Harry Potter and the Power of Emotion

When Harry returned to consciousness, he found himself shackled to the wall of a damp, dingy cell that smelled terribly musty. He was slumped on the floor; his arms raised high above him and splayed out wide, his back resting against the cold stone of the wall. He squinted his eyes for a few moments, adjusting himself to the dim light. It took him a minute to realize Wormtail was standing in front of him with his wand raised. Harry assumed he had cast an Ennervate spell to revive him.

He shakily stood on his feet, easing some of the pain in his arms. His shoulders were tender from supporting his weight for so long. He jerked forward and yelped in pain when the cuffs binding his wrists suddenly burned into his skin. It stopped when he ceased his struggling. Shaking his head to try to clear it, he took a good look at what was holding him. They appeared to be thick, metal cuffs on a very short chain holding each arm out to one side.

The cuffs were charmed somehow, however. As soon as Harry struggled or tried to move, they instantly burned his wrists. He could see the raw, red marks on his skin protruding from the edges of the cuffs, and they stung painfully.

Even if he managed to get out of them, he had absolutely no idea where he was, or if he was even still in Hogsmeade. Wormtail was still staring quietly; he almost seemed amused by Harry's struggles. He hadn't uttered a word since Harry had come regained consciousness.

"Where's Ron?" Harry demanded.

"I wouldn't concern yourself with that right now; it's you who's in serious trouble."

"Where's Ron?" He repeated insistently.

"He wasn't necessary. You know how the Dark Lord feels about spares."

Harry felt an icy tendril of fear wrap itself around his heart. No! No, no, no! Ron had to be okay. They wouldn't have brought him all the way through the tunnel if they'd just meant to kill him. When Cedric was killed, the plan was to use Harry's blood to restore Voldemort to his body, then kill Harry, too. This time, Narcissa had mentioned knowing Harry was aware of the prophecy. If Voldemort wanted that information from him, he would know the Imperius wouldn't work, and he'd need some leverage. Ron would be the leverage. That would keep Ron safe, for now.

Despite his logical reasoning, his heart thumped painfully in his chest. He couldn't help the slight trembling over the thought of losing Ron, and he fought not to show that weakness to Wormtail. His ribs ached painfully, and he silently cursed Malfoy yet again.

"No, you wouldn't have killed him yet," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Where is he? Where are we, anyway?"

"So, you're now presuming to know what the Dark Lord has in mind? You've a lot to learn, young Harry. You believe anything you like, if it makes you feel better. My master has been informed of your captivity, and he'll be here in a few days. In the meantime, you are to enjoy some of our...special hospitality."

His words sent a chill down Harry's spine. Somehow, he didn't think hospitality was even remotely the right word for what he was about to endure. Voldemort would want him weakened by the time he arrived, so he'd have an easier time either extracting the information from Harry's mind, or getting Harry to just tell him what he wanted to know. He made a silent vow that whatever happened, he was going to use this time to practice holding his Occlumency shield. He'd never give in to Voldemort. If he thought he was going to get the information easily, he had another think coming.

He glared at Wormtail as the man gave a mock bow and left him alone in the cell. There were no windows, and the doorway was just a cut-out opening. If he could get these cuffs off, he could at least get out the door. Then, he'd have to find Ron, find a way out of here without being detected, and get back to Hogwarts. He assumed the prison, or house, or wherever it was he was being held would have anti-Appartion wards. It didn't really matter, anyway, since Ron couldn't Apparate. Even though he'd turned seventeen, he wasn't being tested until the summer. Ron - being Ron - hadn't even begun to study for the exam. Hermione was ready to flay him alive for it. Considering their present predicament, Harry had to agree with her.

He pulled on the chains binding him again and winced as they burned into his flesh. Even if he could tolerate the burning, he wasn't certain he'd manage to get his hands free, anyway. The bonds were very tight.

He wondered what was happening back at Hogwarts by now. Certainly, Ginny and Hermione would have raised the alarm. Hermione would have realized that when 'Professor Trent' disappeared, too, that something was wrong. She was probably feeling horrible over trusting the woman.

