Evanesco

Evanesco

Chapter Seven - In Which There is a Plan

Three days later, Voldemort had not made a second appearance. How people felt about this varied, Harry and Neville on one hand felt that this fact alone was enough to offset the depressingly hopeless situation they still found themselves in, while most of the Death Eaters kept eyeing Harry nervously, or poking him with sticks to see if he did anything.

This last was actually Draco Malfoy, who probably hadn't really been testing for possessing entities, but was merely trying to be annoying. He was succeeding admirably, and Harry was starting to feel disturbingly like an exhibition in a zoo.

The journey had continued at night, taking them further and further away from anyone who could be the least bit of help to them, and where they were, they still had no idea. At some point during the journey they had abandoned the magically altered van and begun walking - often through brush and trees but occasionally through towns, even cities. There was obviously a lot more forest in this country than there was in England, but it wasn't completely uninhabited. It was obviously a lot slower, but at least it was light. When they had to walk through Muggle civilisation, the two boys were concealed within the group of dark-robed Death Eaters - making the group look like a closely bunched together lot of gloomy tourists who preferred the nightlife. During the day, they camped among the trees - sometimes passed by real tourists who stared but moved on quickly. The bonds on Harry and Neville were more discrete for this reason... and Harry began to think of ways to escape.

They were not very good plans. His mind kept shooting back to that one night when his head had been ripped apart and Voldemort had taken up temporary residence. He had told Neville that he'd never heard of Legilimency being done over such a distance, but then when he thought about it afterwards he remembered the dream. The dream about Sirius that had ultimately killed him. Voldemort must have done that from some distance - he couldn't have been right there in the dormitory. He'd been getting better and better at it over time, and Harry? Harry had messed around in Snape's Pensieve, not practiced and had steadily got worse at Occlumency.

Life had literally come round and smacked him in the head.

Sirius. He couldn't stop thinking about him now, just after he'd come to terms with the loss of his only hope for a family. If Sirius was still alive, if he had won, would things be so different? Would he be at Grimmauld place, or would he still be waiting here pathetically for someone to rescue him?

Bellatrix probably wouldn't be here, anyway.

The third day they stopped to rest, Harry's scar started to itch rather incessantly. This was nothing new - it had been going on all year. The fact that his hands were tied behind his back made a significant difference, however.

--

Draco Malfoy was annoyed on a different scale. He'd been constantly annoyed for such a prolonged period of time that he had transcended mere annoyance, and he was now what you could call severely pissed off. The situation did not suit him. No one was paying any attention to him, and his father was far too involved in his own affairs to even notice.

And the threat, the threat that his father had whispered to him as they drove on that first night on the road, still haunted him.

They'd been travelling for a week. Draco was sick of it; though he did at least count himself lucky he wasn't Longbottom or Potter - especially Potter. He'd even found himself feeling sorry for the four-eyed golden boy after the Dark Lord's attack on his mind.

You're a Slytherin, Malfoy, a voice that sounded horribly like his father echoed inside his head. You don't feel sorry for ANYONE. I feel sorry for myself, he thought miserably. Damn Potter and his stupid scar. If the two of them ran off we could probably all go home. Draco shook his head. He wasn't that desperate. Yet.

--

It was noon. Harry stared at the sign on the other side of the clearing, written in what could have been Egyptian for all Harry knew. It read 'Člen Určitý Vysoký Vrch'. It was probably just the name of the hill they were on, which at the moment would be just as helpful as... well, something extremely unhelpful.

"Knut for 'em," said a voice next to him. Neville had not, as Harry had suspected, been dozing.

"For what?" Harry asked, plucking at a blade of grass in a muddy lump behind him.

"Your thoughts, of course," said Neville. "Well, I don't actually have a Knut, but y'know what I...."

"Oh. Not much."

"Harry you have to do better than that. We have to talk about something. I'm bored out of my skull."

"Well, what were you thinking about?"

Neville threw him a look that said this wasn't fair, but he didn't seem to want to argue. Maybe he thought his might set Harry off.

"Home," he said, finally. "Well, not my actual home, of course - it's not that great there at the minute - my gran's in hospital..."

