The End

Chapter 18: No Future in Sight

"This is fun," Ron muttered into the dark. "It's almost like being in a cave."

"A cave would be louder," Michael replied. His voice seemed to echo strangely and he sounded farther away than he should have, based on Ron's memory of where they had been before the lights were turned out.

"I think I can see my hand," Ron said, waving the appendage in front of his face.

"You can't," Michael sighed. "There's no light in here at all, it's just your brain knowing where your hand is and extrapolating an image." There was a distinct shuffling noise coming from of his side of the room.

"Are you looking for something?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure," Michael replied evasively.

"Hoping to find something with your new found magical powers?" Ron continued. "Because I've been all over this place and I haven't found anything."

"Just trying to get my bearings," Michael said, but Ron suspected that wasn't the entire truth.

"Your feet are down and your head is up," Ron said. "That's probably about as good as you're going to get, especially because I'm fairly certain you'd trip over me before you got to either the door or the window."

This seemed to bring Michael back to his senses; he certainly had no desire to injure either Ron or himself by tripping in the dark.

When a decrease in noise indicated that Michael had sat back down on the floor again, Ron decided it was time to rekindle their old conversation.

"So you don't have any Wizard relatives?" Ron asked.

"If I do, they never told me," Michael confirmed.

"Have you ever done anything out of the ordinary or impossible, most likely when you were angry or scared?" Ron continued.

"Not that I can remember," Michael replied.

"Do you still remember all the spells we taught you when we first met?" Ron pressed. "Maybe you can actually do them now."

"Yes, I remember," Michael said.

Ron sighed. He suspected that Michael's newfound ability could be of some use if the agent could learn how to control it. Although he knew Hermione or even Harry would probably be far better at deducing what had happened, he had hoped his questions would be an aid, however limited, and he was finding Michael's lack of commitment to his answers and apparent disinterest in the questions infuriating.

"I've heard of Muggles and Squibs sometimes showing some magical ability later in life, but it doesn't happen very often, and it's usually because they somehow created a block against magic as a child," Ron explained. "That doesn't seem to be what happened in your case."

"Are you sure you didn't do anything?" Michael asked. "I mean, you must have been concentrating on that case too."

"Sure I was," Ron replied stiffly, "but I've never been much good at performing spells without an incantation, much less without a wand."

"It seems like the only way we could find out who did it would be to replicate the circumstances," Michael pointed out.

"Oh, great," Ron muttered sarcastically. "Let's just invite Malfoy back in here and get him to threaten to kill us again. It shouldn't be diffi- What are you looking for?" he demanded upon hearing that Michael had once again clambered to his feet and resumed making the shuffling noises, which could only be caused by many books being shoved aside as the wall behind them was investigated.

"A way out, an indication of where we are, anything," Michael replied.

Ron had to give him credit for at least dropping that ridiculous excuse about getting his bearings, although his new reason was hardly any better. Not only had Ron recently reminded Michael that he had already searched the room, but the Muggle had been watching and offering advice while he did it.

"What's really going on?" Ron exclaimed.

"Have you ever heard of Wizards using this technique on prisoners before?" Michael asked. "Leaving people in the dark and quiet like this."

"No, why?" Ron replied.

"Because this is a Muggle form of torture," Michael explained, missing Ron's skeptical look in the dark. "They put a person alone in a room where no light or sound can get in. It's called sensory depravation. Eventually, with nothing to distract him from his own thoughts or guilty conscious, the prisoner will go insane. They start to doubt their own existence."

"Oh," Ron said thoughtfully. "Well, they messed it up a little."

They shot each other invisible looks in the dark then burst out in laughter. Michael however, managed to contain himself within a matter of seconds, and as soon as Ron noticed that he was alone in his glee, he did too.

"Something wrong?" Ron asked.

"I just can't help but wonder..." Michael trailed off.

Ron heaved a sigh. "I suppose you don't know this, but I can't stand it when people don't explain themselves properly."

"Sorry," Michael muttered. "You remember how Malfoy implied that they'd captured Sydney, Harry, and Hermione? I'm just worried that they actually may have. I told you sensory depravation is a kind of Muggle torture, but I don't think he could have gotten the idea from me, which means Sydney must be here too."

