Harry Potter and the Final Prophecy

-- Chapter Seven --

     Kidnapped

Harry went back every quarter of an hour to stand guard over Sirius, while Ron and Hermione kept watch for owls at the cave entrance.

Far below in the village, everything still seemed normal, they watched narrow trails of brown smoke rising from freshly-lit fires, winding vertically up out of half a dozen chimneys in the still autumn air. 'There's Aberforth,' Harry pointed out the tall stooping figure of Dumbledore's brother, stalking a reluctant goat around the barren yard behind the Hog's Head.

'He'll help us, won't he?' asked Hermione.

'He should,' said Ron, but Harry had his doubts about this strange character with his sullen and gruff manner, who clearly preferred the company of goats to that of people ...

'We need to do something soon,' said Harry, 'we can't stay here for long with nothing to eat or drink.'

'I know a spell to transfigure urine into water ...' Hermione began hesitantly.

'No!' said Ron in horror, 'don't even think about it! We can buy some butterbeers off of Aberforth, and ask him to contact Dumbledore.'

'I'll go,' Harry said, he felt had to do something, he couldn't just stay here watching Sirius die. The pain of losing his godfather again would be too much to bear ...

'Maybe Dumbledore will find a way to take Sirius to St. Mungo's to cure this curse or possession ...' Hermione suggested cautiously. Officially, Harry realised, Sirius was still a wanted fugitive with a price on him, only his disappearance for a year within the realm of the dead had temporarily solved this dilemma. Until Wormtail was interrogated and the ministry had pardoned Sirius, he would have to remain in hiding.

Harry sighed, unable to face yet more unresolvable problems on an empty stomach. He turned back to watch the village far below. By now Aberforth was milking the struggling goat into a pail.

As Harry materialised in the middle of the filthy single room that made up the Hog's Head bar, Aberforth came back in from the yard, milk slopping in a battered metal pail in his hands. 'What d'you want?' he grumbled, 'we're not open yet.'

'The castle's been attacked,' explained Harry, trying not to choke on the foul stench of goats that filled the barroom, 'some of us managed to escape, but Sirius is badly injured and we don't have any food -- I've come to get help.'

'So, do I look like a charity?' grunted Aberforth, throwing his mass of lank grey hair over his shoulder and scowling at Harry, revealing a mouthful of rotting yellowed and blackened teeth.

'You were in the Order of the Phoenix!' Harry exclaimed angrily.

'Nah, I weren't. Albus dragged me along a couple of times but I didn't want to get involved in politics. I don't want any trouble, do I, if You-Know-Who takes over ... I've got a pub to run, and if you don't mind, I'd like to have my breakfast now,' he said curtly, pointing Harry to the door.

'I can pay for drinks at least,' Harry offered.

'Like I said, the bar's closed.' He turned and slouched off into the back room, slamming the door behind him.

Disgusted by Aberforth's attitude, Harry apparated to the Three Broomsticks bar. Madam Rosmerta was polishing the bar top as he inexpertly materialised a few feet above the floor and went sprawling on the thankfully thick carpet. She gave a gasp of shock and hastily gathered her dressing gown around her. 'I'm sorry,' Harry said quickly, 'it's an emergency, Ron and me and Hermione managed to escape from the castle, and, er, one of the teachers as well, but he's injured ... so I wondered if I could use your fireplace to get to London and find Dumbledore and get help?' he finished with a pleading tone, suddenly noticing how old and tired she looked, her face lined and long auburn hair bedraggled and unkempt.

'Well, I suppose so,' she sniffed reluctantly, casting her eyes to the curtained windows as if worried that Death Eaters were already marching through the streets of the village and would be spying on her.

'And could I just buy some butterbeers? We've had nothing to eat or drink since the attack ...'

He Disapparated back to the cave clutching two large bags bulging with butterbeer bottles and packets of nuts, quickly filled Ron and Hermione in on the less than friendly reception he'd received in the village, said a heart-wrenching farewell to the unconscious form of his godfather, and returned to the Three Broomsticks, where a fire was now burning in the grate. Thanking Madam Rosmerta profusely, he grabbed a portion of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and hurled it into the fire, saying 'Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes!' as he walked into the bright emerald flames.

He was swept around in the familiar whirling stream of fireplaces and woodsmoke until abruptly he was expelled from the Floo channel and landed painfully on a hard stone grate. Immediately he realised something had gone wrong, the fireplace was surrounded not by the usual untidy piles of dangerous and illicit ingredients in Fred and George's basement, but instead by a circle of goblins, all looking at him with avaricious glee as if he was a huge sack of gold they'd just acquired ... Instinctively he reached for his wand, but before he could touch it the lead goblin crooked his long forefinger and the wand soared into the air and the goblin caught it and passed it to one of his fellows, who carried it out of the chamber.

