thinking he was ignorant.

"Of course," hissed Voldemort, his anger obvious, but controlled. "Now read the article in question."

"At midday yesterday, in broad daylight, a teenager was kidnapped by an unknown group of men posing as policemen in the middle of Trafalgar Square," read the Death Eater. "The Square was packed as usual yesterday, but before Big Ben had even stopped ringing, violence erupted in the square. A teenager was stunned with a Tazer before being carted off by a group of men who identified themselves to the gathering crowd of people as policemen.

"The Metropolitan Police Department, Scotland Yard and the Security Service, commonly known as MI5, have all denied responsibility for the abduction. The identities of the teenager, the perpetrators and indeed the motives behind the abduction are still unknown. Scotland Yard are carrying out an investigation. Witness reports vary, but what is known is that a young man, described as being short and muscular with dark hair, was carried off in two black, government-style Jeeps by eight to twelve men in suits. One witness, Margaret Bustock, gave the Daily Telegraph the following statement.

"'My friend Barbara and I had stopped for coffee, when we saw this jogger. I thought nothing of it at first. Then I saw this old man. He had a long beard and glasses. The jogger ran straight into him. It was awful, I think it was a mugging. He held the old man at knife-point. Then these men in suits came out of nowhere. The jogger collapsed and they carted him off in a convoy of two huge great black cars.'

"While the identities of those involved is still unknown, many theories are circulating. Amongst them, the most prominent is gang violence and, while the traditional government-conspiracy theories are circulating on the internet, there is also speculation about the involvement of the Provisional IRA. It is also worth noting that..."

"Enough," said the Dark Lord, cutting him off.

Severus' head was spinning. An old man with a long white beard and glasses, a teenager with dark hair; the Dark Lord would have no trouble piecing it together.

He turned to the Death Eater, who had replaced the newspaper within the folds his robes. He obviously thought he was onto a winner with the Dark Lord. Severus knew that sooner or later, that man would pay. He just hoped he was alive to see it.

"You may leave. Say nothing to anyone. You will receive further instructions in the normal manner." The Death Eater rose and, after vanishing his chair, bowed and left. "Now, I know what was in the box," he said softly. "Harry, Harry, Harry. It is unwise to betray Lord Voldemort." He sat still for several minutes in perfect silence, clearly thinking. The only movement he made was the drumming of his fingers on the arm of the chair. At length, he appeared to come to a decision. "Severus, return to Hogwarts. See if you can discover where Potter is concealed. I want his head on a spike."

Severus stood and bowed. He almost ran to the door. As he turned to close it behind him, he saw the Dark Lord throw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, and a head appear amidst the flames. He couldn't see who it was and his instincts for survival prevented him from risking trying to catch a glimpse. He shut the door. He had survived without blowing his cover, but he still had a big problem: the Dark Lord knew too much. He Apparated to Hogsmeade and began the run to the castle. He had to hurry he had to warn Dumbledore.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Harry stepped out of the fire at Grimmauld Place. He found himself in the living room, which was full of Death Eaters. Harry guessed that he must have interrupted a meeting of some sort, as the Death Eaters were all gathered around the table in the centre of the room. Some of them were sitting, those in the inner circle, mainly, and around them was a ring of standing Death Eaters, thirty in total. At the head of the table, Bellatrix Black sat in a chair, with a few sheets of parchment and a map rolled out in front of her. She must have been chairing the meeting.

"Welcome back," she said matter-of-factly as Harry entered. Silence had fallen over the room as he had entered. Must be my exalted presence, thought Harry. Bellatrix continued, "Where have you been?" Luckily, Harry was not completely stupid. He had expected a question such as this and had spent the journey from the Room of Requirement to Dumbledore's office thinking up a lie.

"At the Ministry," said Harry as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I had to pick up a few things." He was holding his sword in one hand and the box of his possessions was under the other arm. He gestured to both in turn. His excuse seemed to satisfy Bellatrix who nodded and turned back to the meeting. Was breaking into the Ministry so common that no one bats an eyelid when it happens? wondered Harry.

"As you know, the Tubes stretch for miles in each direction," continued Bellatrix, addressing the crowd. "We know that the Ministry of Magic has an emergency exit to the tubes, here." She pointed to the map. Harry recognised it as being a map of the London Underground. "You are to keep a three-mile distance from here at all times. From what we know, the monk disappeared into Paddington at ten, and reappeared again at two thirty, and we know he cannot Apparate. Average foot speed over uneven ground and, in this case, in the dark, is four miles an hour. If it is a round trip that means he took, at most, two hours and fifteen minutes. That gives you a search radius of nine miles in every direction from Paddington Station. If you find the monastery, you call for back up - you don't get creative, you call for backup. We move out at ten tomorrow. Muggle torches will be used, as we can't use the wand light and use other spells at the same time. We will deploy via Portkeys to the station itself, on platform two, the deepest platform they have, and split up from there. You already know your teams and which lines to search. That's all you need to know. Any questions? No? Okay, ten o'clock tomorrow morning. I'll be around at nine. Until then, get some sleep. We cannot allow you to leave, as you might be caught. Good night, gentlemen."

The meeting was adjourned and the Death Eaters began to depart. As the crowd moved towards the doors, Bellatrix began to fold away the map and parchment that lay before her. Harry, who had stood by through the meeting taking mental notes, approached the table.

"Can I help you?" asked Bellatrix; she looked as though she was annoyed but was making her best effort to be polite.

"Not really," said Harry. "I'm just..." he didn't really know what to say. What a brilliant spy I am, thought Harry. I can't even talk normally to people.

"Just what?" pressed Bellatrix.

"Thinking," said Harry. Bellatrix gave him an impatient look, so he had to continue. He had never been a good liar, and right now he was proving it. He wondered if Snape had first started out like this.

"About what?" asked Bellatrix, sitting down, and fixing him with a piercing gaze. Does she know? thought Harry. No, of course not. There is no reason why she should suspect me. Harry felt a hot flush as she stared at him. He hoped he appeared calm, because inside he was very, very nervous. Lying had never been his strong point.

"My head is all messed up," said Harry. It was best to stick close to the truth. All good lies have elements of the truth in them. It also meant that if he got into difficulty he had something to reference a lie to. "Whatever they did to me hasn't gone away. My memory is blurry at best. I don't even know why Longbottom is so mad at me."

"I don't mean to be rude," said Bellatrix, smirking at him. "But you bloody well deserve that."

"What did I do?" asked Harry. "I can't remember ever doing it."

"They must have hit you hard," said Bellatrix, with something Harry could almost accept as sympathy. "They might have even tried Legilimency and accidentally fried your brain." He knew this wasn't true, but it was better to let her speculate, as long as she never came close to the truth. There wasn't much danger of that. It had taken him days to work out what had happened, and he had known that the world had appeared to change. She did not.

"Fascinating," said Harry impatiently. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"When we needed some captives freed, it was decided to 'convince' an Auror to set them free. We needed an inside man. Longbottom was selected because of his rank. You kidnapped his son from under his nose in the middle of Diagon Alley in broad daylight. Two days later, he was returned to his house, having been beaten, broken and having had his brain turned to mush by continuous use of the Cruciatus Curse." Harry remembered seeing what remained of Frank and Alice Longbottom in St Mungo's and, most of all, the effect it had had on their son. He had done that? He felt sick. Neville was his friend. The other Harry was plain evil. Harry found himself not wanting to know anything about him. Everything he had found out, he wanted to forget.

"Did I actually cast the curse?" asked Harry, looking Bellatrix directly in the eye. He was disgusted to see a sickening smile spread over her face.

"Once or twice," said Bellatrix, laughing softly. She had confirmed what he had been dreading. It had been him. "It took nearly forty-five minutes. I think everyone had a go, to be fair. Harry, are you sure you're all right? If you're having trouble remembering, the Dark Lord might be able to help."

"Yes," said Harry. "Use the Cruciatus Curse until my mind breaks any memory charms I might have. No thanks. I think it will pass in time."

"It had better," said Bellatrix. "I don't want to be anywhere near you if you're misfiring. You see, the Dark Lord has said that if you are back in time, you are to come with us tomorrow. He said your knowledge of Muggles will be very valuable. That and he wants someone there to keep the new lads in line."

"I see," said Harry. So he would be going into the Tubes. He made a mental note that if he was able to get a message to the Order, he must point out that he would be there, so they had to watch their curses. "Well, if that is what he has commanded, then that is what we must do, right?"

"Right," said Bellatrix, nodding. "Now if you'll excuse, me. I have work to do."

"Of course," said Harry. She piled up all the papers on the table. She withdrew her wand and pointed it at the papers. With a few well-chosen words, the papers burst into flame. Satisfied that the papers were destroyed, she walked towards the door. Harry followed her out of the room, and as she went into the kitchen, he climbed the stairs. He went straight into the room that had been his the last time he had spent the night here. The room hadn't changed. He guessed it must always be his personal room. The bed was made and the room tidy. There was an owl in its cage on the dresser. Harry immediately crossed to the desk and grabbed some parchment and a quill. He had better send a message off ASAP to give the Order time to prepare. Having an owl in here was a godsend.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Bellatrix Lestrange Black is going to lead a mission into the London Underground tomorrow at 10am. They're looking for a Monastery of some sort. I will be there, so tell the Order to watch who they hex. We will appear on platform 2 at 10. We will be within nine miles of Paddington Station. Take whatever action you deem necessary.

H

He quickly attached it to the leg of the owl and took it to the window. Just as he released the owl, the door swung open, revealing a Death Eater with his hood down. Harry recognised him as the man who had asked who he was when he had first come here. Steepleton was his name, as Harry recalled.

"Don't you ever knock," growled Harry, trying to recover from being caught red handed.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," muttered the Death Eater, in a strange accent. He clearly wasn't, and was being, in Harry's opinion, rather disrespectful. Did he not know who Harry was, or rather who he was pretending to be? He hadn't recognised him on his first arrival. "Who was the owl to? We aren't allowed to send owls," continued the Death Eater.

"Do you know who I am?" asked Harry, drawing his wand. He had no intention of hurting the man, but he had to be kept from sticking his nose into Harry's business. That and he had to keep up the impression that he was the other Harry.

"Harry Potter," said Steepleton. "So..." Harry almost laughed. He was so used to being recognised one way or another that it seemed almost amusing that this man didn't know.

"You're not from around here, are you, Steepleton?" asked Harry, taking another step closer.

"South Africa," said the man. His accent gave away that he was not British, but Harry couldn't place it.

"Well," said Harry. "Just so you know...Wingardium Leviosa!" With a flick of his wand, the man was lifted two feet into the air. With another flick, the man's arms were wrenched out to the side. He looked like he had been crucified in midair on an invisible cross. With a wish of his wand, Harry sent the man higher, until his head smacked into the ceiling and then brought him back down, to about two feet above the floor. The man's face changed from pain to shock to terror. "As I was saying," continued Harry, fixing his face into a smirk. "In this country, I am kind of important. I sit on his right hand, meaning that you mess with me, you mess with the Master, got it?"

"G...got it!" stuttered the terrified Death Eater. Harry didn't really like doing this, but he had to. He had worse things on his conscience: the trolley witch, for example. Compared to that, this seemed a trifling matter. Having as good as killed the trolley witch, Harry's sense of right and wrong was somewhat off. In the old days, he would never have done what he was doing know. He realised just how much he had changed.

"I killed the Minister of Magic when I was fourteen," Harry informed him, trying to keep his voice level as the image came to the front of his mind. "I'm not trying to impress you, merely to warn you that if you question me again, you'll be dead before you realise you've made a mistake, understand?"

"Yes," pleaded the Death Eater. His eyes were wide with fear.

"Good," said Harry. He released the spell and Steepleton was lowered to the ground. "Now we have the ground rules sorted, what did you want when you came here?" The Death Eater flexed his arms a few times before answering. When he did, his voice was soft and respectful.

"Oh, Mrs Malfoy told me to ask you if you wanted dinner up here or it you would be eating with the rest of us, M'Lord," said Steepleton.

"No need to M'Lord me," said Harry. "Nice and casual, just don't cheek me, savvy?" The Death eater nodded; he still looked scared; probably hoping his mistake didn't merit a dose of the Cruciatus Curse. "And yes, I will be eating up here this evening, thanks."