"Or he could have been bluffing, trying to make us more willing to do what he wanted," Ron pointed out. "Malfoy might have gotten the idea while he was in Azkaban, only he hasn't got any Dementors around so he had to do it the long way. Besides, it doesn't make much difference where they are as long as we're stuck in here. We agreed before we started to not give away information for each other's sakes if we were captured."

"How can you say it doesn't make a difference," Michael protested. "If we know help isn't coming maybe we'd put more effort into escaping."

"Were you paying attention during that battle? This place is a fortress with security spells everywhere, a fair few of which are probably in here. Even if we could make it out of the room, we'd never make it out of the building, especially not while we're unarmed," Ron snapped. He hadn't meant to sound angry, but his temper had been rising throughout the conversation, ever since it started feeling like an increasingly ferocious porcupine had decided to sit on his arm. "Anyway, there's no way to tell for sure right now," he added, a little more calmly.

"I doubt my warning gave them much time," Michael said thoughtfully. "Climbing back up through the chimneys wouldn't have been fast enough."

"Harry and Hermione would have found a way out," Ron said, "even if they had to jump out of a window and Disapparate."

"What about Sydney, then?" Michael demanded.

"Do you really think they would have left her behind?" Ron shouted, giving an involuntary shudder.

Michael shrugged his answer, apparently forgetting that Ron couldn't see him, then asked, "Why haven't they come back for us, then?"

"We don't even know how long it's been," Ron reminded him.

Michael gave another shrug and said, "Long enough!"

"They'll have a good reason, I promise you," Ron maintained, feeling his temper rise again.

"And if they don't?" Michael pressed.

"What, you think they've just been lying around!" Ron demanded. "I'm not sure about Sydney, but I know Harry and Hermione will not rest until they've put an end to the Death Eaters and freed us. They'll die before they give up." Ron didn't realize he'd stood up, but the next thing he knew he'd aimed a kick at where he'd judged the nearest wall to be, only to painfully discover the degree of his disorientation with the help of a badly stubbed toe. Instead, he took to hopping around wildly and cursing.

"What if they don't come? Or if they die trying? Wouldn't it be better if we had an alternate plan?" Michael asked.

At that, Ron stopped cursing, put down his foot, and yelled, "You think Harry and Hermione aren't up to the task? You just wait, they'll have us out of here in no time. And you'd do best not to insult them, not until you know what they've been through!"

Completely furious with Michael and annoyed with his arm, Ron located a bookshelf and began shoving the books onto the floor in anger. Why was this man refusing point blank to accept that their continued captivity could be explained by something other than a worst case scenario? And for that matter, why wouldn't his injured arm simply leave him alone? Hadn't it tortured him enough?

Michael backed himself into a relatively safe corner at the beginning of Ron's outburst. He hadn't intended to insult Harry and Hermione, and indeed was having some trouble deciding exactly when he had. His true purpose had been to make Ron see the importance of finding another plan, or at least not simply waiting around to be rescued. However, there wasn't anything to be done at the moment except stay back and listen to the books fall: thunk...th-thunk...thunk...think

"Ron, stop," Michael said, crawling forward to the pile of books on the floor.

"What?" Ron demanded, defiantly pushing another row of books of their shelf.

"Did you hear that?" Michael asked, locating a single book that had fallen some distance from the rest of the pile.

"What?" Ron yelled. "Someone announcing the execution of Harry and Hermione?"

"I think there's a hollow cavity under the floor over here," Michael replied.

Ron actually did stop throwing books around at this and started feeling his was over to Michael. After nearly tripping over his pile of books, he got down on hands and knees and crawled blindly in the correct direction. Once there, he joined Michael in rapping his knuckles against the floor to determine the size of the cavity.

"I don't believe it," Ron gasped when they had finished. "We're in the drawing room. The Malfoys would hide their dark magical artifacts down there whenever the Ministry was conducting raids."

"You've known about this the entire time and you didn't realize we were in the same room with it?" Michael asked.