'Hang on, you're supposed to be on our side,' began Harry angrily, stepping forward out of the fireplace. He found himself abruptly halted by an invisible barrier.

'We're on no-one's side but our own, human,' the goblin warned him, 'no wizard can count on our loyalty. We will however respect a deal once it's been struck, at least while it remains favourable to us ...'

Harry turned and tried to move past the barrier but found another blocking his way. He realised he was surrounded by invisible walls. The goblins conversed rapidly amongst themselves in gobbledegook as he tried futilely to escape the cage. This was too much, on top of everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. He willed himself to disappear from here and reappear in the joke shop, clenching his stomach against the unsettling apparition sensation of being momentarily turned inside out, but nothing happened.

'You cannot Disapparate or Apparate here,' the goblin said, with a snide grin.

'Why are you keeping me prisoner?' Harry demanded, heart racing.

'You do not need to know that, Harry Potter. But it is our expectation that you will prove useful, most useful. Follow me.' Harry had little choice, the barriers around him were replaced by invisible bounds around his wrists which tugged him after the goblins down bare stone corridors and tunnels until they reached a steep descending passageway. Here there were railway tracks and several carts on them just like those used in Gringotts to take wizards to their vaults. They pulled him into one and the carts started running rapidly down the incline, going deeper and deeper, passing over ravines and through crystalline caves, back and forth until Harry's exhausted brain lost all sense of direction. Eventually the cart halted and they pulled him down narrow tunnels which looked like the workings of a mine, dripping with water. On either side were crude stone caverns burrowed into the walls. He realised this could be an unused part of Gringotts, buried deep underground, almost impossible to escape from ... but why did they want to keep him here? How on earth could he be useful to goblins?

At last they stopped in a passageway with three barred cells. The goblins opened the first of these and pushed Harry inside. 'Does Ragnok know what you're doing?' Harry challenged the leader, as they prepared to shut him in. He'd remembered that this was the name of Bill's boss at the bank, someone with high responsibility, who would surely object to such a violation of wizard-goblin treaties.

'I _am_ Ragnok,' grinned the goblin, slamming the door closed. The sound of multiple thick bolts sliding into place drove the last glimmers of hope from Harry's heart and he slumped onto the wooden platform that was the only furniture in the cave-like bare stone cell.

He lay inertly for a long time, worrying about Sirius and Ron and Hermione, wondering what Dumbledore and the order were planning to do to recapture the castle, and mulling hopelessly over his own situation. Were the goblins holding him for a ransom? Did they expect Dumbledore to pay handsomely for his release? Was this some devious scheme of Voldemort's? There was silence except for the regular crunch of metal heels on stone as a goblin guard patrolled back and forth outside the cells. After an age a plate of some white fungus-like food and a glass of water appeared on the platform beside him, which Harry consumed in a matter of seconds. After yet more dismal endless hours the apparently sourceless light that filled the cell was doused and he was left sitting in a darkness only mitigated by faint fragments of light from distant corridors that filtered through the barred opening in the iron door. The guard ceased his robotic procession to and fro, leaving the faint noise of subterranean streams or cascades of water as the only noise. Harry sighed in frustration, beginning to understand the nightmare of tedium that Sirius had somehow endured for twelve years in Azkaban. He had already reached the limit of his patience after a mere twelve hours of captivity, and that without the soul-consuming presence of dementors which Sirius had faced every day of his imprisonment ...

He dreamed yet again of the staircase descending to hell from Embankment tube station, and woke with his scar prickling, and an ominous feeling of triumph which he knew came from Voldemort's mind. The light was restored, the guard resumed his ritual pacing, and a further plate of unidentifiable but apparently edible food dropped onto the bed platform out of thin air. He realised he still had Sirius's mirror in his cloak pocket, and tried quietly to call for him with it, but the glass remained obstinately blank.

By evening his frustration had reached an intolerable level. He simply couldn't sit here doing nothing, waiting for whatever fate the goblins had planned for him, while Voldemort's forces occupied Hogsmeade, Sirius lay dying, and Hermione and Ron were trapped without food or water.

Somehow he would have to escape from the cell, recover his wand and find a way to the surface ... which could be miles above. He'd done magic without a wand before, he realised -- vanishing the glass of the boa constrictor's tank at the zoo, blowing up Aunt Marge ... even quite powerful magic. The only problem was he had no idea _how_ he'd done any of these things ... they had happened unconsciously and automatically, when he was feeling intense anger or fear ...

Darkness closed down and he started to drift off into a restless sleep. Suddenly a sharp pain surged through his scar, the dimly-lit cell vanished and instead he was watching Hagrid writhing and screaming in agony on the ground outside his hut as he, Harry, pointed his wand and carried out the cruciatus curse. 'Tell us where Potter is,' came Voldemort's icy inhuman voice, 'tell us now or you will die a long and very painful death.'