Oddly enough, when his meal was delivered ten minutes later, it was not by Steepleton, but by another Death Eater. Harry ate alone that night, looking through some of the books that he found in his room. It was scary what one wizard could do to another. One spell turned a man inside out. Harry could scarcely imagine a nastier way to die. He had to give up after five pages as he felt he would be sick if he read much more. He hoped his owl made it to Dumbledore. He hoped they could find this monastery first. Harry had no idea what it was about, who these monks were or why Voldemort wanted them. All he knew was that if Riddle was after them, the Order had to get their first. If they were good and Riddle wanted them dead they had to be protected. If they were bad, harsher methods were needed. Nearly thirty people knew of this mission; it hadn't necessarily been Harry had informed Dumbledore. The Order could act without compromising his position.

Mid-way through the evening, it occurred to Harry, that if he was going to be this close to Voldemort, he had better practice his Occlumency. Before he went to bed, he spent over half an hour trying to clear his mind. Due to Snape's poor training he had no idea what he was aiming for, but he did his best. On reflection, he would stand little chance against Voldemort. He should have waited and practiced with Dumbledore, but he didn't have the time. Voldemort would have deemed him missing if he hadn't returned when he did. It had to be this way; it was far from ideal, but Harry didn't have a choice.

Harry was awoken the next morning by a banging on his door at nine o'clock. He opened his eyes and glanced around. Bellatrix's head was poking around the door. Harry's first reaction in his groggy, half-awake state was to throw a Stunner at her, but luckily for him, he couldn't find his wand. That meant he couldn't compromise himself by using a spell.

"We're leaving in an hour," said Bellatrix. "You'd better shake a leg." At first, Harry wasn't sure what she meant. He was about to ask, when the memory of the meeting came back. The Tubes, the monastery; He was going on a mission today.

"Yeah, 'k," said Harry, rolling out of bed and heading for his en-suite bathroom. He was fairly sure that this room had not had an en-suite when he had been here last Christmas, but he let that thought go. Today he was going out into the field with the Death Eaters. He was expecting an Auror confrontation. He needed to aid the Aurors without giving himself away, to them as well as the Death Eaters, as the Ministry was crawling with spies.

He emerged fifteen minutes later, having showered, shaved and feeling far more awake. He caught a look at himself in the mirror, with just a towel around his waist. It occurred to him just how much he had changed. He remembered seeing a frightened little boy in the mirror. That boy was gone now. The monster that stared back was all that remained. Harry was far from proud of who he had become. He was a killer, a fighter. He really had not had a childhood, had he? Most teenage boys dream of being an action hero when they grow up, just like the men in the movies. Harry would give anything to be Mr Normal. Bullets for breakfast, death for dinner; it was overrated. Harry pushed the thought aside. This was no time to wallow in self-pity. He had to concentrate, today more than ever.

He dressed in the clothes that he had been captured in: a pair of combat trousers, boots and a skin-tight, long-sleeved t-shirt, which were all in the box that Dumbledore had returned to him. They were all black and made him look like an assassin, even without the weapons to complete the image. He pulled the Dragon Scale armour out of the box and strapped it across his chest. He picked up the leg holster and clipped it to his belt and thigh. He secured both wands, one in the thigh holster and the spare in the back of his belt. He clipped the sword onto his left hip and tucked the stun-baton into its holster in his right thigh, next to his primary wand. Lastly he slipped on a pair of black leather gloves and wrapped a long black cloak around his shoulders, attaching it at the front. He decided not to go with the hood today. Another glance at the mirror told him what he had feared: he truly did look like a killer. No trace of the boy who had lived in a cupboard for ten years remained in the man in the mirror. He was a machine, designed and built for one purpose: killing.

He checked his watch. It was twenty-five to ten. He turned the light off and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. He began to make himself a cup of tea. As it was brewing, he checked the cupboards. There was a pack of chocolate in one cupboard. He pocketed one bar, thinking that he would need the sugar. Once he had removed the teabag, he added milk and sugar and sat at the kitchen table sipping it, thinking to himself. He was lost in a daydream in seconds. He didn't even notice that he was not alone in the room, until a small hand tugged at his trousers by his knees. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact.

"Would Master Harry Potter like some breakfast?" said a voice.

"No thanks, Kreacher," said Harry absently. It was another two seconds before he realised what he had just said. Kreacher! Harry jumped up from his seat, his sword jumping out of the scabbard into his hand. He swung it at the surprised House Elf, only just managing to stop it before it reached his neck. Harry pressed the blade against Kreacher's neck, but not hard enough to cut him. He glared down at the House Elf. This creature was the reason he had no Godfather. This treacherous little bastard had sold him out. Nothing would thrill him more than to kill Kreacher, but he couldn't. Was it the other Harry's instincts that urged him to kill, or was it his own? He hated Kreacher with every ounce of his being, but he couldn't kill him. He remembered that it was Kreacher's ambition to be decapitated, and he wouldn't grant him his wish.

"Master wishes to cut Kreacher's head off?" asked the Elf, looking almost hopeful.

"Just get away from me, Kreacher," growled Harry. He picked up his cup and walked out of the kitchen and into what used to be the living room, but was now the meeting room. Bellatrix was inside, demonstrating to the Death Eaters how a Muggle torch worked. Harry picked one up. It was one of the big Mag-Lites that policemen used. They were about a foot long, and cast a very bright light. It was also rather heavy, and could cause serious damage if it hit you. Harry declined when someone offered him one. He had his Stun-Baton, in which he could store the Lumos charm.

"You all know what to do?" said Bellatrix, when everyone had a torch and they seemed set. Everyone nodded. There were about thirty in total. Some seemed to be very nervous. He assumed they were the new recruits. Some seemed more confident, and had probably done this kind of work before. Harry noticed that he was receiving a lot of glances. He shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling. He had never liked people staring at him. He was here to scare them into co-operation, so was it really surprising that they shot him glances every few seconds?

Shortly before ten o'clock, Bellatrix handed out Portkeys to the Death Eaters. Harry's one was an empty can of Tango. She then went on to hand one to Antonin Dolohov. Harry remembered him from the Department of Mysteries. He noticed Dolohov exchanged a nod and a wink with Bellatrix before attaching his mask. Harry wondered for a second if there was something going on between them, or what that wink could have been about. She wasn't married in this world, so a fling with Dolohov was not out of the question. He watched the second hand moving ever closer to the hour on the clock on the wall. With one final check, they were ready. Harry looked back up at the clock. Five...four...three...two...one...Harry felt a sharp tug behind his navel as the Portkey activated.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Paddington Station is amongst the busiest stations on the Tube network. Thousands of people depart and arrive back their each day. A train arrives, on average, every eight minutes. To say it was hard to clear was an understatement. Kingsley Shacklebolt had had to pull a lot of strings to do as much as he had. The ticket offices were told to stop selling tickets six hours ago, telling people they were full. Every other station was stopped from selling tickets to Paddington. This minimized the number of people on the platform. Those with pre-ordered tickets couldn't be stopped. It made sense that the Death Eaters would have someone watching and would know if the Aurors closed the station. They had to have a plausible excuse. A computer failure in the booking system was good enough. Most wizards wouldn't recognise a computer if it landed on their heads, let alone understand how it worked, or in this case had stopped doing so.

Kingsley stood on the platform, wearing a Manchester United football shirt and a pair of jeans. He wore a pair of white trainers and a baseball cap, which bore the Budweiser logo. He was one of the few Aurors who could actually pass for a Muggle, one of the things he was most proud of. He checked his watch; it was almost ten. He glanced over at the man wearing a Metallica t-shirt and had a chain dangling from the belt that held up his black jeans. He wore a full-length leather trench coat over the top. Kingsley smiled inwardly at the sight of Dawlish dressed as a heavy metal fan. Still, at least he looked convincing as a Muggle, which is more than he could say for some of those present. He glanced over at one Auror who wore a pair of purple bell-bottoms, a white dinner shirt and a bow tie.

Kingsley had his wand tucked into the loopholes in his jeans, which were designed for a belt. As he leaned against the walls outside the toilets, he kept glancing around. Muggles came and went, stopped at the newsagent in the station and then went about their business. He hoped that none of them got caught in the crossfire, but that was hoping for a lot. Years of war had taught him one thing: collateral damage was inevitable. The best he could do was minimize it.

Dumbledore had sent in the information, the time and location of the attack. It seemed that Harry Potter was as good as his word. Kingsley wouldn't trust the boy until he spoke to him, but if he averted this attack, it would create a lot of leeway with Kingsley. What worried him was the fact that Snape had claimed the Dark Lord knew he had turned. Potter's message had arrived an hour after he had left. It was very soon. Had Harry got a message off before he was caught? There was a lingering doubt in the back of the Auror's mind, but he shrugged it of. He had to keep his mind on the here and the now. Other Aurors were searching for the boy, his father and godfather most of all, but Kingsley and Dawlish were assigned to the station. He had to keep his mind on the problem at hand. He may be wrong, but better safe than sorry. If they did not act, hundreds would die today. He was doing the right thing; that, he honestly believed.

Beep! Beep!

The alarm on his watch went off. It was fifteen seconds to ten o'clock. Kingsley slipped a hand under his shirt, reaching for his wand. His fingers wrapped around the wood, and he tensed his muscles, ready for action. Five...four...Dawlish was looking ready and attentive...three...everyone else looked ok, they were in position...two...it was now or never...one!

Suddenly there was a flash of light as a Portkey appeared out of thin air. Attached to it was not a person, but a box. It was the size of a shoebox, but made of black plastic. There was a small digital clock on the top of the box, which Kingsley could see read 00:05.

He stepped closer, and looked carefully at the box. 00:04.

"Oh, Hell!" said Kingsley to himself. "BOMB! EVERYONE DOWN!" He threw himself at the mother and children nearest him. It was almost a rugby tackle. As he crashed into them, he brought all three crashing to the ground. "Fuero Retardo!" he shouted, holding up his wand, just as the bomb detonated. His shield popped up just in time. It was like looking through a window at a fire. The whole room was engulfed in one huge fireball, and the bomb destroyed London's busiest station. The mother screamed, as did her children, but Kingsley held them down. He had to concentrate on his shield. The bang was deafening and pieces of concrete fell from the ceiling all around them.

The platform was in ruins, and there was no sign of the Death Eaters.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Harry's feet touched down on the ground once more. His first reaction was to ignite his stun baton with the Lumos spell. The baton retained the spell, giving out a brilliant white light, far superior to that of any torch or wand. He could also do other spells with his wand at the same time. He held it high and looked around. He was standing on a balcony of sorts. Above him, a very steep steel staircase went up to another level, while a similar flight was visible near a hole in the floor, which would take him down a level. All around him, thick metal pipes ran along the walls. It was a very dark, wet and gloomy place, but it was all made of metal. He was on a steel balcony. He could see through the mesh-like floor to the level below. He noticed that there was a constant whirring noise. He figured that it must be a generator of some sort, or maybe some form of machinery. Bellatrix and the others ignited their torches. He did notice that there were now only ten with him, rather than thirty.

"I thought we were heading for Paddington Station," said Harry. He noticed that his voice echoed eerily around the room.

"This is Paddington," said Bellatrix. "It's a maintenance shaft. It goes from street level down into the tubes, without crossing the platform. Do you think I am stupid enough to have us appear in the middle of a platform packed with Muggles?"

"Fair enough," said Harry. He was fairly sure she had said that they would appear on platform two, but she had obviously changed her mind. It was her mission, not Harry's, so she didn't need to clear every change with him. He was just along for the ride. To be honest, he was still in doubt. Something was nagging at the back of his mind. He was positive he could smell salt. It was the same acidic smell that he had smelt when Uncle Vernon had dragged them to a lighthouse to escape the Hogwarts letters. Maybe it was the stagnant water that leaked from the huge pipes.

"Where to?" whispered Harry.

"Down and left," whispered Bellatrix. She went first, and Harry followed. She gestured for the rest to split up. They bowed and all went off in various directions, leaving Harry and Bellatrix alone. Harry followed her along one passage. As they got to the end, they found themselves faced with a T-junction. Harry looked both ways, shining his light down both corridors. He had an uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched, or that something was wrong. Dumbledore had told him to trust his instincts and right now, he knew something was wrong. He could see nothing. Bellatrix seemed unfazed. She didn't even seem nervous. She led the way down. After ten paces, Harry froze. The humming noise became far louder. Whatever machinery it was, was now on full power. It made Harry jump. He tried to calm himself and focus, but he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered.

"I don't know," said Bellatrix. "Come on. Check down here." Bellatrix seemed to know exactly where she was going. They continued down the passage until they came to another T-junction. Neither way looked particularly promising. Harry held up his light to get a better view. Harry was about to suggest one direction for no particular reason, when he noticed something. He could smell tobacco on the air. He glanced down the corridor, his eyes coming to rest on a smoking cigarette butt. It was on the floor a few metres down the corridor, and was still gently smoking. It had been dropped, not put out. Someone else was here, or had been very recently but did not want to be seen. When they heard them approach, they must have run. Why would they run, unless they weren't friendly?