"All I knew was that it is in the drawing room, I would have expected a few more drawings and a few less books."

"Remind me later to tell you what a drawing room is," Michael muttered. "Can this help us?"

"I'm sure," Ron replied, "but how much remains to be seen. For starters, the opening is bound to be protected by some kind of dark magic, and I'm no use without a wand."

"Well, what's the worse it can do?" Michael asked.

"Oh, nothing serious," Ron muttered sarcastically, "just kill us, drive us insane, burn out our eyeballs, that sort of thing."

"And you're sure the entrance is protected," Michael pressed.

"I don't think they would have put us in here with it if they thought we'd be able to get inside," Ron replied. "Besides, if opening the door doesn't kill us, then whatever's inside is sure to. I don't even know if it leads anywhere."

"Dobby told us about the space under the drawing room, but he couldn't be very specific about it," Michael admitted. "He said the Malfoys never let him anywhere near it."

"We haven't got a clue what's down there, but it's bound to be very dangerous," Ron said. "I think its best if we leave it alone until we're sure we have no other option."

"Alright," Michael replied.

Satisfied, Ron moved back towards the bookshelves and lay down, relieved that he had finally won a debate. He gazed up at the ceiling as though he could see through it and the rest of the building until his eyes met the night sky, speckled with stars. Or, perhaps it was broad daylight outside, but he found it difficult to imagine that the sun could be perched in the sky anywhere while he was lying there in the pitch black.

His reverie was broken by a sharp, loud crack from somewhere in the middle of the room. It only took a moment for Ron to figure out what had caused it, and he immediately clamped his eyes shut and placed a hand over them, as though he was sure a Basilisk would rise out of the hidden compartment at any moment with the specific intention of starring him down.

"Michael?" Ron called timidly, when he realized that he hadn't died outright.

"Yep?" came the reply. Strangely, he didn't seem to be in any pain.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked, still keeping his eyes shut.

"Yep," Michael repeated. There was no doubt about it, he wasn't dead or in pain, in fact, he sounded a little smug, although that didn't rule out the Imperious curse.

"Did you have to do that?" Ron asked, cautiously lifting his hand away from his eyes.

"Yes," Michael replied. A soft creaking sound revealed that he was pulling the trap door further open. Even as Ron squeezed his hand even tighter over his eyes he noted that Michael had failed to answer three successive questions with more than one word. Part of him latched onto this while the other told him off for being paranoid.

"I thought we were going to wait until we were sure we had no other option," Ron said, purposely adding an accusing note to his voice.

"Name another option," Michael suggested.

"Wait for the others to rescue us?" Ron replied. This time his voice was a little more sarcastic than he'd intended, a strange displacement from his current mood. He was actually quite happy that Michael had proven he retained the usage of a multiple word vocabulary.

"And you don't think they'd appreciate some help from the inside?" Michael said.

"I'm sure they would," Ron sighed. "But we're not good for much if we're dead, are we?"

"But we're not dead," Michael reminded him.

"Not yet," Ron muttered.

"Ron," Michael said suddenly.

"Yeah," Ron replied, tensing up.

"Open your eyes," Michael commanded.

Ron was so surprised the Muggle could tell he still had his eyes closed that he nearly opened them right away to investigate how, but he managed to catch himself. Instead, he slowly removed his hand from his face and opened one eye. When death was not immediately forthcoming, he opened the other. What he saw was not at all what he'd expected, although it did explain how Michael had know he still had his eyes closed. A pale light was emanating from beyond the trapdoor.

"What the-?" Ron started asking, but he didn't have a chance to finish his question, much less get an answer for it, for there was a sudden shout from just outside the door to the drawing room, followed by several other raised voices.

Michael threw the trap door shut with a creak and a crack, then, correctly anticipating what was about to happen, he closed his eyes tightly. Ron wasn't quite so quick; he didn't get his eyes shut until a fraction of a second after the room was suddenly lit so brightly that only the sun at high noon in mid summer could have matched it. By the time he managed to get them shut he was so thoroughly dazzled that he wondered if he'd ever be able to see again.