Harry winced. He'd forgotten about that. "Sorry, Neville"

"Oh, she's fine, really. She still has the strength to tell me off, anyway - or at least she did when I left." Neville suddenly looked worried. "I know she's strict and mean and only cares about my marks and upholding the family name - what's left to uphold - but she is sort of... the only family I've got. "

Harry wondered what he would do if something happened to the Dursleys. Most of him said he wouldn't care, but there was a small, annoying part that told him the Dursleys was familiar. It was there. Going back there was something he dreaded, but it was regular... it made sense in an unfair sort of way.

Would he be lost?

The blood protection thingy that Dumbledore had gone on and on about would be in the gutter, for a start.

"Anyway," Neville was saying. "I meant Hogwarts. The dormitory, the greenhouses, that sort of thing. The food, for sure."

Harry nodded emphatically. Neither of them had had more than half a meal a day for a week or so now. "Roast turkey and Yorkshire pudding," he reflected.

"Treacle tart."

"Steak and mashed potatoes."

"Blueberry muffins in the morning."

"Shut up!"

"Yes, do." Harry and Neville exchanged looks. It was Malfoy, again.

"What do you want?" Neville complained.

"A decent meal, for one," sneered Malfoy, seating himself against a tree opposite. He seemed to have given up preserving his clothes, which were almost as muddy and torn as their own. "So you can shut up talking about food."

Harry hated this, being tied up and helpless in front of Malfoy. "Chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties..."

Malfoy glared. "Don't patronize me, Potter. You're hardly in the position."

"That'd sound a lot more menacing if you didn't have a leaf sticking in your hair."

Malfoy's hands flew upwards. His hair did not look good - it lacked the usual oily (and probably magical) substance that slicked it to his skull, and it hung in matted locks around his face. It was, however, free of leaves. Harry and Neville burst out laughing. "Fine," spat Malfoy. "Be that way."

"What way?" Harry sniggered. "Aw, sorry Malfoy, did I offend you?"

"I was actually going to ask you, if ..." suddenly Malfoy seemed to sense something and he turned his head slowly towards where Pettigrew and Travis were talking in soft tones. Harry and Neville followed his line of vision. Pettigrew had turned away from the conversation to stare straight at them, his eyes narrowed. Travis was looking too, now, and for some reason, he was even scarier than the man with the silver hand.

"What are they looking at?" Neville wondered.

"Me," said Draco. "Bastards."

Harry's scar tingled. "Hey -" he started to say, ignoring the feeling in his forehead... until it grew. "Um... Neville..."

"What? Harry?"

Malfoy backed off as Harry doubled up. "Oh... not... good..." he groaned through clenched teeth.

"Shit," muttered Malfoy, and ran to bang on the door of the magically enhanced tent, in which his father and Bellatrix were 'talking'. "Father! It's happening again!"

--

"No word?" Molly Weasley asked instantly, as her husband Arthur and Remus Lupin walked through the kitchen door with faces like stone.

"Nothing," said Remus. "About either of the boys."

"This is rubbish," Ron muttered into his eggs.

"Excuse me?" Molly exclaimed

"No, not the food," said Ron, pushing his plate away, no longer hungry. "How can there be no trace? How can we not have some idea where they are?"

"Neville's disappearance worries me," said Remus, rubbing at his eyes with thumb and finger. "If Harry has run away - "

"Which he hasn't," Ron said quickly.

"Yes, Ron, I realise it seems unlikely at this point, but if he has... what happened to Neville? If the two disappearances are unconnected, that makes it ten times harder to start looking. If they've been... well..."

"Kidnapped," Ron interrupted, unwilling to hear the word 'killed'.

"Kidnapped... then we can probably assume they're in the same place."

"Is the ministry still treating it as two separate cases?" Molly asked.

"Yes," growled Arthur, causing everyone in the room to look at him. Arthur Weasley rarely got angry. "And it's ridiculous. They're obviously connected, even if it's not one solid thing."

"You know we're talking... Voldemort, don't you?" Ron said, almost concealing a grimace. His father looked at him in surprise. "Well it is," said Ron. "I don't care about any of that other stuff..."