"Bellatrix!" hissed Harry, withdrawing his wand.

"What?" she whispered back, looking at him with a curious stare. He tiptoed to the butt and picked it up. "What is it?" she whispered.

"We are not alone," said Harry. Bellatrix, glanced at the butt and then withdrew her wand. "Something's wrong," said Harry.

"I think you're right," she said. "Let's split up. You take that way, I'll go this way."

"What am I looking for?"

"A large metal door with K-A-П-И-Т-A-H writen above it," said Bellatrix. "You're right, someone is here and they knew we were coming. Fall back."

"With what written above it?"

"Kay, ay, a pi symbol, a backward en, tee, ay, atch," she repeated, looking annoyed. Harry memorised the characters. They didn't seem English. He wondered why there would be strange characters written on doors in the London Underground. Maybe it was the language of the monks.

"Can't you Apparate out?" said Harry. Bellatrix stood still for a moment before looking up at him.

"I can't! Harry, go; find the door. It's out best way out. I'll look down here."

She disappeared down one passage without giving Harry time to argue. He thought they should not split up. If anyone was here, they would stand a better chance together. Not having a choice, Harry took the other direction. He noticed that the walls, floor and ceiling were all metal. It occurred to him that he had not seen any concrete since he had arrived. What kind of station, underground station, was not made of concrete? Something wasn't right; he knew that. He crept along the passage. At the end was a door. In the middle was a red cross in a white square. The First Aid Station. Harry opened the door and stepped in. It was dark inside. He glanced around and was about to leave when movement caught his eye.

He spun around and raised the light. He was sure he had seen movement, over by the trolley in the corner. He could see all sorts of instruments on the trolley, from scalpels to scissors. Why would a simple First Aid station in a work area have operation tools? wondered Harry. He crept closer, and lowered himself to his knees so he could see onto the under shelf of the trolley.

"MEIOW!"

A huge cat sprang at him as his head came into view. Harry fell backwards, but managed not to cry out loud as the fur-ball jumped onto his chest. As he fell he lost his grip on the stun baton. It fell from his hand and slide along the floor, until it hit the side with a clang that seemed to reverberate through the entire room and beyond. The cat tried to sink its claws into the armour, but couldn't penetrate. The cat slid off him and disappeared out of the door. Harry's heart was pounding and he had broken into a cold sweat. That damned cat had scared the hell out of him. He had also noticed that when the baton had hit the wall, the clang had echoed throughout the entire room and corridor outside. That wasn't normal for a tunnel, was it? He stood back up and took a second to steady himself. He was about to shout, to test the mysterious echo, but he didn't want to give himself away. He didn't know who was out there, but he was sure it was not Aurors. Picking up and re-igniting the stun baton, he walked back towards the door.

"Achoo!"

Harry spun back around. That had been a sneeze, he was certain. He aimed his wand back into the room. He glanced around, looking for a place to hide. Someone was here, but where the hell were they? His eyes fell on a wardrobe of sorts. It looked like Snape's potion's store. Harry walked towards it and with a flick of his wand the doors burst open. He kept his wand aimed at the wardrobe. He flicked his wand and the clothes parted, revealing the source of the sneeze. Inside was a young girl. She was ten years old, possibly younger. She wore a white night gown, and had obviously been crying. Her eyes were red and looked sore, while her hair was matted and a mess. She was leaning against one side, her hands hugging her knees. She looked deathly pale and absolutely terrified.

"Hey," said Harry kindly. He knelt by the cabinet and extended a hand towards the girl. "Come on." The girl stared at the hand for a few seconds. She was too scared to move. "I won't hurt you," said Harry smiling kindly at her. "What's your name?"

The girl looked at him for a few seconds before taking the hand. He helped her out of the cabinet and up onto the operating table. He pulled the chocolate out of his pocket that he had stashed in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He opened it and offered it to her. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of chocolate. She extended a hand quickly towards it. She was so pale, Harry wondered when the last time she had eaten had been.

"You can have it," said Harry refusing to give it to her, "if you tell me your name."

"Rhiannon," whispered the girl. Harry smiled and gave her the chocolate. She instantly bit off a chunk and chewed it almost frantically. Harry crossed to the sink and poured her a drink in a beaker he found next to the sink. He handed it to her and watched her drink. It occurred to him that she was not English. She had pronounced her name Rye-ya-non, with y sounds. He also wondered why a girl would be hiding in a cupboard in a maintenance shaft at the station. He hoped her English was good enough that he could get some answers.

After she had calmed down a little, Harry decided the time had come to find out what was going on.

"Rhiannon, sweetie," said Harry softly. "Are your mummy and daddy here?"

"Nyet." She shook her head. She seemed to be fighting back tears. Her eyes were red. She had clearly been crying.

"Where is everyone?," continued Harry. "Where are all the grown-ups?"

"They took them," said Rhiannon, trembling once more. He accent was not too strong and her English excellent, to Harry's relief. "The ghosts, they took them!"

"Ghosts?" said Harry. "What ghosts?"

"They came last night," said the girl. "They came aboard at Portsmoot."

"Aboard? Portsmouth?" What was she on about? What had Portsmouth got to do with the London Underground?

"The ship," said Rhiannon. "

"What ship?"

"This ship!"

It was as if the mist suddenly cleared. That was why everything was metal, why his voice echoed, why the baton had clanged as it hit the wall, and why he could smell salt. They weren't anywhere near the London Underground. Bellatrix had lied to him. This was a trap, but not for them, for him. Idiot, he should have realised this instantly. They were supposed to have gone to the platform. He should have realised instantly that this was a trap. There never even was a monastery! The foreign characters above the door he was looking for and Rhiannon's accent made sense now. He had been so stupid! What was wrong with him? But if they knew about his defection, then why go through the charade...he had told the Order to go to the platform...oh no! The Order had walked into a trap. Thirty Death Eaters had left Grimmauld Place, but only ten had arrived on the ship. Twenty Death Eaters could have gone to the station. They had even left an owl out for him to send the message. That had been so convenient that he should have realised something was wrong! The Order would be slaughtered and the survivors would think that Harry had set them up. He had been so stupid to come back. He should have stayed at Hogwarts and let Voldemort know outright that he had turned. This adventure had turned out to be a catastrophe!

What's more was that ten Death Eaters plus Bellatrix were also onboard. He had to get off the ship. The whirring, which had gotten louder, must be the engine. He was on a very low deck and it was a calm day so he couldn't feel the rocking of the ship. They were moving so he couldn't Apparate even if he knew how. He didn't know how to make a Portkey. That meant he needed to get to a lifeboat.

"These ghosts," said Harry. "Were they all black with white faces?" He used his hands to demonstrate what he meant as he talked.

The girl nodded. "Da"

The Death Eaters had come last night and prepared the ship. She had said the Death Eaters had taken the grown-ups. She wouldn't be here unless her parents were. It was safe to assume that she was now an orphan. He had to get her out of here, but that was easier said than done. For all he knew, the passages could be full of booby-traps. This was going to be near impossible. He needed all the help he could get.

He opened the drawers in the cabinets, looking for something useful. He knew that all radios would have been destroyed. He found a few blades, scalpels and such like. There were syringes and numerous bottles and pills. He picked out two scalpels and taped them to his forearm, and rolled his sleeve back down over the top of them. He then wrapped a crepe-bandage around the stun baton, reducing its glow so it would not give them away. There was nothing else of any use.

"Okay, Rhiannon," said Harry. "My name is Harry. I am going to get you out of here, but you have to help me. The ghosts are still out there, so I need you to be extra quiet, okay? Do not make a sound, okay?" The girl nodded, and swallowed the last of the chocolate. "Ready?"

He took her hand and slowly led her out of the room. He was not going to head back the way he had come; Bellatrix might be there waiting. The treacherous bitch. For a few minutes, he had actually trusted her. Idiot! No use crying over spilt milk! Focus on the problem at hand! The words came to him as if it was a lesson he had learned long ago. More of the other Harry's instincts, he assumed.

They crept along the passage as silently as they could. The dim light from the baton was enough to see by, but hopefully wouldn't lead the Death Eaters to them. As he crept along the passage, on the side was a sign with some strange letters on it, and then below a translation, E-Deck. He had passed signs like it before, but had never bothered to read them. Deck, he would have instantly guessed if he had been intelligent enough to read.

As they crept along the corridor, Harry saw a light ahead. It was a torch beam. Someone was coming along a passage that would join the one that they were now on. Harry immediately ducked into the nearest door, dragging Rhiannon after him. If he had had more time, he might have stopped to read the sign on the door. KAПИТAH. As it was, he did not, and what he found inside the Captain's cabin came as a great shock to him.

Sitting in a chair at the far end of the cabin, staring at Harry with a look that could reduce grown men to tears, sat Lord Voldemort. To his right stood Bellatrix Black, a smirk fixed on her face. On either side were four Death Eaters, and the last two appeared at the door behind them. They were surrounded.

"Harry, welcome back," said Voldemort, rising slowly from his chair. "How was school?" Harry knew instantly that he knew. There was no way to lie his way out of this one. Voldemort was a Legilimens anyway and would know instantly if he lied. The Dark Lord took another step towards him. "And you brought me the last of the crew, how convenient." Harry felt Rhiannon trembling against his leg, her hand cold and sweaty in his, her face buried in his cloak. Did she understand what Voldemort was saying? Judging by her reaction, yes. As Voldemort approached, Harry quickly glanced around the room. He was out numbered twelve to one. The room was fully furnished with a bed, desk, armchair, sofa, and numerous paintings on the wall. The floor was covered in a red carpet. There were two porthole windows through which the morning sun shone.

Voldemort stopped two paces from Harry. He felt a chill run down his spine. The whole room seemed to become cold as Voldemort approached. His eyes burned with hatred as he looked Harry up and down. His unforgiving red eyes burned into Harry's before rising up to look at his scar. He stood motionless for several seconds before staring right into Harry's eyes. It felt as though they were burning straight through to his soul. Voldemort was a Legilimens so it was probably right. Harry tried to clear his mind. He knew that if Voldemort used a wand he couldn't hide anything. Coming back had been a stupid idea. He had acted rashly...again. It was a decision like this that had led Sirius to his death, and would probably result in his own. Voldemort would find out the truth about where Harry came from. Harry had failed, and this world would fall and then Harry's own would follow. Why did I ever come back?

Stop wallowing in self-pity and think of a way to get out of here!

"Did you honestly think you could get away with it?" said Voldemort, his voice like ice. Harry didn't reply; he stood staring into Voldemort's eyes defiantly. If he had to go down, he wouldn't give Voldemort the pleasure of cooperating. The egotistical son of a bitch would want him to admit that he had failed, to destroy his ego before he killed Harry. Voldemort stood motionless, staring right back into Harry's eyes. "Take his weapons," said the Dark Lord, turning and walking back to his chair.

The two Death Eaters behind him both moved forward. Harry waited for them to touch him before he moved. As he felt a hand land on his wrist, he brought his foot up as hard as he could, kicking one Death Eater between the legs. He brought his elbow up into the other's nose, breaking it immediately.

"CRUCIO!" screamed Bellatrix. Harry grabbed the second Death Eater who had tried to disarm him and pulled him into the path of the curse. The man screamed and collapsed, leaving the door open. Harry picked up Rhiannon and bolted out of the door, narrowly avoiding another Cruciatus Curse. He bolted along the corridor and up the stairs at the end, crashing through the thick iron door onto the deck. He was blinded by the bright morning sun; it stung his eyes as he emerged from the darkness. He stood blinking in the sun for a second before he heard a shout behind him.

"CRUCIO!" Harry ducked the spell and, releasing Rhiannon, he slammed the door shut. He spun the wheel that locked the watertight door, sealing the Death Eaters inside. He removed his sword, scabbard and all, and thrust it through the wheel and under the hook. This way, the door could not be opened. With his eyes still protesting at the brightness, Harry picked up the trembling Rhiannon and ran to the stern of the ship. Looking over the back, he could see Portsmouth Harbour. The old sailing ship HMS Warrior stood proud on the shore, tourists walking all over it. The huge P&O and Brittany Ferries were in port, holidaymakers walking all over the decks and cars flowing into the ship's garage levels. The water was a murky grey as always, but it was a beautiful day with a gentle sea breeze sweeping the coast. They were almost at the harbour walls. Small pleasure boats and yachts were moored to jetties along the edge of the shoreline. They extended all along the side of the harbour. The nearest was fifty metres away. Harry looked around and spotted the large orange lifeboats. It then occurred to him that he couldn't sail, nor did he know how to launch the boat. He was trapped. He could jump, but wouldn't the propeller suck him in? He didn't know what would happen. He had never had swimming lessons, and his experiences during the Triwizard Tournament had put him off swimming.