'I don' know,' gasped Hagrid, 'I swear I don't!'.

Harry collapsed on the floor of the cell, shaking with fear and panic as he tried to shut out this appalling vision. He had no doubt it was real, even though it would be just the kind of trick Voldemort would play to entrap him, to get him to rush to the aid of Hagrid. He had to get out of here ... he let his anger and frustration boil up again, willing the door to vanish. 'Evanesco,' he muttered, reaching out his hands to touch it ... and they met empty space. He peered out into the corridor. The guard was asleep on a stool at the far end, his head sunk onto his chest.

Harry crept round the corner and out of sight of the guard, moving very carefully to avoid making any sound on the uneven bare rock floor. A myriad branches of passageways divided into the distance, the largest had cart rails along its floor and was brightly lit. He chose instead a small dark tunnel which seemed to slope upwards, the direction, if any, of escape.

The tunnel became darker as the light from the intersecting corridors behind faded out. It turned and dipped and then started to descend steeply. There were no branches or doors from it that Harry could see, so he had no choice but to continue to follow it. The air became progressively warmer, with a stale musty smell like a zoo or something that had died and been left to decay.

Finally the corridor ended, in a small cave which had five doors around its walls, thick wooden and iron doors which looked even more immovable and solid than the one which he'd vanished. There were no sounds from behind them. He tried the leftmost door, but it wouldn't budge at all. The second door was unlocked, but he still had to heave at it with all his strength to get it open. Inside was a cell similar to the one he'd been kept in, but occupied only by a skeleton, contorted in a posture of agony on the bed platform. Harry didn't care to approach it too closely, but he could see it was clearly an adult human skeleton, and of a large person, at that. He shut the door again with a shudder.

The next vault was also unlocked, and seemed completely empty and unlit, but as he peered inside the walls seethed with movement as if the very stones were alive, the black surfaces rippling and flowing like liquid, intersecting shadows of darkness, layers of skins or cloaks gliding towards him ... Harry slammed the door shut and backed quickly away from the vault before the thought ''It's a room full of hungry Lethifolds!" had even consciously registered.

He pushed the fourth door open very cautiously. Inside was a huge snake, its coils filling the entire cell ... and it had a blindfold over its vast bulbous eyes ... 'kill! kill!' hissed the basilisk, lunging at him. He just managed to slam the cell closed, but it continued to hurl its bulk at the door, the muffled pounding noises reverberated up the tunnel into the distance.

'Be quiet!' he commanded the snake in Parseltongue. Instantly it stopped trying to get to him. For a moment he wondered if he could use the basilisk as a weapon against the goblins, but immediately became revolted at the thought of killing.

By now he was beginning to panic. This corridor seemed to be a dead end, just another block of cells holding prisoners or other things the goblins were keeping in the belief that they would ''prove useful". He felt too tired, physically or mentally, to retrace his path all the way back to the start of the tunnel, and by now the goblins could have discovered his escape anyway.

With trepidation he attempted to open the rightmost door. This seemed to be jammed immovably closed, but as he heaved against it he heard shouts in the distance. 'Alohomora,' he whispered in desperation, and the door swung open. Beyond was not the cell he'd expected, but a narrow shaft of stone stairs extending endlessly downwards and upwards. He swung the door shut behind him, muttered 'colloportus' and started to climb the small goblin-sized steps as fast as he could. It reminded him of the claustrophobic stairway shaft he kept seeing in his dreams of the entrance to Hades beneath the Northern Line, although this staircase at least was not littered with the putrefying remains of thousands of passengers cast into damnation ... He continued climbing, his trainers slipping on the worn damp stone steps.

After an hour he was so exhausted he could barely lift his feet up from step to step. He collapsed onto the stairs, straining to hear any sound of pursuit, but there were just the reflected echoes of his own breathing and the dim sourceless light shining unchanged from the beginning of the ascent. The stones of the wall glinted strangely, striated seams of vivid green and purple minerals running through the grey rocks. He forced himself to stand and resume climbing the seemingly endless staircase. Finally after another two hours the stairway debouched into one end of a huge ovoid cave. Hundreds of feet wide, its roof was lost in an indefinable haze of light, but he could see that the whole of Hogwarts would comfortably fit inside. A faint draft flowed past him, as if many tunnels and passages emptied out into this space. Thirst racking his stomach, he started to walk around the wall of the cave, searching for any underground stream, when a movement at the far end stopped him dead. A gigantic black tail was trashing back and forth high in the air, and a pair of huge bat-like wings unfurled as the creature raised its reptilian head on a long neck to peer across the length of the cave at him. Harry could see another, slightly smaller, dragon behind the first, and a group of three or four juveniles clustered together in a mass of rubble and junk between the adults. 'It's a nest of Norwegian Ridgebacks!' he realised, frozen motionless in terror. The first dragon stretched out its wings to their full extent and suddenly leapt into the air like a cat, hurtling towards him to investigate this unwelcome intruder. Harry looked around in desperation, but there was no hiding place except the stairway, twenty yards away. He sprinted for the entrance, a furnace-like blast of flame billowed around him as he dived into the dark shaft. As he slipped down three steps at a time, the monstrous saurian snout of the Ridgeback poked into the top of the stairway and let out another searing breath of fire, which turned the confined space into an oven. Shielded from the direct blast by the flights of stone stairways above him, Harry staggered down until the air became bearably cool once more. He collapsed onto the steps and listened to the dragon sniffing around the mouth of the shaft for a long time until it eventually shuffled away, its tail dragging along the cave floor with a harsh metallic sound.