"The fact that Tonks had a broken arm and Harry performed the ossifrango curse at about the same time?" Fred muttered.

"It's a coincidence!" Ron insisted.

"Ron, we can't deny evidence."

"Stop talking about evidence for a minute! Why aren't we out there, looking for them?"

Arthur's hand banged down on the table, making Ron jump. "I've had enough of this," he said. "Ron, if Harry and Neville were both taken by You-Know-Who, then there is a pretty severe danger that his men will be out there looking for you too. And Hermione. Pettigrew slept in your dormitory for years - he knows who Harry's friends are. You're in almost as much danger right now as Harry is."

Ron knew this. He did. But it didn't matter, not really. "Maybe I am," he said. "But you're not. Lupin isn't. Hell, Dumbledore certainly isn't - why isn't he doing something?"

"He is, Ron," said Molly, looking tearful. "But don't you understand... there really isn't that much he can do. Dumbledore believes that Harry has run away.... But no tracking or locating charm is working. Harry could be blocking the spells with his own power, or..."

"What?" Hermione said, looking up suddenly from where she'd been poring over a new Astronomy book, pretending she wasn't listening. "How can he?"

The adults looked at each other. The Order knew about Harry Potter. Mostly.

"Harry is..." Arthur started. "Well..."

"Let's just say he's a little abnormal," said Remus. When Ron looked outraged, he added quickly, "in a good way. He has an unusual concentration of magic in his blood."

Hermione stared. "Does he know?"

Remus sighed. "Dumbledore may have told him. If not, he may have tried to explain. In any case... I believe Harry already knows. Unconsciously."

"So," said Ron. "He knows, but he doesn't know he knows?"

"Exactly."

"But what does that mean?" said George, who was leaning against the cupboards with Fred. "He's blocking these charms without meaning to?"

"Oh, he means to," said Remus. "If he doesn't want anyone to find him, a charm such as that just... won't work."

A pause. "That can't be right," said Hermione. "We'd know, wouldn't we? If Harry could just make things happen by thinking them?"

Lupin's lips curled slightly. "It's not... quite as simple as that, Hermione. But Harry's full power has not been activated yet. Some of it... came into use earlier this year."

"The Department of Mysteries?"

"Correct."

"So he's only had this ability for a while," said Hermione.

"If he's even using it," Ron protested.

"Ah," said Lupin. "Of course, Ron. As I was saying - if Harry has not run away and does in fact want to be found, then Dumbledore's charms are still useless."

"Because..." Fred prompted.

It was Arthur who answered. "You must understand," he said, "that although You-Know-Who may be afraid of Dumbledore, he is no less powerful. If he has shielding charms on Harry then even Dumbledore would be unable to penetrate them. And of course... the charms do not work if the subject of the spell has..." he coughed. "Passed on."

This was a little too much for Ron to take, but Hermione merely looked thoughtful. Ron would have berated her for being heartless, as he had when the news that Neville had disappeared had arrived and Hermione had merely asked a series of annoying questions to ascertain exactly what had happened, except that afterwards, he had passed by Hermione's room and heard her crying.

"And let's not forget Wormtail," muttered Lupin. "Who knows what power Voldemort imparted to him when he gave him that hand."

"So basically," said Ron. "Unless we can find out where they are, Harry and Neville are pretty much on their own?"

Lupin sighed and met Ron's eyes. Suddenly he looked more tired than Ron had ever seen him, even after Sirius died.. "Unless they can find a way to escape, then yes. They are on their own."

--

Harry's head was about to split open. His feet dug into the grass with the combined effort of trying not to scream and attempting to force the foreign mind from his own. It was all useless of course - he didn't have a tenth of the Occlumency skills he'd need to expel Voldemort at this point.

He screamed. Oliver Farwell looked so excited he could wet himself as he held Harry's shoulders, forcing him in place as he tried to writhe.

When his eyes opened, they were red as blood. "Let go of me!"

Farwell, who looked as if he'd been expecting to be thrown across the clearing, let go. "Untie me."