"Can you swim?" asked Harry.

"Da, of course," said Rhiannon, trembling. Harry couldn't help but grin. She spoke of it as if everyone could. At least she could swim to safety. Just then, the barrier next to them exploded. Harry's head whipped around. The Death Eaters had managed to get on deck, probably by a different door. Harry ducked behind a lifeboat, pulling Rhiannon down with him.

"Okay, Rhiannon, listen carefully. I am going to transport you to the shore, or as near as I can. I need you to swim to the shore, climb out and get to a phone. Dial six, two, four, four, two. Whoever answers, ask to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Tell him and only him Harry Potter sent you. Tell him the ship's name and that we're in Portsmouth harbour. Okay?"

"Six, two, four, four, two. Kingsley Shacklebolt, emergency. Harry Potter, ship's name. Portsmoot," she repeated. Harry was grateful that her English was so good.

"That's it," said Harry. "He will ask about the ghosts. Tell him the truth, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded.

"Okay, this will feel really strange, just take a deep breath and I will launch you of the side, ready?" She nodded and took a deep breath.

"Da Svidanya."

Harry didn't know what that meant but nodded. He assumed it meant see you later, or thanks, something like that. He pointed his wand at the girl and concentrated.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The girl immediately flew twenty feet in the air and zoomed off towards the harbour. Harry guided her with his wand. He dropped her a few metres from the jetty. With a huge splash she hit the water. He watched anxiously for her head to reappear. It did after a few seconds and she climbed up onto the jetty. Harry fired a few spells over his shoulder to slow down the Death Eaters. He watched Rhiannon sprint along the jetty towards the harbour. He lost her in the sea of tourists. At least the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to see her.

Suddenly, one appeared around the side of the lifeboat. A blasting curse hit the deck where Harry had been crouched a second before. Harry's hand flew up his sleeve and clasped a scalpel. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the blade at the Death Eater. It stuck into his chest on the right side. The Death Eater screamed in pain as blood began to flow down his robes. He gasped for air. Harry assumed the blade had collapsed his lung. Harry pulled out his wand to stun the man when a pair of hands clasped around him. Harry threw his head back, bringing his cranium up into the man's nose. He felt the trickle of blood on the back of his neck and knew that he had broken the man's nose. He released his grip and Harry turned to face him. He grabbed him by the robes and spun him around, lifting as he did so. Harry threw the man over the railings and into the cold sea below. He stunned the man who still had a scalpel in his chest. Just then, the railing exploded under another curse, the force of which launched Harry off his feet. He landed on his back on the cold, hard steel. Instantly there was a Death Eater crouching over him.

"Oh no you don't," he growled, before bringing Harry's own sheathed sword down on his own head. As Harry had done to others many times before, the blunt sword's impact sent his crashing into unconsciousness.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped over another dead body. The man in question, like countless others who just happened to be in the station at the wrong time, had been burned to death, caught up in the explosion. It would easily be passed off as a terrorist attack, maybe by that Osama Bin Laden bloke who had been blowing up American embassies in the Middle East for the last few years. It wouldn't be hard, but that wasn't the point. Nearly one hundred people had died today. He had saved three, himself. The other nine Aurors between them had saved a total of thirty-one. Thirty-four lives had been saved, over one hundred had been lost. Muggle ambulance crews and fire-fighters were all over the place, hosing down the walls and tending to the dead and wounded. The smell was sickening. Kingsley had seen large-scale death before, but he could never get used to it. He felt ill. The charred bodies, the destruction; it seemed so pointless. The Dark Mark was burned into the remains of the ceiling. It glowed a sickening green against the blackened tiles.

At least they had stopped the tickets. If they hadn't, thousands would have died, not hundreds. It was the tiniest smidgeon of silver lining on the world's largest mushroom cloud. One Auror had failed to get a shield up in time, and Kingsley knew that either he or Dawlish would have to explain to a crying mother how her son had died for his country. When Kingsley saw death on this scale, he began to wonder if it was worth it, if he really made a difference. In moments like these, his faith wavered. He sat down on the steps and looked around. How had it come to this? How had they missed the signs? What kind of a world did he live in, where Voldemort could do something like this for fun? The man was a maniac. He had to be stopped, but Kingsley was beginning to believe he couldn't be. The Order was losing, slowly but surely. Aurors were dying up and down the country, and Voldemort was gathering more and more support. Could he be defeated? Kingsley's faith began to waver again.

"Sir!" called a voice. He glanced up to see a young figure in a cloak running towards him. His first reaction was to scold him for not changing his clothes before coming into Muggle London, but didn't have the heart. The man was looking from body to body and appeared as though he might vomit any second.

"What is it?" asked Kingsley, rising to his feet.

"Call for you, sir," said the man. "It's coming in from a Muggle phone in Portsmouth. Some young girl; sounds foreign. Says she needs to speak to you urgently." A Muggle girl wanted to speak to him, specifically him?

"Who is she? How'd she get the number?"

"I don't know, sir," said the man. "She seems to be a Muggle, but she asked for you by name and won't speak to anyone else." Kingsley's mind couldn't make sense of it. Why would a young Muggle girl over one hundred miles away want to speak to him? He Apparated to the entrance hall and ran to his desk. On his desk was a Muggle telephone. He had used one before on the odd occasion and knew what to do. He picked up the receiver and pressed the glowing button.

"Hello," he said. "This is Kingsley Shacklebolt. Who am I speaking to?"

"My name is Rhiannon Rumanov," said a heavily accented voice. Kingsley guessed that she must be about ten years old. She sounded scared and out of breath. Her accent was thick Russian, possibly Ukrainian, but definitely one of the USSR's satellite states.

"How can I help you, Miss Rumanov?" asked Kingsley. He didn't speak a word of Russian. He hoped she spoke good English or this was going to be a nightmare.

"I was gived this number by a boy," said the accented voice. "Ghosts killed my parents and I hide in the cupboard and he found me. He told me to tell you that it is emergency and he in Portsmoot on the boat, Mary-Sue."

"Okay, slow down," said Kingsley softly. The girl was rambling, and her fear and breathlessness were making her accent hard to understand. Ghosts could not kill her parents; they cannot harm the living. She was clearly wrong, but she was definitely scared, and it didn't explain how she got the number. At the very least this would lead to a breach in the Statute of Secrecy. "Who did you say gave you the number?"

"He said his name was Harry," came the reply. "Harry Potter."

Kingsley sat bolt upright in his chair. The name was imprinted on his brain. But what was Potter doing in Portsmouth? He had said he would be at the attack. But it had all been a lie; Harry Potter had set them and now over one hundred people were dead and the station was in ruins. Every life lost was on his head. When Kingsley got his hands on the little bastard he would throttle him. Kingsley felt a rush of anger, but managed to sound calm. He was very much aware that he was talking to a young girl, who could easily hang up. Luckily, this number did not charge the caller so she would not run out of money.

"Okay, Rhiannon," said Kingsley kindly. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened, can you do that?" There was a pause and then the girl replied 'Da'. Kingsley had picked it up from somewhere that Da meant yes and nyet meant no. That was as far as his Russian went. On the other end, Rhiannon launched into the tale.

"We come into Portsmoot last night, because we was be picking up some cargo," said the girl at the far end. "Me and my papa was on board. My mama is dead so I live with him on ship. Last night, ghosts come. They was all black with capes and hoods. They had glowing white faces, like Halloween costumes. They come and they take grown ups. They had a big green lights. Daddy had a gun, but it not work on ghosts. They kill him. I hid in the First Aid room. I hid there all day until Harry found me. He gived me chocolate and water and then we run. We go to captain's room. There was man with red eyes and long black hair. He was scary; he looked so evil. He talked to Harry. They said something like 'did you think you could get away with it." They try grab Harry, but he karate them and knocked the man and two ghosts to the floor. We ran onto deck. He told me to call you. Ask for Kingsley Shacklebolt and tell you that it is emergency and that he is on the Mary-Sue in Portsmoot Harbour. Then he made me fly through the air and swim to shore. I think he still on the ship."

Kingsley had been frantically taking notes. His mind was a blur. Harry had fought Voldemort? So he really had turned? But then why had he given them wrong information? Having said that, he had told them and they had blocked off the station. He had saved lives with his information. If the Death Eaters had planned a trap for him...maybe they set him up. Maybe his letter wasn't actually from Harry. It might have been a trap from the beginning. But then why was Harry in Portsmouth helping little girls? Kingsley didn't have time to think about it. She had said Voldemort himself was on that ship. He could bring in Harry and kill Voldemort in one attack. He noted the ship's name and the location. The call had already been traced and he knew where she was. He checked the location on the map.

"Okay, Rhiannon," said Kingsley. "Is there anyone waiting to use the phone?"

"Nyet."

"Ok, I want you to hang up the phone and step out of the phone box. I am going to appear in the box, do you understand?"

"Da. Da Svidanya." There was a click and the line went dead. Kingsley checked the location again and Disapparated. He found himself in a phone box overlooking the harbour. Masts stretched towards the skies like trees across the harbour. It was like looking at a forest. The cloth of the sails was all stowed and he could see out past the harbour walls. A large freight ship was just disappearing out of the walls. He couldn't Apparate out to the ship, as it was moving and he might miss, then he wouldn't be able to Apparate from the water, as he would be moving there. He couldn't fly, as brooms would be seen. He needed to use the Muggle way.

He quickly looked around and saw a young girl standing next to the box. She was younger than he had expected and wore a white nightgown. She looked scared and starved. Kingsley made a note to buy her a Butterbeer when this was over. She looked like she could do with one.

"Are you Rhiannon?" he asked.

"Are you Kingsley?" He took that as a yes and nodded.

"Is that big ship out there the Mary-Sue?"

"Da," she replied. "Harry on it."

Kingsley nodded pulled his omnioculars from inside his robes. He raised them to his eyes and zoomed in as much as possible. A Ship was just leaving through the harbour walls. He could read the letters on the back.

MOPИ-CYЙ

MARY-SUE

C.C.C.P.

He lowered his omniculars and looked around. He made a final assessment. If there was to be an attack, it couldn't wait. He stepped into the phone box and dialled the number.

"Good morning, Dale's Pawnbroker's, Jenny speaking, how can I help?" said a female voice.

"Put me through to the Auror division," said Kingsley quickly. There was a click and then a tone before another voice answered.

"Aurors," said a voice.

"Rachel, it's Kingsley," said the Auror, recognising the receptionist's voice. "Is Dawlish back yet?"

"No, he's still at the clean-up." Kingsley cursed to himself, ever aware of the young girl at his side. It was that that stopped him cursing aloud.

"Okay, forget him. I need to go over his head. I'll take the wrap. I need two assault teams fully armed at Portsmouth Harbour ASAP. Better throw in a Medi-Witch as well. I need you to get hold of the Muggle government and commandeer two troop-carrying helicopters, I believe they're called Chinooks, and I need two of them at the same location ASAP."

"Okay, five minutes for the men, and I would guess thirty for the helicopters. I'll ring you back when I know for sure. I'll tell them to hurry. Stay by the phone." She hung up. Kingsley liked Rachel. She had her head screwed on right. She had a keen mind and were it not for her knee, she would make a fine field agent. As it was, she had suffered a bone breaking curse to the knee in a fire fight, nearly six months ago and it couldn't be completely fixed. She could walk fine, but no longer work as a field agent, so she stayed in the office. Still, she had a good analytical mind and was knowledgeable in all things Muggle as well. Two minutes later, the phone rang. Kingsley answered.

"The teams are on their way, three minutes. I phoned RAF St Morgan. They have several out on exercise. The nearest two are on route. Five minutes on the Alpha, seven on the Beta."

"Thanks Rach, you're a genius," said Kingsley.

"I know," sighed a voice melodramatically on the other end before the line went dead.

Eight minutes later, Kingsley was on board the first of two Chinook helicopters. There were ten Aurors in addition to himself, Rhiannon and the Medi-witch. The Chinook took off amidst flashes from the Muggle tourists. This was a naval dockyard so they just assumed it was part of the show. The helicopters rose higher and then zoomed off over the water towards the Mary-Sue. Kingsley had briefed the Aurors and then the pilots once the aircraft arrived.

