The Traitor's Blood

CHAPTER SIX

It was very cold. Harry could feel himself shivering. His ankles were still bound together and his hands still tied behind his back, but he knew instantly that he was no longer in the warehouse. He was lying face down on a cold stone floor.

His first thought was that this was another nightmare. He squinted around in the darkness. The room was very dark and empty. Even if he had been wearing his glasses, Harry knew there would be nothing to see. The only light in the room was a dim strip of orange which sneaked in from under a door on the far side of the small room.

Every inch of Harry's body ached. It took all of his strength to push himself into a sitting position and he had to prop himself against the cold wall for support. The hard stone floor and wall felt just like those in the dungeons at Hogwarts. But there was no way he could be in Hogwarts now.

Summoning the last ounces of his strength, Harry pushed himself up the wall until he was standing and hopped a couple of metres across the room, to the door on the far wall. With extreme difficulty he turned his back to the door and ran his fingers over the wood. Finally, just as he was about to give up, his fingers found the cool iron handle. He scrambled his fingers over the metal until he had a good grip and turned it.

Locked. He did not know why he had bothered. Of course it was locked. Harry lent back against the door and slid down it to the floor. He placed his ear against the polished wood and listened hard. There was no sound from the other side. He slid further down the door and tried to peak through the crack underneath it, but without his glasses all he could see was a faint orange glow. He pushed himself back up so that he was sitting with his back to the door and drew his knees into his chest. He felt exhausted. He placed his head on his knees and closed his eyes. Hid head was aching and his scar was prickling uncomfortably. Wherever he was, someone would find him soon. Ron was sure to have alerted Dumbledore and the Order by now. They would be here any minute to rescue him.

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness. He had no idea what the time was and there was still no sound from the other side of the door. Someone will be here soon, he told himself over and over.

Fatigue and hunger consumed him. He lost track of time completely. He spent hours in restless, trubled sleep and woke to spend hours staring into the darkness of the room. Why had nobody come for him? If Sirius was around, he would have rescued Harry days ago. Sirius would have cared; he would have done everything in his power to find Harry.

Harry wiped his face on his jeans. Maybe nobody would find him. Harry began to wonder how long he could survive, trapped in this cold, damp room, without food or water. He would not be the 'Boy Who Lived' for much longer. He felt extremely angry at himself. It was his stupidity that had landed him here. At least this time he had no dragged any of his friends down with him.

"Bow to death, Harry."

A cold voice penetrated his throbbing head.

Why not, Harry thought, at least he would be with his parents again. And if Sirius really was dead, then Harry would be with him again, too.

These thoughts swirled inside the emptiness of Harry's head as his mind drifted into unconsciousness again...

"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 ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ..."

Sybill Trelawney's bony, bespectacled face swam across the darkness of Harry's mind.

"Well, he can kill me," Harry hissed at his dream, "because I'm not going to fight him."

"Why not?"

Trelawney's face had dissolved. Harry opened his eyes and looked around the room. Sirius Black stepped out of the shadows in the far corner. Harry could see him, clear as day. Sirius looked tired, his robes were torn and dirty and his long black hair was filthy and tangled.

"Sirius?"

"You didn't answer my question," said Sirius, sitting down on the floor next to Harry, "why won't you fight?"

"There's no point," said Harry moodily, "every time I fight him, he ends up killing someone else. I should just let him kill me. Then maybe he'll leave my friends alone."

"Harry, I thought you were smarter than that."

"I'm not smart," mumbled Harry, "I've never been smart."

"Come on, Harry," Sirius replied calmly, "your parents' death wasn't your fault, you were just a baby. Cedric Diggory wasn't your fault ..."

"I told him to take the Triwizard Cup with me," Harry interrupted.

"But that doesn't make it your fault that he died," Sirius looked at Harry, looked into his eyes, into his heart, "but I know what's really eating you. You think my death was your fault."

"You're not dead," said Harry simply, "you're here ... you're alive."

"Don't give up, Harry. Whatever happens, don't give up. Innocent people are counting on you."

Harry tore his eyes away from his godfather and stared hard at the cold grey floor in front of him.

"Promise me, Harry. Promise that you won't give up."

"But ..."

Harry turned back to face his godfather, but Sirius was gone. The cold room was empty again.

"Sirius? SIRIUS!" Harry shouted into the darkness, "SIRIUS, COME BACK!"

Harry opened his eyes and looked around the blurry emptiness of the room. He drew his knees back into his chest and rested his head on them. He was so sure Sirius had been there.

His stomach growled uncomfortably and his head was throbbing worse than ever. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to drive away the pain. He opened them again and saw a glint of gold flash in the darkness. He lifted his head wearily and tried to focus. There was something there.

"Time to go home, Harry."

A warm feeling filled Harry's body as if he had just stepped into a hot bath.

"Sirius?" Harry croaked. His throat was very dry and sore.

"Shh," said Dumbledore soothingly, "just relax, Harry, I'm going to take you out of here."

Dumbledore was kneeling in front of Harry with his wand held out. He pointed the wand at Harry's ankles and in a flash of light they were freed. He took Harry by the shoulder, pulled him away from the door and pointed his wand at Harry's hands. The bindings disappeared instantly. Harry felt a wave of relief to finally have the use of his hands again. He opened his mouth to speak again, but only managed to emit a small croak, which turned into a deep, dry cough.

"Don't try and talk now," said Dumbledore gently, "there will be plenty of time for that later."

With that, Dumbledore pulled Harry into a tight, fatherly hug. At first, Harry was shocked. Dumbledore had always been there for Harry, but he had never shown him affection like this before. Harry felt so comfortable in Dumbledore's presence, he did not want to ever let go.

"Time to go home," Dumbledore repeated, producing what appeared to be an empty Chocolate Frog box from his pocket. He let go of Harry, pointed his wand at the box and muttered, "Portus."

He held the box out to Harry.

"On three," said Dumbledore, "one ... two ... three."