Somehow he managed to sleep, twisted uncomfortably on the hard rock steps, for how long he had no way of telling. Thirst burned in his mouth and throat when he woke, and his stomach radiated complaining stabs of pain at its lack of food and water. He noticed some drops of condensation glistening on the cold stone wall, running together into minute rivulets. He managed to drink enough from these to reduce his thirst to a bearable level, but this left him with nothing to contemplate except the apparent hopelessness of his situation. There was no way out of this shaft except up, past the dragons, or down.

He crept very quietly up to the lip of the shaft and peered around the vast cave. There was no sign of the dragons, their nest at the far end was hidden in darkness. Carefully he scanned the walls nearby for any tunnels or doorways. There was only one in sight, a narrow fissure about fifty yards away. He couldn't tell if it actually led anywhere or was simply a shallow crevice in the surface, in which case he would become very quickly a barbecued morsel for the Ridgeback ...

Once more, hands trembling with nerves, he climbed out of the mouth of the shaft and crept, staying low, along the base of the walls towards the fissure, alert for any sign of motion from the dragon's nest. He was halfway there when an angry gout of flame erupted together with a stentorian roar. Not pausing to watch the dragon take flight, Harry ran desperately towards the fissure. A sheet of flame billowed in front of him, singing his hair, he stumbled and swerved as the dragon's head loomed down at him, the teeth like swords, its nostrils flared, preparing to unleash another torrent of fire. The entrance was only a few feet away now, he dived into it and found himself rolling fast down a steep incline of loose stones as a fresh wave of furnace-like breath pulsed around him. He landed painfully on a cold rocky floor, the sleeves of his robes still smouldering from the dragon's attacks.

He looked around, he was in a corridor of high-security treasure vaults similar to those he'd seen when he had visited Gringotts for the first time with Hagrid, to collect the Philosopher's Stone. There were no keyholes in the doors, and Harry knew that the vaults were designed to trap anyone unauthorised who attempted to break into them. His wand could be in one of these cells ... He stifled the thought, along with all his fears for Ron, Hermione and the others. In here he could do nothing, his first priority had to be to escape, and to stay alive long enough to escape ...

A strange sense of triumph rose in him again, completely contrary to his own feelings. He knew it must be coming from Voldemort's mind. The strength of the emotion was a sinister omen which Harry tried his best to ignore.

Cautiously he slipped along the wall opposite to the vaults, following a faint breeze or draft which gave him hope of finding more passageways leading from this. However the corridor continued, with hundreds of vaults containing vast wealth or unimaginable items stored here for safekeeping. Thick dust coated the doors, as if they had lain undisturbed for aeons. Finally the cells ceased, and the corridor turned and started rising. As he paused to rest briefly, a strange brown fungus-like object on the ceiling caught his eye. About the size of a quaffle, it was slowly pulsing and sliding across the rock towards him, giving off a fetid smell of rotting flesh ... Harry quickly got back to his feet to move away from it, but as he did its surface suddenly erupted in a mass of white stalks, a thousand glistening eyes staring at him. He ran on up the passageway, which now became narrower, a crude fissure of rock, until finally he reached an archway which reminded him, with a chill of fear, of the gateway of the veil in the Department of Mysteries. He could not see what lay beyond it, everything was obscured in some indefinite grey mist.

Once again there was no real choice; he could not go back, he must go on. Very carefully he stepped over the threshold of the arch, nothing happened, but the formless grey haze ahead did not clear. He took another step, stretching out his hand to guide himself. His fingers met a solid surface of rock, and at the same instant a heavy door suddenly slammed down, closing the arch behind him. He realised he was sealed in a tiny cell, barely four feet square. A collection of ancient petrified human bones littered the floor by his feet. He turned and attempted to lift or vanish the door, but it remained solid and immovable.