The helicopters zipped across the waves, towards the ships. The machines were noisy and might be seen approaching, but it was the only choice they had. The helicopters came to a stop over the deck, one at the bow, one at the stern. Kingsley remained seated at Rhiannon's side while the strike teams jumped down onto the deck. They spread out and entered the hull of the ship. Leaving the girl with the Medi-witch, Kingsley jumped down and. withdrawing his wand, ran to the nearest door.

Voldemort was somewhere in the ship. After what he had seen today, Kingsley was more than willing to kill him. A soldier shouldn't get angry, as that is when one makes rash decisions, but Kingsley didn't care. He would kill Voldemort for all the pain and suffering he had caused.

He descended through the ship, following the instructions Rhiannon had given. She had said they were in the Captain's cabin. Kingsley found it in less than a minute, but the room was empty. The Dark Mark was burned into one wall, but the room was deserted. On the wall on one side, a message was written in blood.

Serpent's tongue, Lion's roar,

Potions Master, Mud-Blood whore

Badger's snout, Raven's beak

Say goodbye to the green-eyed freak

_

BB

There was the patter of footsteps and an Auror appeared beside him.

"Sir, we've checked everywhere, no sign of life. The forecastle is full of bodies; I'd say thirty-odd. It was a massacre. sir. This is the only survivor." Kingsley realised that the man was carrying a grey and black cat in his arms. Kingsley took the cat from the Aurors, cradling it in his arms.

Kingsley cursed to himself. They had been too late. Voldemort must have Portkeyed off the ship. Kingsley had been so close to catching him, but now Voldemort was lost to him, along with Harry and any chance of getting to the bottom of this.