Harry's stomach growled weakly; he hadn't eaten much for dinner. He'd been too worried about Ginny and what she was going to do about Malfoy's note. Thank Merlin she hadn't insisted on coming with him, too. Despite his dire straits, he still felt that warmth in his belly when he thought of Ginny. She really is something.

A slight crackle startled Harry, and if his hands were free, he would have smacked himself in the head for his own stupidity. Of course! He didn't need his wand; he could break these cuffs without it. No one knew about his wandless ability, so they shouldn't have charmed the cuffs to be unbreakable. Concentrating on the cuff holding his left hand, he focused all his energy on unlocking it. It dropped to the ground with a clang. He quickly freed his other hand and sprinted across the room.

His ribs protested the movement, but he ignored them, sending sharp waves of hot agony along his side. He wrapped one arm around his waist to hold them still. There was no one in the dimly lit hallway; he was in a stone dungeon of some sort. He could see a doorway immediately across from his cell, which was the direction Wormtail had departed. He knew he should take the opportunity to escape and go get help, but he also knew Ron would be killed if he got away. He was certain they were keeping Ron alive to use as incentive for Harry to cooperate. If he got away, they'd retaliate by killing Ron. Harry couldn't leave him here; he had to find where they were holding him. There were more cells in the opposite direction. Again using his wandless magic, he created a light in the palm of his hand and began checking the cells.

When he reached the end of the corridor, the smell of rot and decay was overwhelming, and he nearly retched. Ron was nowhere in sight. They must be keeping him somewhere else, he thought frantically. Ron had to be alive. Harry felt panic rising within him and fought to push it down. He had to keep a clear head, or both of them were lost.

He turned back around and headed for the doorway near his cell. Opening it quietly, he found himself at the bottom of a long, narrow stairway. He climbed cautiously and slowly, both because of the need for silence and also because his ribs wouldn't allow him to speed up. They ached painfully, and he was only able to take shallow breaths.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he found himself in an elegantly furnished room, the complete opposite of where he'd just been. The windows were draped in heavy, green, velvet curtains, and he cautiously made his way over to one and peered out. It was pitch black, and he couldn't tell anything about his location.

He was in a manor of some sort; probably the headquarters for Voldemort's side, much like Grimmauld Place was Headquarters to the Order. Looking at all the symbols of the Dark Arts in the room, Harry was struck by how much like Grimmauld Place it actually looked. There isn't time to look around now.

The window was sealed shut, and he couldn't open it. Silently, he made his way across the room. He could hear voices coming from another room further along the hallway. He recognized one as belonging to Wormtail, but couldn't place the other.

"Potter is confined. The Dark Lord said to inform him when he's been weakened enough, and he'll arrive to finish the job. Our other guest is confined comfortably; he'll be used when it's time to get the information. I wish we could have snatched the girl."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief; so, Ron was still alive. Now, he just had to find him. He glanced at the front door briefly; escape was tantalizing close. He'd never get back to Ron in time, though. Even if he did get out and Apparate for help, he had no idea where he was or where to come back. Creeping past the door silently and up a grand stairway, he found himself in a hallway lined with a number of doors. Harry tried to use Legilimency to reach out to Ron, but there had to be a lot of people in the house, because the onslaught of malevolent feelings was overwhelming. He had to grab onto the wall for support.

He began listening intently at the doorways and cautiously peering inside each door. This corridor seemed to be a series of bedrooms. If Ron was being held 'comfortably', this might be the place. A loud boom from the floor below caused Harry's heart to pound even harder as it leaped into his throat. He tried to shrink back into the wall as he heard someone bellow, "Potter's missing!"

The commotion of voices and footsteps was deafening as the Death Eaters began searching for him. He wouldn't have much time now; they'd be going for Ron if they didn't find him. He began moving down the corridor and checking the rooms more quickly.