The door opened to allow several people inside. Michael forced himself to squint at the intruders and saw that Lucius Malfoy was standing in front of a gang of five Death Eaters, all of whom looked as though they thought they were in for a great show.

Malfoy didn't speak for a full minute after entering the room. While still practically blind, the captives could almost feel his presence as he looked around the room with such a penetrating stare that it left them both worried that he knew or suspected that they had been studying the secret compartment, and they had to force themselves to give no hint that something was amiss, Michael, as usual, succeeding more than Ron.

Finally, Malfoy spoke. "My word, you have made a mess of the place, haven't you."

He gave a flick of his wand and the books immediately replaced themselves in their usual positions. However, there was a problem with this that both Ron and Michael hadn't anticipated but Malfoy took note of right away.

"I hope you enjoyed your little feast," he said. "Although by the state of things I suppose not." He summoned a sandwich into his hand from where it had been lying exposed on the floor. "Or perhaps a bit too much?"

Soon every piece of food they had hidden was lying in a pile outside the door. Several books had been knocked out of place again, but Malfoy no longer seemed to care. There was nothing the captives could do to protect their food stores, so they just sat there, Michael blinking at Malfoy while Ron struggled with the opposite problem: trying to keep his eyes open for more than a second at a time. Ron's stomach gave a sorry sort of grumble.

"Poor boy," Malfoy said in a voice of false sympathy. "If only you'd eaten all you could while you had the chance. After all, it will surely take some time before I am willing to trust you with the food of my kitchens again."

"I suppose you have been wondering," Malfoy continued, "why I am bothering to keep you here. I suppose, also, that you have decided that I must be seeking information from you, or that I don't wish you to walk free and rejoin those who are working towards my demise. While that is all true, that is not the complete reason why you are here. The truth is that you amuse me. It's true, you amuse me."

He said this last statement as though Ron and Michael had given him some indication that they didn't believe him, which gave his words the stately air of a prepared speech.

"I have enjoyed watching you during your stay here. I never expected a Muggle-lover and a-" he caught himself, sneered, then continued, "a near squib to create such interest for me, but the ways you compensate for your lack of pure-blood strength, particularly your primitive need for entertainment at all hours, is a source of morbid curiosity. Tell me, do you often reduce yourselves to physical violence and word games when bored?"

Neither Ron nor Michael made any reply.

"And now I suppose you think that if you ignore me I will simply grow tired and go away?" Malfoy laughed. "You simple people."

Exercising his newfound ability to keep his eyes open, Ron looked up at him, glaring daggers.

"Your pitiful attempts at Legilimency will have no effect on me," Malfoy sneered.

It took everything Ron had not to burst out laughing.

"Now then," Malfoy said. "How many people are going to attack us?"

When no one said anything, Malfoy tried again, "What is your purpose here? Burglary? Assassination? Continuing the noble fight between good and evil, perhaps?"

Again, neither captive replied. In truth, they both thought the answer to that was relatively obvious.

"No?" Malfoy asked. "Then perhaps you'll tell me how you determined the location of our headquarters."

Ron couldn't contain a smirk this time and only narrowly avoided asking why they hadn't changed their base of operations after they knew it had been discovered.

"Yes, it was very clever of you, my congratulations," Malfoy sneered as he pulled something out of his pocket and showed it to them. "What is this?"

It was an ordinary mirror, albeit a very small one, but Ron and Michael recognized it at once as the device the Wizards had used to communicate during the mission. Still, neither said anything.

"It is a rather strange artifact to carry," Malfoy continued airily, now examining the mirror himself. "What if it should break? That's terrible bad luck, you know."

As he said this he gripped the mirror by opposite ends and bent it until the glass fibers began to scream in protest. Still, Ron and Michael remained impassive, so Malfoy relaxed his grip and tried another tactic.

"If I dismisse the possibility that one of you carries a mirror for the purpose of vanity, there is only one obvious possibility." He looked directly at into the mirror and said, "...that it is a communication device. Harry Potter."