"Sweep once more, then fall back to the helicopters," ordered Kingsley. "Saunders and Milton can steer the ship back into port. If not, have the pilots fly out some navy guys. We leave as soon as the sweep is done. Leave the bodies for now." The Aurors nodded and ran back down the corridor. Kingsley kicked the desk in anger, then marched back up to the waiting helicopters, cursing to himself, the cat in his arms. He planned on given the cat to Rhiannon, they were the only two survivors. When he got back, he would have to call Dumbledore. He had a lot of explaining to do.

~~~~ + ~~~~

"Waayyy kooop ungrif door."

The voice seemed to penetrate Harry's mind, pulling back the curtain of unconsciousness. Harry groggily opened his eyes. His throbbing head was spinning. His vision was blurred, but he still tried to look around. He was laying on his side on the cold, hard floor in an inch of ice-cold water, facing the wall. He tried to roll over, but found that his wrist was manacled to the radiator on the wall. As he lay on his back, his head still spinning, he raised his hand to rub his throbbing forehead. His scar wasn't bleeding, but he had a large lump on the left side of his forehead.

Suddenly the memories came rushing back. He remembered the boat and the girl and then being caught and his own sword hurtling down towards his head. He guessed that the Death Eater had not missed.

"Wake up, young Gryffindor," repeated a voice. Harry tried to move to see who was speaking, but his entire body was numb. There was a layer of water on the floor, and he was only wearing his combats. His feet were bare, as was his chest. He was freezing and mostly numb. He shivered as he tried to roll over. He ended up with his manacled wrist twisted behind his back, but he could see the rest if the room. It seemed like a cellar. There was no wallpaper on the walls, and the plaster seemed to be falling apart. The water came from a dodgy boiler in the corner and the absence of a light put most of the room in shadow. The only light came from a single tiny window on one wall.

"Welcome back," said a voice. Harry recognised it at once. It wasn't the high-pitched scream that Harry associated with Voldemort, but it was the same man. Riddle stepped out of the shadows in front of him, dressed all in black. His red eyes burned with fury as he looked down pitilessly at Harry.

"You can scream all you want; the room is soundproof," Voldemort informed him. "And even if it were not, no one would dare to come near this house." Suddenly the light came on. The sudden light blinded Harry and he recoiled, rolling back over to face the wall. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adapt. "No use trying to hide," said Riddle.

Harry lay still for a few seconds while his eyes adjusted. His mind was as numb as his body. He rolled over again, still blinking in the light. Voldemort seemed completely unfazed by the light. He stepped closer to Harry, kneeling beside him. Harry felt the long thin fingers wrap around his jaw, forcing his face upwards. He wanted to shut his eyes, but realised it would do no good. He stared helplessly up into those venomous red eyes.

"I should have seen it the first time," said Voldemort, examining his eyes. "Your whole demeanour had changed, you had lost your edge, and I interpreted it as shock from your arrest. I expected a little more loyalty from my Death Eaters. I expect them to know what a serious mistake betraying Lord Voldemort is."

"Your ego will be your downfall," spat Harry. Voldemort released him and Harry fell back to the floor, his head hitting the plaster hard. Harry grunted in pain. Summoning all his strength and trying to shake the numbness from his limbs, he dragged himself up into a sitting position against the wall. With the light on, he looked around the room. All he could see was an empty bookcase against one wall and a door on another, underneath which light was peeking. How long had he been out for? His head throbbed and his vision was a blur. His watch had been removed. Hours could have passed, a whole day even.

As Harry turned back to face Voldemort, he saw him remove a small phial full of a clear liquid from his pocket. His face remained neutral except for his eyes, which regarded the bottle carefully.

"Veritaserum is inadmissible, before the Wizengamot," said Voldemort softly. His eyes came to rest on Harry. "But not in front of me." Harry didn't even see him move, but the next thing he was aware of, the icy cold fingers were back around his jaw, and the liquid was poured into his mouth. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Harry," said Voldemort icily, pressing his mouth shut.

Harry could feel the icy liquid in his mouth, but refused to swallow. His numb mind was awake enough to know he shouldn't swallow. His cheeks ached under the strain but he would not swallow; he would never give in. He would never give the Order away. Voldemort would have to do better. After a few seconds of Harry concentrating hard on not swallowing, his cheeks fit to burst, Voldemort released him and Harry spat the potion out, all over Voldemort's robes. He coughed several times, while the Dark Lord rose slowly to his full height. He flicked his wand to clean his robes and then took another bottle from his pocket.

"So be it," said Voldemort icily. "You have chosen the hard way. Luckily I have a spare phial, but I am not going to use it. After a few hours, you will be begging me for the potion, but I won't let you have it. I have other ways of getting the information I need. I want you to know just how wrong you were to betray me. You will be an example to all my Death Eaters. No one is above my law." Harry cringed at the idea inside, but kept his face defiant on the outside. He glared up at the Dark Lord, hatred glowing in his own eyes.

"You no longer need to be restrained," said Voldemort matter-of-factly. He pointed his wand at the manacle, which clicked open. Harry pulled his wrist away and rubbed it, trying to get the blood circulating, to wash away the numbness. "Are you ready?" Voldemort asked, pointing his wand between Harry's eyes.

"After me, they'll be others," spat Harry. Voldemort's face stretched into a vindictive sneer.

"And when they arrive, I will see to it that they suffer just as much as you will, Crucio!" The top if Voldemort's wand was so close that Harry had no hope of avoiding it. It was upon him before he even saw it emerge from the wand. Harry clenched his teeth together as pain surged through his entire body. Every nerve in his body was on fire. His brain was on fire from all the nerves crying out in agony. His body thrashed uncontrollably under the curse, and Voldemort looked down pitilessly as Harry writhed under the pain. It seemed to last forever, but it could only have been seconds. Then the pain was gone. More specifically, the agony had gone; every muscle in his body still cried out in protest. He ached all over. In hindsight he preferred the numbness and longed for it to return. Harry's body was gently steaming as he lay, gasping on the wet floor. He shivered uncontrollably, and wrapped his arms closely around him, trying to preserve an ounce of warmth.

"Do you think screaming makes you look weak, Harry?" asked Voldemort. "Have no fear, I will not judge you. Better men than you have wept like a child under that curse. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Suddenly the curse was upon him again. Harry's head shot backwards as he writhed in agony. He clenched his teeth together again, biting down hard. He tried to block out the pain, to form a mental shield, but it was far too intense. Nothing could stop the agony in which he found himself. His body writhed and thrashed in the water, splashing it over the walls. His mouth was clenched so tightly he couldn't breath. His lungs felt fit to burst, and the curse inflamed every cell in his body. Harry's mouth flew open and he gasped for breath, only to release it a second later in one long scream that echoed about the room, but went no further. Again, the curse was gone.

"Ah," said Voldemort, a sick smile appearing briefly on his face. "So you have found your voice." Harry lay steaming, unable to move in the middle of the floor. Voldemort was still pointing his wand at him, but he couldn't move. Every muscle ached. He gasped for air, but even that seemed was painful. The icy, stagnant air filled his lungs, making his whole chest feel cold. His chest was tight and he felt sick. He trembled uncontrollably, lying topless and shoeless in the cellar of an unknown house. He glanced up at the window for just a fraction of a second, but Voldemort saw it.

"You are expecting Dumbledore and your fool of father to come valiantly to your aid?" asked Voldemort, a vicious sneer on his face. "I would not get your hopes up. This house is quite undetectable. You stand, or rather lie, in the cellar of my father's house in Little Hangleton. This house is protected by an ancient magic that conceals its location in here." He tapped his chest with his hand. He obviously meant the Fidelius Charm. If Voldemort himself was the secret keeper, there was truly no chance of anyone coming to help him. "No one is coming, Harry. You will stay here for the rest of your life, both days of it."

The Dark Lord swished his wand. Harry was propelled up into the air and across the room. His muscles ached so much that he couldn't even get his hands up to protect his face. He slammed face first into the far wall, his right eyebrow connecting sharply with the plaster. He felt a trickle of blood flow down his temple and into his hair as he hit the floor. As he hit the floor, he didn't even have time to raise a hand to his injured eye before the curse was on him again.

"Crucio!" said Voldemort, his voice a growl. This wasn't a casual torture; this was him putting every ounce of hatred he possessed into the curse. It surged through his veins like a rush of acid, burning, stinging and throbbing all at once. Nothing could prepare him for it, nor stop the pain. Buddhist Monks can train themselves to walk on hot coals by adapting their bodies to the pain. No amount of meditation could ever stop this curse. Harry thrashed in agony, trying to hold back his screams, but in vain. He screamed out loud, but that only seemed to drive Voldemort one further. The curse, if anything, became more intense. Harry felt consciousness begin to slip away, and then the curse was gone.

Harry lay panting in the freezing puddle as Voldemort retracted his wand. His arm hung loosely at his side, and he circled Harry's fallen body. Harry just wanted it to end, to be over. He couldn't take any more pain. But he knew that the Dark Lord wasn't even going to ask any questions yet. He had refused Veritaserum and now he would suffer for it. The Dark Lord wasn't interrogating him, just torturing. Nothing could stop him. Harry managed to push up onto his arms. He held it for a few seconds before his stomach emptied onto the floor, while Voldemort stared down pitilessly, Harry's arms gave out and he collapsed, narrowly missing his own vomit. Voldemort was completely devoid of emotion as he paced calmly around Harry. Harry's head was spinning. He couldn't think straight. He ached all over and his vision was blurred. He shook his head, trying to clear the blur. He could feel the hot trickle of blood flowing from his busted eye.

"That is just a sample of what is to come, Harry," said Voldemort calmly. "It may have already encouraged you to loosen your tongue, however, I believe I taught you better than that."

"You didn't teach me anything," snapped Harry, rolling onto his back.

"I made you what you are and now you turn your back on me," said Voldemort icily.

"I don't owe you anything. You are a vindictive arsehole and you can never win. You can't take people's freedom and I'm going to be there when you realise that."

"That is a matter of opinion," said Voldemort. "And yours does not matter, as time you realised." He pointed his wand at the door, which swung open. Voldemort turned and walked calmly out of the door. He paused just outside and turned back to Harry. "Bring him."

Two Death Eaters appeared in the doorway, one from each direction. They were probably sentries posted at the door. They marched quickly over to Harry, their heavy boots stomping on the floor, spraying water all over Harry as they approached. One grabbed each of Harry's arms and he was yanked roughly to his feet. Each held his wrist with one hand and put another under his arm, lifting him up between them. Harry was upright, but he could hardly move. They held him with strong grips but his muscles didn't seem to work anymore. It took all his strength to keep his eyes open. Part of him was telling him to just give in and let unconsciousness take him, to let the darkness keep him safe. Part of him was saying spill his guts and let Voldemort end it, and part of him was telling him not to give Voldemort the pleasure. Part of him was saying that if he had to die, he would give him hell before he did.

Finally, his 'hero complex' won over. He would not give up the Order. Too many lives, across more than one world, would be over if Voldemort got that information. No, he would never give in. That man, though he could scarcely be classed as human, had murdered his parents and Sirius. He would die before he gave up the Order. Then he would be with his loved ones. Ah, but they are alive, aren't they? said a mischievous voice in his head. He regretted that he had never had a real chance to get to know them. If he ever got out of here he promised himself that he would tell them everything. They needed some quality time. He found that he was smiling as they carried him. Ahead of them was a large oak door. Outside, dressed all in black, stood Bellatrix Black. She stood with folded arms and a smirk plastered on her face. She raised a palm to the Death Eaters as they approached, signalling them to stop; they did so in front of her.

She stepped forward and grabbed Harry's hair, yanking his head up to face her. "Who's number one, now?" she sneered, smacking the backs of her knuckles across his face in a hard slap. Harry's head snapped back and then lolled forward. Bellatrix turned to the double doors behind her and pushed them open. Harry was moved forward and thrown roughly to the floor. He was relieved to find that he landed on a soft carpet. He rolled over twice before coming to a stop. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, while the curtains were drawn. He was lying on the red carpet of a room that was completely devoid of furniture with one exception: in an armchair at the far end from the door sat Lord Voldemort.

The two Death Eaters that had brought Harry dropped to their knees and kissed the hem of his robes. Bellatrix closed the door behind them, lowering a crossbeam across the door before doing the same.

"Steepleton," said the Dark Lord without moving. "Your arm." Obediently the Death Eater rolled up his left sleeve and presented it to the Dark Lord. Voldemort paused for a second before leaning forward and pressing a long bony finger to tattoo. The Death Eater hissed in agony, clutching his arm with his other hand. He fell back, his brow furrowed in pain. The other Death Eater and Bellatrix also clutched their arms, as the Mark called to them. Harry had no idea what it felt like, and he didn't want to. He was in enough pain as it was. He wished unconsciousness would return, and spare him from what he knew he would endure.

Voldemort wouldn't even ask questions. He would just hurt him again and again in front of the Death Eaters to show them what would happen if they betrayed him. Harry knew it was coming; the inevitability of it plagued his mind. He wanted to cry but refused to give Voldemort the pleasure of seeing him do so.

Voldemort sat back in his chair, and waited motionlessly for his followers to appear. It was not long before the first pops sounded as the Death Eaters assembled. Harry lay on the floor, staring up at the figures in black that surrounded him. It was nearly five minutes before the Dark Lord was satisfied that everyone was present.

"Welcome, my friends," said Voldemort, rising from his chair. "You are gathered here today to witness what could very well happen to each and every one of you." He stepped forward, and as he did so, the crowd parted to let him through. He walked straight towards Harry, stopping in front of him. The path he had travelled filled with Death Eaters. A circle had formed around them. Figures in black surrounded him, gazing down at him and up to the Dark Lord. Yesterday, he had been one of the most infamous Death Eaters of all time, who commanded the respect of every one of the Death Eaters. Today he was to be tortured before them to ensure their loyalty. Funny old world.

"You all remember Harry Potter," said Voldemort, circling him once more, but facing outwards to his Death Eaters. "I took him in, rescued him from his Mudblood mother. I nurtured him, taught him the Dark Arts myself. I gave him power, respect and made him the man rated Britain's second most wanted. It is fair to say, he owes me his life." He stopped and turned back to Harry. "However," said Voldemort, his voice becoming icy once again. "Mr Potter has taken it upon himself to betray me." A gasp went up from the crowd. Behind the masks, Harry could see eyes darting from him to the Dark Lord. Whispers went around the audience as they looked at each other, unsure of what to do. "I gave him everything, and he repays me by aligning himself with Muggle-loving fools like Dumbledore. After everything I have done for him, he came here this evening to kill me." That was a lie. This whole show was a coup d'théatre; it was all for show.

"I called this meeting for one purpose," continued Voldemort. "I want you all to witness first-hand the price of betrayal. I want you all to know that should any of you even consider betraying me, there can be only one result. You shall be witnesses."

He paused for a few seconds, allowing his words to sink in. Then he moved with lightening speed. He whipped out his wand and pointed it at Harry. "Crucio!" Harry never even saw it coming. It struck him in the chest, sending pain to every last nerve in his body. His muscles tensed as he thrashed uncontrollably under the effect the curse. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it seemed much longer.

Harry lay gasping on the carpet like a fish out of water, while the other Death Eaters looked on. The veterans like Bellatrix smirked down at him, enjoying his pain, getting a kick out of seeing him suffering. Then there were a few others who were looking around, unsure of what to do. The Dark Lord did another complete lap of his fallen body before turning to face his Death Eater.

"Take a good, hard look," he said. "I offered him the world, and he spat it back in my face. What concerns me just as much is that I believe he may have had accomplices." A murmur went around the circle at the accusation. "Yes, my friends," continued Voldemort. "I smell deceit." He raised his wand once more, but instead of pointing it at Harry, he pointed it at a Death Eater.

The Death Eaters around him stepped back, leaving the poor Death Eater alone, before the Dark Lord.

God, I hope that isn't Snape, he thought. Harry had already walked into a trap, led the Aurors into another trap and blown his own cover. The last thing he needed to do was compromise Snape as well, but it seemed that was what he had done. This whole adventure had become a nightmare. If he had compromised Snape, he had single-handedly crippled the Order. He felt tears of anger building in his eyes. NO! He would not cry! Voldemort would never get that pleasure from him!

There was a pause as the Dark Lord stared unblinkingly at the Death Eater. The man in question was visibly shaking. He looked terrified, too much so to move. Voldemort stood still, enjoying the fear that he caused, before moving his wand onto another Death Eater. He walked around the circle, pointing his wand at the Death Eaters in the front. Some he passed straight by, some he paused at, and again the Death Eaters fell back, leaving the singled-out man alone before Voldemort. He had covered half the circle without a single curse when there was a pop. Harry turned, along with everyone else in the room, to look at the new arrival. A figure in black with a white mask had just Apparated into the room. The Dark Lord's wand was on him before he had a chance to move, but no curse was fired.

"You are late, Severus," said Voldemort coldly, advancing on the spy.

"Forgive me, Master," came a familiar voice from behind the mask. "I was in a conference with the old man. I left as soon as I could. Please, excuse my lateness." The Dark Lord paused for a moment before lowering his wand.

"Your timing is fortunate, Severus," said Voldemort. "As you can see, Mr Potter here is discovering the price of betrayal. He has aligned himself with the old man." Snape stood unmoving, facing the Dark Lord as the information set in. "I for one, believe he may have had an accomplice." Snape still did not move, but stared back passively at the Dark Lord through the slits in his mask. "I believe you were there when a certain package was delivered to the old man. It would seem logical that the coffin contained Mr Potter here, would it not?"

"So it would seem," said Snape plainly, his voice as neutral as ever. Harry glanced up at Snape, but he didn't make eye contact. Snape's eyes were fixed on the Dark Lord. Harry suddenly realised just how costly a mistake this plan had been. He may have compromised Snape. They had no other highly placed source in the Death Eaters. He had done more harm than good. Why was I such a fool? He thought to himself. I never had a hope of lying to Voldemort. Why did I have to play the hero? He wished he could turn back the clock and stop himself from coming back.

"Since you unknowingly, or so you claim, delivered him to Hogwarts," said the Dark Lord, advancing on Snape, "The finger could easily be pointed at you."

"Master, I would never," began Snape, but Voldemort cut him off.

"Silence!" hissed Voldemort. "I want you to prove it to me. I want you to show Mr Potter where your loyalty truly lies." It was easy to read between the lines, obvious to see what Voldemort wanted. He wanted Snape to subject Harry to yet another Cruciatus Curse. Harry began to wonder how much longer before his mind packed in. How long had Frank and Alice Longbottom held out for in his world, before Bellatrix had driven them insane? He cringed at the idea of winding up in St Mungo's, wandering aimlessly around for the rest of his life.

Snape stood still for a moment. Harry's mind was working, but slowly. The pain slowed his thoughts. He couldn't compromise Snape. Snape had to do it. Harry summoned all of his strength, and managed to get up on all fours then up on one knee.

"What are you waiting for Snape?" spat Harry. He pushed himself up onto his feet, nearly toppling over backwards in the process, but he managed to keep his balance. "Do it. What are you afraid of, Snivellus? Scared I'll have you dangling in mid-air with your underwear..." he never finished the taunt as a fist slammed into his nose. Snape hadn't even bothered with a wand; such was his anger at the Potters. Harry was sure he felt his nose break as he fell back towards the ground. He landed hard, his mouth full of blood from his bleeding nose. He looked up, just in time to see a boot swing into his ribs, knocking the air of out him. Harry grasped his stomach and gasped for air.

"Like father, like son," spat Snape. "Crucio!"

Snape only held the curse for a few seconds, but it did its damage. Harry found himself unable to move on the floor of the room. He gasped for breath as he lay there, like a fish out of water. There was silence in the room as the Death Eaters watched Harry gasping for breath. His ribs hurt, and he was fairly sure they were bruised if not cracked. Suddenly there was a series of pops. Harry's eyes flew open, hoping to see the Aurors coming to save him, but in his heart, he knew they were not coming. He was alone in this.

In front of him stood eleven men, surrounded by Death Eaters in cloaks. Harry recognized seven of them. Two of them had been in St Mungo's trying to break him out. He had stunned them and they had presumably been arrested. Four more, including Lucius Malfoy, had been on the Hogwarts Express. Then there was Rodolphus Lestrange. He stood in the middle of the group, surrounded by the others. Harry's eyes met his for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Harry thought for a second he saw concern on the Death Eater's face. He did a double take, but the Death Eater had already looked away. He must have imagined it. They all wore blue denim trousers and shirts, standard attire for a prisoner. Harry remembered that he had once had to wear the same. Harry realised that they must have been broken out.

"I see you were successful, gentlemen," said Voldemort, acknowledging their arrival. "And on time too; good. Any casualties?"

"None on our side, Master," said on of the Death Eaters. He removed his mask, revealing the face of Antonin Dolohov. "The place was almost deserted. All the Aurors were either clearing up Paddington or looking for the boy. The prisoner transfer boat was manned with volunteers. No problem. Their bodies are weighed down and will not wash ashore, as you commanded." Harry suddenly realised exactly what had happened. While Harry had sent the Order and Aurors to Paddington and then Portsmouth, and then had them all looking for him, Voldemort had snatched the captured Death Eaters back from under the Ministry's nose. He could not have done this without Harry's intervention. Harry realised exactly how much of a mistake it had been to come back. He had almost compromised Snape, he had led Aurors into a trap and he had allowed Death Eaters to be rescued. If Voldemort found out everything he knew, more lives would be lost, on more than one world. Why, oh why did I come back, thought Harry, fighting off tears.

"You have done well, Dolohov," said Voldemort. "I would like you to say hello to the cause of your inconvenience. You would not have had to make the effort, were it not for this recently discovered spy." Dolohov's eyes landed on Harry. He looked shocked for a moment, before regaining his composure.

"Potter," sneered Dolohov.

"The one and only," coughed Harry, glaring at the Death Eater. Dolohov flicked his wand and Harry was launched upwards. He stopped a foot or so above the ground. Just as Harry had done earlier to Steepleton, Dolohov used another spell to pull his arms out to the side, as thought he were crucified on an invisible cross. Dolohov smirked and stepped closer, coming to within a foot of Harry. Harry glared down at the man, before speaking.

"Dolohov," he said, trying to keep the pain he felt from his voice. "Ever wanted to be a farmer?" The Death Eater looked back up with a confused expression on his face. Harry continued, "Here's a couple of achers!" Harry slammed his foot into Dolohov's groin. It was an old joke, but it was better than nothing. He wouldn't allow them to get the better of him. The Death Eater roared, clutching his privates in pain and falling to the floor in agony. Lucius Malfoy, clearly still irate that he had been imprisoned and disgraced, grabbed a wand from the nearest Death Eater and strode forward.

"Out of my way, idiot," he sneered at Dolohov. "Oxrempo!" Harry screamed in pain as the bone-breaker curse shattered his right wrist. That was his wand arm! Looking over at his wrist, he could see it hangin loosly in an unnatural angle. He was sickened further as he saw a piece of bone was sticking out through his skin, blood dripping from the tear in his flesh. The pain was unbearable.

"Bastard!" screamed Dolohov, back on his feet. He stepped forward and delivered a punch to Harry's stomach, knocking the air out of him. He didn't stop. He pummelled Harry's ribs twice more before punching him on his left cheek.

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort dangerously, halting the barrage of punches. Lucius Malfoy and Dolohov bowed and stepped back to the edge of the circle. Harry coughed and spluttered, spraying blood over the carpet as he did so. He could feel that he was bleeding internally. He probably had broken a rib or two, as it hurt when he breathed. His wrist was completely shattered and his eye had not clotted. Harry was not in a good condition, to say the least.

"Lucius," continued Riddle. "You and your men will go upstairs. Make yourself presentable and then come back down." Lucius bowed and retreated out of the door.

"Now Harry," said Voldemort calmly. He stepped in front of Harry, looking calmly up at him, his eyes a sea of hatred. "Before I turn you over to them for their revenge and amusement, I have some unanswered questions. You foolishly refused to speak before. As I told you earlier, I have other ways of getting the information I want. However, I will offer you one last chance. Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Harry looked down at Voldemort. He was seriously considering it. His body was broken and he was in agony. The pain was unbearable. He couldn't think straight, let alone escape. No one was coming. He was in so much pain and he knew it would only get worse. Even if he refused, Voldemort would find out what he knew anyway. No one was meant to suffer like this. If he just told Voldemort it would be over. He would kill him and he would see his parents again. It would all end, and all he had to say was 'yes'.

But he had parents in this world, and a sister, a real live sister. She would die if he did, so would his parents, and then the people in his world, if he told Voldemort everything. No, the price was too high. He knew how much pain he would feel, but he had no choice. Harry looked straight into Voldemort's eyes and gave his answer.

"Go fuck yourself," snarled Harry. He then spat a mouthfull of blood at the Dark Lord. There was a gasp from around the room as the spit and blood splashed onto the Dark Lord's robes. No one ever spoke to Voldemort like that. Riddle himself looked livid.

"So be it," he said coldly. "We shall do this the hard way." He withdrew his wand and after cleaning his robes, pointed his wand at Harry's head. "Bellatrix, if you would do the honour."

"Yes, master," said Bellatrix, a cruel sneer appearing on her face as she withdrew her wand and stepped forward. "Just so you know, Harry," she said. "I was always better. Crucio!" The curse hit Harry in the stomach. The effect was now familiar to Harry, but he could not fight and and certainly never get used to it. He was held in place and could not thrash or move. Pain seared through every inch of flesh in his body. His hair was standing on end, and his head thrashed from side to side. He clenched his teeth together, trying to block out the pain. He screamed through closed teeth as the curse inflamed every cell in his body.

Suddenly he was aware of another feeling in his head, almost masked by the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. It was a light tingling feeling. That's it, he thought. I'm losing my mind...St Mungo's, here I come. The tingle seemed to spread throughout his mind, as the pain increased throughout the rest of his body. Suddenly an image flashed before his eyes. He was standing in Dumbledore's office, the ruins of his instruments strewn around the room. There was silvery image of a woman wrapped in shawls with huge milk-bottle glasses hovering above a bowl on the desk. A penseive! The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... came a ghostly voice. Legilimency! Voldemort was going through his memories! He would find out everything! His suffering had been in vain. Suddenly the feeling was gone.

"STOP!" ordered Voldemort. "All of you wait outside, Bella stay. I need to examine this closer." Harry's head hung limp, as he gasped for breath. His body steamed once more. He felt consciousness start to slip away from him.

"Oh no you don't," said Voldemort spraying water from his wand onto Harry's face. Harry was roughly shaken. He felt the spell being withdrawn and he fell forwards. Voldmeort lowered him gently to the ground and then knelt next to him.

"Who was the woman in the penseive?" he asked. "Answer me!"

"Your mother," spat Harry.

"I'm going to ask you once more," said Voldemort dangerously. "After that, we will go back to the other method of getting answers. Now, who was the woman in the Pensive?" Harry didn't answer he just stared blankly up at Voldemort. "So be it. Bella!"

"Crucio!" The curse hit him again. His whole body thrashed and flayed as pain forced its way into every cell of his body. Again the tingle appeared in his head and the image came back

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...He was getting the Prophecy! No, he must not get it. Concentrate, clear your mind, Harry. He tried to empty his mind, to block out Voldemort. He tried to think of something inanimate, like a chair, to block him, but nothing worked. He couldn't concentrate. The pain from Bellatrix's curse was too intense. He trashed uncontrollably, and his mind was on open book. The memory played over in his mind, under Voldemort's Legilimency. The memory came to an end at the end of the Prophecy and both spells were lifted.

The Dark Lord looked shocked, and Harry thought for a fraction of a second that he detected fear in the older man's eyes. He stood back up, staring down at Harry. He was clearly thinking. He looked up at Bellatrix. "I need to think," he said softly. "Put him back in the cellar and send the other home."

Harry just saw Bellatrix bow and retreat before consciousness left him and he fell mercifully into darkness.