Farwell complied, shaking. Voldemort stretched out the kinks in Harry's back as he stood up. Harry felt almost grateful, even if he did have no control over any of his limbs.

Lucius and Bellatrix stumbled out of the tent, their clothes ruffled. "Master!" Bellatrix exclaimed, throwing herself at Harry's knees. Voldemort didn't seem too flattered - probably still seething over his servants' failure at the ministry.

"You are doing well," he admitted, grudgingly. "Where is Wormtail?"

Pettigrew approached, his head bowed. "Master."

"You have been faithful to me, quashing mutiny before it can spread. You will be rewarded. When you arrive you will reveal to me the names of any..." as Voldemort spoke he glanced around at the assembled Death Eaters - some of whom did not meet the red eyes. "Unbelievers."

"Yes, master."

Travis looked uncomfortable. Lucky for him, Voldemort ignored him.

Harry hammered against the invisible walls that bound him, aware that he was endangering Neville's life but suddenly desperate, uncaring. He fought desperately for control of his body.

At this point, Voldemort shifted one foot, tripping slightly on the discarded ropes on the ground. In this split second loss of concentration, Harry felt his hand move. It was like the feeling you get when you accidentally take two steps at once when coming downstairs, he'd been pushing so hard against his restraints that when they broke, briefly, the hand flew upwards, startling him. It was Harry's lack of concentration this time that allowed Voldemort to regain control.

Harry felt a surge of triumph and disappointment. He'd been that close to winning.

A momentary lapse, Potter, came Voldemort's thought. I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you.

Harry didn't answer. He knew how to do it now and it was simple - once he got the chance. It wasn't a case of gaining control anymore. It was a case of losing it.

An idea was forming in his mind but he didn't dare to think about it too much - Voldemort had protection against Harry reading his every thought - Harry, as far as he knew, had no such thing.

Voldemort lowered the hand Harry had raised - Pettigrew had flinched as though he thought his Master was going to strike him. Then, Voldemort turned.

Draco suppressed a shudder as the red eyes met his own grey ones. After alerting his father, he'd crept back around to Longbottom because this meant he was behind Voldemort - he hadn't been banking on the great bat turning to look straight at him!

As though he'd read Draco's mind, Voldemort's eyes narrowed in Harry's face. "This one is disrespectful towards me," he said. "Make sure he is duly punished."

"What? Master - I'm not! I never said anything!"

"Master," Lucius began. Draco realised his father wasn't protesting. "Master, won't you punish him? He needs to learn from the greatest."

Draco gaped at his father. WHAT? A year ago his father would have fought tooth and nail to avoid him being punished by Voldemort. Or... would he have, though? Lucius himself wasn't against the odd punishment...

Voldemort smiled. "Ah, Lucius," he said, as though addressing a sick child. "I fear you do not understand. In this body," he gestured with disgust at Harry's left hand with his right. "I am as powerful as Potter himself, meaning... I am diminished considerably."

A couple of men sniggered. "This means I am incapable of performing even the Cruciatus Curse, since Potter himself has not been able to master it. However," Voldemort continued, grinning horribly. "Remember what I told you before you left, Lucius."

Lucius bowed. "I hope that it will not come to that, My Lord."

Voldemort looked at Draco again. He felt naked under the red gaze and fought against the urge to take a large step backwards.

"So do I."

--

When Harry awoke, the sun had almost set. Remembering how he had lashed out the last time, he lay for a moment, breathing heavily. He felt like he'd been nearly suffocated. He took several deep breaths before attempting to sit up. Yes, he was tied up again. He supposed there hadn't been much hope that someone would forget.

"Um... Harry?"

He turned to see Neville watching him, very cautiously. Harry attempted a smile through the short, deep gasps of air. "Hey."

Neville breathed a sigh of relief. "You ok?"

"Not really."

"It was longer that time, wasn't it?"

"Sure felt like it."

Neville moaned. "I hate this," he hissed. "We have to get out of here."

"No problem."

"I haven't eaten in days, my wrists are red raw, not to mention Malfoy's really starting to act - what?"

Harry grinned through the pain. "I've got an idea."