In that moment, Ron couldn't determine exactly what his emotions were. Fear, certainly, that the mirror would clear and reveal everything, where Harry was, everyone he had recruited to work with him, what they were planning. And yet, he couldn't help but hope that the mirror would work, so he could see Harry and Hermione and even Sydney again, and have some indication that they were alive and safe and not locked in some little room like he and Michael, for Malfoy's statement was likely confirmation that the rest of the group had not been captured.

A second later, Malfoy said, "Harry Potter," into the mirror again, and once more a second after that, and as Malfoy cast the mirror away it was all that Ron could do to keep from praising the foresight of Harry and Hermione aloud.

Malfoy drew his wand out of his pocket and pointed it first at Ron, then at Michael, and back again. "How many people are you working with?" he demanded.

"That's difficult to say," Ron replied wittily. "The number tends to change a lot." All this wanton act of bravery earned Ron was the sole interest of Malfoy's wand.

"How did you infiltrate my Manor?" Malfoy sneered.

This time Ron said nothing.

"What are their plans to rescue you?" On purpose or not, several green sparks shot out the end of Malfoy's wand as he said this, but Ron and Michael maintained their silence.

Rather than looking frustrated with his lack of progress, Malfoy gave a smirk, as though he'd been hoping all along that the interrogation would come to this. Several of the Death Eaters behind him seemed to agree.

Malfoy reached once again in to his pocket, and pulled out something else, which he pointed at Michael. Ron recognized it immediately as the Muggle's gun. Despite working for several weeks with two CIA agents, Ron still knew next to nothing about the devices. The only thing he could remember at the moment had appeared years ago in the Daily Prophet, when the search for Sirius Black had only just begun: "Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other)." This hardly seemed like a good omen.

Ron chanced a glance at Michael, who, amazingly, looked nearly as calm as he usually did, even though he was the one with a gun pointed at his head.

"Tell me what I want to know or I will kill him," Malfoy said.

"I don't know anything," Ron blurted desperately. "When we came in here the first time there was no second plan. The number of people working with our cause is bound to have changed by now."

"And your goal," Malfoy asked, tightening his finger on the trigger.

This time, Ron forced himself to stay silent, although it wasn't exactly by choice. Before he'd had a chance to reply, Michael had cleared his throat meaningfully, and when Ron looked over at him he had shook his head subtly.

"No?" Malfoy sneered, looking perfectly triumphant, as though he'd never actually wanted the information at all and he'd been hoping that he'd get to use the gun.

After chancing another look at Michael, Ron shook his head, blinking back tears of rage and shame.

"Very well, then," Malfoy replied. He steadied the gun, pointing it directly at Michael's forehead.

Click.

Ron couldn't bring himself to look at Michael, but he almost unwillingly chanced a glance at the Death Eaters, all of whom looked rather angry and confused, as though they had just been denied a real treat, which was odd, since they'd just watched a man die. Then Ron heard it again.

Click...click

This was strange, Ron couldn't imagine Malfoy missing at such close range, so the first shot much have killed Michael, why fire two more? They obviously hadn't been directed at Ron.

Even more inexplicably, Malfoy swept out of the room, looking perfectly livid. The Death Eaters followed him, still looking confused.

Ron had expected Malfoy to say something, perhaps gloat unnecessarily over Michael's body, just to drive home the point that he'd been serious all along, but there was nothing, just Ron, left alone and confused with the body of a man who'd once been his friend.

Finally, Ron forced himself to look at Michael, but what he saw was not a dead heap, or even a bloody heap, but Michael, looking perfectly alive and well and apparently dividing his attention between the door and Ron, the latter of which he kept looking at with some concern.

"When guns actually fire they make a much louder noise than that," Michael said finally.

About a million questions burst into Ron's head at once, but they got confused on the way to his mouth and all he managed was a strange sort of squeak.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked.

Ron couldn't even make himself nod, although he might have been able to shake his head if he'd tried.

"I unloaded the gun and hid the ammo before we were captured," Michael explained. "I could tell they hadn't figured out how to reload it."

Still, Ron couldn't bring himself to reply.

"Why don't we work on this chamber," Michael suggested.

Although words were still failing him, Ron crawled numbly over to the trapdoor and helped Michael open it again. They succeeded just as the lights went out again.