~~~~ + ~~~~

The taxi screeched to a halt as Connor sprinted out into the road without looking. He had run for almost half a mile through the streets and backstreets of Liverpool, constantly pursued by two men. The taxi didn't stop in time. He jumped and rolled off its bonnet, landing painfully on his back in the middle of the road. The afternoon sun shone down into his eyes. He had hit his head on the road. He was breathing heavily from too much smoking and not enough exercise. He tried to Disapparate, but found that he couldn't. The bastards had put an anti-apparation jinx on him! He picked himself up quickly and looked over his shoulder. His two pursuers were catching up, pushing their way past the pedestrians. He didn't know what they wanted, but he knew that he hadn't done anything to them. They didn't look friendly.

Connor ran across the road and onto the other pavement. He ran along, pushing past people without an apology. He knocked two old ladies off their feet but didn't stop. He sprinted past shops and people before turning left into an alleyway. It was dark, it stank, and was covered in litter and mud. The alley was a shortcut. He ran to the end and turned right. As he did, his face and heart fell. At the end of the alley was a man in a black cloak. He stood the in the centre of the alley, a wand in his right hand.

Connor turned to go backwards, but saw that the other pursuer was coming down the alley behind him. His glanced quickly from one to the other. He was trapped, but he could't let them take him. He would be killed, one way or another! He pulled out his wand, but never even got near a spell.

"Expelliarmus!" cried one of the pursuers. Connor's wand flew out of his hands, and he was launched backwards into a pile of binbags. He lay amongst the rubbish, covered in carrot peel, banana skins, yogurt and all manner of filth. The two black-cloaked pursuers came closer, standing over him. Neither looked friendly, happy or tired, which was surprising considering the run they had just done. One had long black hair, the other short, but of the same colour. The shorter of the two had glasses and sparkling blue eyes.

"Do you know who we are?" asked the shorter of the men.

"Not who, what," spat Connor. "Look, guys, I don't know what you want but I didn't do it. I was just having a drink, which I paid for. I am not even over the limit. I can drive, see," he reached for his wallet to get out his Muggle lisence.

"I don't care about your drinking," said shorty. "I care about my son."

"What? Son? Why would i...what son?" stammered Connor. He couldn't understand what they wanted.

"My name is Potter," said the man. "I'm an Auror. Listen to me. My son is out there. The Death Eaters have him. I am going to find him, one way or another. We know all about you, Connor; we know where you live, what cereal you have for breakfast, where you buy your clothes. We know about your addiction, and about the crowd you hang out with. Where is Walden McNair?"

"I don't..." began Connor, but never finished it as Potter's fist slammed into his gut.

"Let's try again," said Potter.

"I'd tell him if I were you," said his partner. "That man does not look stable."

"Do you know anything about Harry Potter?" asked Potter, shaking Connor violently. "Answer me."

"Just what I read in the papers," said Connor. He got another punch in the stomach for telling the truth. "Get him off me!" he pleaded to Potter's partner.

"I would," said the man. "But his son just so happens to be my godson, and I want to find him too, so if I were you I'd answer."

"Sirius," said Potter, "What is the policy on using the Cruciatus Curse on suspects we have in custody, but haven't arrested?"

"No!" said Connor quickly. He had felt the curse before and had no desire to do so again. He didn't know if they were bluffing or not, but 'Sirius' had been right. Potter was not stable. "Ok. I'll talk," he said. "I don't know anything about a kidnapping, but McNair is staying in London at a place called Grimmauld Place. I met him a few times down the pub. I think it's number twelve but I could be wrong. It's the old..."

"Black place," said 'Sirius, cutting him off. "After my mother died, it went to Bellatrix. They must be there." Potter released Connor and the Auror stood back up."

"Call Dawlish," said James. "I'll do Dumbledore. Get us a hit squad or two. I want Scholes on the team as well. Good man." Sirius nodded and pulled a black box out of his pocket. Potter did the same.