Ron slowly drifted back to awareness. He groggily looked around in confusion. He found himself lying on a single bed in a dimly lit room that he didn't recognize. There was a nightstand next to the bed, but, other than that, the room was void of furniture. He sat up slowly, trying to piece together what had happened.

It all came back to him slowly as he recalled Professor Trent holding a wand on them and forcing them to follow Malfoy into the tunnel that led to Honeydukes. He had attacked Malfoy, and that was all he could remember. He'd slammed Malfoy hard into the wall; he remembered that much with great satisfaction. Professor Trent had followed them down the tunnel; she must have stunned him. Judging from the splitting headache that now pounded behind his eyes, no one had cast an 'Ennervate

The question was, where was he? And where was Harry? Ron was starting to feel the first wave of panic. Merlin, what have they done to Harry? Did they send him to Voldemort already? Ron ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, trying to control his agitation.

He slid off the bed and made his way over to the door. It was locked. He peered out the window, but it looked too high to jump without injuring himself. He tried the latch on the window and found it wouldn't open, anyway. He began pacing. What would Harry do? What would Hermione do?

Hermione! Damn! His last words to her had been in anger over some stupid fight. He really wished he could take all that back right now. Her large, luminous brown eyes swam in his head, making him feel so ashamed for leaving things angry between them. Life was too unpredictable for that these days, as was all too painfully obvious. He hoped he'd have the chance to tell her he was sorry.

As far as he knew, Professor Trent still had his wand. How else could he get out of here? He wished he had paid more attention when Fred and George were learning how to pick a lock the Muggle way.

A loud noise from below caught his attention. He could hear a flurry of movement and several voices yelling at once, although they were too muffled to hear what they were saying. Something was going on, and Ron would bet his life it had something to do with Harry. Give 'em hell, Harry, he thought viciously.

He strained his ear against the door for several more minutes, before realizing with a start that the doorknob was slowly turning. He backed away from it warily, glancing around the room in a futile effort to find a place to hide. The room offered nothing. He held his breath and waited helplessly as the door opened.

He was stunned to see Harry peer inside the room. That certainly isn't what I was expecting. His friend was extremely pale and walking slowly, as if each step was causing him pain. He had one arm wrapped around his midsection and was breathing heavily. Ron also could make out what looked like burns around both wrists.

"Harry!" he exclaimed loudly, without thinking.

"Shhhhh," Harry whispered, frowning and waving and pushing his hand in a downward motion. "Do you want to get us both caught? Keep your voice down."

"Sorry," Ron replied, chagrinned. "Where are we?"

"Dunno," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. "We've got to get out of here quickly, though. Wormtail said Voldemort wouldn't be coming for a few days. They were supposed to wear me down first."

"Trent is a traitor. I told Hermione we couldn't trust her."

"That wasn't Trent. Diana Trent is dead; that was Narcissa Malfoy. She's a Metamorphmagus like Tonks."

"Blimey!"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, wishing he'd paid more attention to Ron's warnings.

"Are you all right?"

"I think I've got some broken ribs, thanks to Malfoy." Harry spat the name as if there was a foul taste in his mouth.

"Malfoy! When I get my hands on that-"

"Later. There's no time now. They know I'm missing from my cell, and they'll be up here for you quickly. We've got to move."

"Let's go then."

"Not so fast," a sneering voice said from the hallway behind Harry.

Both boys turned with a start to see the smirking face of Draco Malfoy blocking the door. Peter Pettigrew, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange followed him into the room. Damn!

As the image of Sirius faded, Harry felt himself slowly drifting back to consciousness. His cell came into view, and he realized there was another Death Eater standing in the door. He steeled himself for what he knew was coming; they were always so predictable. After a few moments of silence, he opened his eyes and looked again.

Standing in the doorway was his dreaded Potions Master, wearing full Death Eater garb minus the mask. The familiar sneer was on his face, and his black eyes glittered dangerously as they locked with Harry's green for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. He continued to stare at Harry in silence before raising his wand and uttering loudly, "Crucio."