"What about him?" asked Sirius, gesuring at Connor. Potter glanced briefly down before pulling out a wand. "Stupefy!" Everything went black.

~~~~ + ~~~~

Splash!

Harry awoke with a start as ice-cold water was thrown over him. He shook himself and tried to sit up. Pain ripped through his right arm as he tried to move it. His wrist was hanging at nearly ninety degrees from where it should. Blood had clotted around an area where a piece of bone had broken the surface. His right eye ached, and was covered in clotted blood. He could see out of it, as the cut was on his eyebrow and had flowed away from the eye itself. He had bruises all over his torso and face. He was finding it hard to breath and his ribs ached with every movement; he assumed some were broken. His unconsciousness had been blissful, a temporary break from the agony that was now returning to him. His muscles ached; he was covered in bruises and back on the cold wet floor of the cellar.

"Wakey wakey," said a voice. "You don't get away from us that easy!"

Harry looked upwards to see a man standing over him. He was about twenty, maybe a few years older, with curly blond hair and an earring. Harry recognised him as the Auror who had been there at his arrest. The Auror was a Death Eater. That explained a lot. That was how he had known all about Harry's behaviour. It was because of his betrayal that Harry had suffered. Hatred for this man rose in Harry like a storm. The man smirked down at him. He was smoking a cigar, which at present was hanging out of the left side of his mouth. Harry coughed as the man blew a cloud of smoke over him.

"Because of my efforts in planning Thursday's activities," said the Auror, "The Master has given me the honour of your company for an hour. Sixty whole minutes of quality time." He wore a triumphant smirk. "There are however, three rules, so pay attention, Harry," he said, in mock seriousness. "Firstly, no dying, if you die, well, it would be inconvenient and I would probably end up suffering for it, so do me a favour and keep breathing. Rule two: no going mental. You have to keep thinking straight, okay? Lastly, you must be able to talk. If I get too close to breaking your jaw, let me know and I'll back up a little. Okay? Everything else is all good. Okay? Good, let's get started." The lights came on and Harry recoiled.

He found himself being levitated off the ground. He grunted in pain as he landed on a metal table. It was cold and he shivered involuntarily. He was on his back, staring up at a bright strip light on the ceiling. He blinked as the light hurt his eyes. The Auror's head came into view as he leaned over him.

"It's serious, Nurse," said the Auror. "We need to operate! Scalpel!" Harry's eyes widened as the Auror picked up his own sword, withdrawing it from the scabbard. "Close, but no cigar," he said. He replaced it and picked up another sword entirely. Harry's eyes widened even more as he recognised the jewel-encrusted sword. He looked down at Harry and nodded. "Oh, yes," he said casually. Harry watched him twirl the sword about his wrist. Then he stopped. "Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't smoke in the operating room." He took the cigar out of his mouth with his left hand and, before Harry could say anything, brought it down onto his exposed stomach. Harry screamed as the burning end was pressed deeply into his flesh. The man twisted the cigar, stubbing it out on Harry's flesh. The smell of burning flesh and tobacco reached his nostrils. After a few seconds the man pocketed the remains of the cigar. Harry couldn't move. He winced in pain as the Auror slowly dragged the blade over his skin creating two shallow, yet painful cuts. He could feel the metal cut into the soft flesh. The Auror made two, one diagonally across his stomach and one across his chest. Harry bit down again, refusing the give the Death Eater the pleasure of hearing him scream.

The Auror replaced the sword on the table. Harry could see that all his possessions were on the table for the Auror to use; two wands, two swords, and a chest plate of armour. Harry dreaded to think what the Auror would do to him. There was also a syringe and a bottle of a clear liquid. It was these that the man now picked up.

"I thought I would give the Muggle methods a try," the Auror informed him. "Hey, if you don't try, you'll never know. Variety is the spice of life and such-like and so-forth. This method was used across the Far-East mainly; it seemed to work for them. Let's see if it will work for me. Serpentsortia!"

Harry watched as a snake came flying out of the man's wand. It landed on the table next to Harry, looking irate. It leered up, staring at Harry with cold yellow eyes. The King Cobra hissed at him before lunging. Harry screamed as the teeth sank into his neck, centimetres from his jugular. Harry felt his neck turn both hot and cold under the bite. His flesh burned, a hot feeling enveloped his neck, but below it, he felt the icy venom flow into his bloodstream. The snake recoiled, leering again. The Auror watched calmly before hooking the sword around the snake and launching it across the room.

"The King Cobra is amongst the deadliest snakes on the planet," the Auror informed him. His head was spinning and he felt sick. His vision was blurring again and he felt faint. Pain filled his brain, and he felt himself break into a cold sweat. He was finding it even harder to breathe. "Getting bitten causes a lot of pain, as you are probably discovering. Aside from the bite itself, the venom spreads through your entire body. Death should be in two hours or so, but obviously I am not going to let it go that far. The Master needs you alive. So..." the man picked up the syringe and filled it from the bottle. He plunged it into Harry's arm, causing him to wince. His arm went numb and he could feel the cold liquid entering his bloodstream. The needle withdrew and Harry opened his eyes.

"Let's think about that one for a few minutes," said the Auror. "Then we'll try again. You see..." he was cut off by a buzzing noise. It wasn't loud, but it was certainly noticeable. Harry lay on the table panting, recovering from the venom of the cobra. He watched as the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. The Auror unclipped the black box and pressed the black button before holding it up to his mouth.

"Yes," he said impatiently.

"Scholes," said a familiar voice. "It's Black." Harry felt a rush of relief; he could contact them! He opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, the Auror shoved a handkerchief into his mouth and walked to the corner of the room. Harry couldn't speak. He tried again and again but no sound came out. Sirius' voice continued.

"James and I found a tout. We reckon they may have taken Potter to Grimmauld Place, the old Black house. Bellatrix owns it now. You're shadowing her, aren't you?"

"I was," said the Auror. "I lost her in Knockturn Alley," he lied. Harry wanted to shout out, to tell Sirius it was a lie. He would come for him; he always had, just like last...he had been about to say 'year', but that only brought more pain back to the surface. He could feel tears beginning to form in his eyes. The Auror continued, "I followed her to Borgin's place. They made a swap and then she left. I lost her in the crowd."

"Damn," came Sirius' voice. There was a pause.

The lightsss, hissed a voice. Turn off the lightsss. It blindssss me.

Harry couldn't see the snake but he could hear it speaking. He had to free his mouth. He had to talk to the snake. It could be his only way out. Concentrating hard, he managed to magically repel the hanky from his mouth. After taking a few deep breaths, he softly hissed down at the cobra.

Hello? he hissed.

I can undersssstand you, hissed a voice from below the table. Why issss thissss?

I can talk to all snakes, hissed Harry. Listen to me, please. The other human, he is a bad man. He is trying to torture me.

"Okay, come to Grimmauld Place, ASAP. We're going in," came Sirius's voice. The Auror paused for some time before replying.

What issss torture? asked the Snake.

He hurts me, for fun.

What issss fun? Harry sighed with impatience

"Thirty minutes," said the Auror. He was buying them time to evacuate.

"Can't you make it sooner?" responded Sirius.

He likes to hurt people.

He issss bad man, observed the Snake.

Yes, he is, hissed Harry. Please, help me to get away.

I shall, snake speaker, came the reply.

"No promises," said the Death Eater before hanging up. He tucked the black box back into his pocket and them came back to the table. "Sorry, son," he said. "Looks like we will have to cut his meeting short. I...ARGH!" The man screamed in pain as the cobra attacked from under the table. The snake sank his fangs into one of the Auror's leg, and then the other. Harry raised a leg, kicking out at the man's face. He rolled off the table, landing hard on the floor and coming face to face with the cobra.

Thanks, he hissed to the snake. I'll set you free before I leave.

Thankssss.

He managed to stand up, using the table for support.

"As Voldemort said," said Harry coldly to the Auror. He wrenched his wand out of his hands. "This room is soundproof. Scream all you want." He stumbled to the table and picked up his armour, hanging it loosely over his shoulders. He picked up his watch, but his wrist was in no fit state to wear one. He checked it anyway. It was one-thirty in the afternoon. What shocked him was that two whole days had passed. He must have been unconscious for ages, both times. He pocketed both his wands and snapped Mr Scholes' wand. Both his Katana and Gryffindor's sword were lying on the table. He had found it! He could probably get home! Hope filled his heart. Then he saw the Auror lying dying on the floor, and hatred filled his heart again. "As you yourself said," he continued, "The King Cobra is amongst the deadliest snakes on the planet and you have been bitten twice. Tell me how many there are upstairs and I will give you the anti-venom."

The Auror thought for a second before answering. He was coughing and spluttering. His breathing was fast and erratic. He was dying. "Eight to ten; two by the door, two in the meeting room, the Dark Lord and three to five others. The anti-venom," he pleaded. Harry normally didn't like to cause pain, or witness suffering, but this man had tortured him. He hadn't just done his job; he had enjoyed it. He deserved worse than death. In the old days, Harry would have had pity. Not any more.

Harry picked up the bottle of anti-venom in his good hand, and then calmly, remorselessly, dropped it. It smashed on the floor, spilling its contents amongst the puddle.

"NO!" spluttered the man. "No, you bastard!"

"May God have mercy on your soul," said Harry icily, before putting a body bind on the man and silencing him. He wanted Scholes to remain conscious until he died; to feel the same pain he had made Harry feel.

Harry picked up the snake gently and opened the only window in the room. It was up against the ceiling and when he looked out, he was at lawn level. The snake slithered out of his hands and off across the lawn, hissing its thanks as it went. He then crossed to the Auror, his limbs protesting at every step. He pulled out the black box. It was five centimetres square and two deep. There was a shallow black button on one side and a small blue light. Harry pressed the button. Nothing happened.

"Sirius Black," he said. There was a pause before a voice answered. Harry felt relief wash over him as he heard the familiar voice. Tears formed in his eyes as the voice spoke. He had found Sirius again.

"Yes, talk to me," said Sirius.

"Sirius," was all Harry could say, his voice breaking on the single word.

"Harry?" came the reply.

"Harry?" A voice in the background repeated the name. "Give me that. Harry?" He recognised the voice to be his father.

"Yes, it's me," he said, wheezing with every word.

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy," said Harry sarcastically, before realising his father couldn't see him. "I'm at the Riddle House."

"Where? Speak up!"

"It won't work. The place is protected by the Fidelius Charm," said Harry. "Don't worry about me, I can escape. There are only eight of them. Look, you were right. There are Death Eaters at Grimmauld Place. Scholes is one of them. He betrayed you. He's a Death Eater."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Positive," said Harry. "I would let you speak to him, but he's in no fit state for talking right now. He was buying time by saying half an hour. But he never got word to Voldemort, so they shouldn't be evacuating. They are still there. Hit that house with everything you have. I'm going to try and get home."

"Hurry, Harry," said James. "Your mother and sister are going spare."

"I will," said Harry. "Good luck."

"You too." The line went dead.

Harry turned off the lights and stood letting his eyes adjust for a few seconds. He then took out both wands in one hand and pointed them through his fingers like claws. He kicked the door twice, and then retreated into the corner. The door opened and two men came in. Harry fired two Stunners simultaneously. Both men keeled over in a shower of red sparks. Tucking one wand away and both swords under his right arm, Harry made his way out of the room, up the stairs and off to find a fireplace.

~~~~ + ~~~~

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" shouted Lily. Albus noted that it was very out of character for her to raise her voice to the Headmaster, of all people; but considering the stress she was under, she could easily be forgiven. It had been nearly fifty hours since Shacklebolt had stormed the ship. Unfortunately, Lily had been in the room when Kingsley had called Albus on the fireplace. If he was being honest, he didn't want Lily anywhere near an Order meeting in her current state of mind. It had been a mistake to let Harry go. He knew it now, and in his heart had known at the time. He had just wanted the war to be over so badly that he had simply let his head run the show without listening to reason. He had witnessed Harry's practiced Occlumency attempts, which could be described as flimsy at best.

He never really had much chance, and Albus had let him go. He was another person who had given their life in what appeared to be in vain. Another wasted life. The price of this conflict was becoming too high, and Albus secretly was beginning to lose faith. For years he had fought this war, and for years before Tom, he had fought the Dark Lord Grindelwald. The memories of the destruction at Versailles came back to him. A chill went down the Headmaster's spine. It had so nearly gone the other way. Albus pushed the image of the assassin out of his mind. He glanced down at the map before him, knowing that it was as good as useless. The ship had been moving so they could not Apparate off. However, they could have used Portkeys or even brooms. The second was unlikely, as they would have had to carry Harry and judging by the message in his blood, he was in no fit state to fly. Albus had to admit, he did not have a clue where Harry now was. If they ever found him, Albus promised himself he would talk to the boy. To find out what he really wanted, rather than what Albus hoped he wanted.

Every effort was being made to find Voldemort, but he couldn't tell the Ministry whom they had kidnapped, so they offered little help while he refused to tell them. James, Sirius, Kingsley, Dawlish and Nymphadora were devoting Auror resources to the search, but they had to be careful. If word reached Crouch that Albus had gone directly to the Aurors, he would snap. The man's temper would be his downfall. The country could not deal with another scandal. The government would collapse and Tom would win.

He looked sadly up into the eyes of the irate mother that stood before him. He had failed to stop her son and he was almost certainly dead by now. She would hold him responsible until the day she died. Harry hadn't even been their son, but they had embraced his as if he were. For a day, the Potter family was whole again. The orphan was reunited with parents. Did it matter at the end of the day that they came from different worlds? They had missed each other, loved each other and had found comfort in each other's arms. Harry's world was not so different. Had it not been him, had it been someone else, someone not bound by such a damning Prophecy, Albus was sure he would have been delighted to stay. As it was, Harry had believed in his duty and tried to do it. Albus admired him for it. At his age, Albus would not have done the same, but Harry seemed to accept his roll, even if he did resent it.

"Lily," said Albus, taking off his spectacles to polish them. He sighed and replaced them. "I can only imagine how you must be feeling."

"You don't know shit," stormed Lily. Age had not mellowed the redhead's temper. Albus remembered seeing it directed at her husband, years before they were married. How they had fallen in love was one of the great mysteries of the universe. Having said that, they were perfect for each other, it just took them five years of near war to figure that out. "You don't have children. You have never lost a child...twice!"

Potions classes had had to be cancelled once Kingsley had called. Lily had been pacing with anxiety ever since. She was worried sick and wasn't hiding it. She was going spare and was in no fit state to teach. That had been nearly three days ago. Now, sixty hours later, she was inconsolable.

"I'm sorry, Lily, but the Aurors can't go on like this. I know how hard this must be, but the Aurors have to call off the search."

"NO!"

"They have to," said Albus gravely. "The Order will continue to..."

"The Order couldn't find snow in the middle of winter!" snapped Lily, pacing the office, her face red with fury, her eyes red from tears. She was a mess. Albus hated to see her like this.

"Lily, I know this hurts," said Albus. "But it has been nearly fifty hours. We have to face the possibility that perhaps Harry is..." he never finished the sentence as the fireplace burst into flames and a boy fell out, collapsing on the floor.

"Harry!" screamed Lily, running over to his fallen body, which was lying on his side. It was Harry, though he was hardly recognisable. He was a bloody mess. His top had been removed; his armour was dangling from his shoulders over bare skin. He must have picked it up his escape. He also held both his wands and two swords, one that Albus had only even seen a picture of, in a very, very, old book. Albus felt sick, looking down at the boy. No one should have to endure this kind of pain.

His right wrist was clearly broken, hanging at an unnatural angle. A piece of bone was sticking out though the skin, blood trickling from the penetration. He had bruises all over his face, arms and torso. Several large gashes and cuts were bleeding across his chest and back. It looked as if someone had cut him with his own sword. There was a large area of crisp flesh where he had been burned. His face was lacerated and bleeding all over, including a broken nose. He had large lumps where something blunt had hit him. His mouth was red with blood, that was flowing up from inside. He must have internal bleeding. Most disturbingly of all were two large white swelling on his right shoulder and neck. They were at least five centimetres around and bulged out, full of puss. An ugly purple mark was on the top of each lump. His neck was heavily swollen. Albus recognised them as bite-marks, presumably from a snake of some kind, knowing Tom. This boy had endured more pain in the last fifty hours than the rest of the Order put together in their entire lives.

"I never was much good at Floo," said Harry weakly, trying to smile, before he passed out on the floor of the office.