The Kidnapping

Chapter Seven

Stonehenge

Severus Snape shivered in the thick fog that wreathed the cairn of Stonehenge. It wasn't cold, but there was something in the air here. He could feel, more than see, the mighty stone megaliths looming in the night. Old magic lay here, old and very powerful. The vestigial trace of that magic was everywhere in the stone circle; it had seeped into every blade of grass and leaked into the very air. It made Snape dizzy, almost delirious with the exhilarating feel of all that magic coursing through his veins, flowing into his lungs with every breath.

Stonehenge was as much a mystery to wizards and witches as it was to Muggles. The only difference between them with regards to the theories related to what the stone circle was used for was that the ones advanced by wizards tended to be more plausible, at least when taken from the point of view of other wizards. The magical energy that radiated from Stonehenge made magical beings decidedly uncomfortable, and so they tended to avoid it. By day, Muggles flocked to the stone circle as tourists. By night, it was the site of investigations by the Department of Mysteries, or of clandestine meetings, such as the one Snape was expecting to get underway any minute now.

Snape swore under his breath. The fog was obstructing his view of the moon, which would be his guide to know that midnight had arrived. He didn't know when to expect his erstwhile master and his current favoured lackey. He had arrived a full thirty minutes early, to make sure that no Unspeakables were conducting any research. He had also been checking for any hint of a trap on Voldemort's part. Snape was fairly certain that his long game as Dumbledore's spy within the Death Eater ranks was going to come to an end, sooner rather than later. And the uncertainty that remained was whether or not he was going to survive when it did.

In any case, if he kept Voldemort waiting tonight, things were likely to get quite ugly. Unfortunately, Snape tended to lose track of time when he was engaged in any meticulous work, such as taking stock of his potions ingredients. His search of the stone circle had been equally thorough, and with the fog he could neither see the moon to tell the time, or see anyone else in the area.

Snape swore under his breath, looking around. Only the most severe self-restraint kept him from taking out his wand and Disapparating away. Where was Wormtail? Where was-?

As if in answer to his question, he heard Wormtail's voice behind him, shouting "Stupefy!" The spell connected with the small of his back, and Snape saw only blackness as he collapsed in a heap to the ground.

= = = = =

"Enervate."

These words intruded upon his dark dreams like a bucket of ice-cold water, and jerked Snape to wakefulness. He shook his head, gasping, and tried to get a feel for his situation.

They were still in Stonehenge; he could tell that much. Several of the massive stones were barely visible in the drifting fog, and he felt one roughly pressing against his back. He tried to move, but found with dismay that he was bound to the megalith. His hood had been removed, exposing his face to the world. Perhaps Voldemort was punishing him by leaving him for the Ministry to find? What if he was still here in the morning, and Muggle tourists came by? The thought of being accosted by a gaggle of bungling, ignorant Muggles made his skin crawl.

Wormtail was standing just off to his left, his hood and cowl - and gloves - still up. Snape recognized his wand. How often had he seen it over the past few weeks? Oh, yes, he remembered Wormtail's wand in excruciating detail, since the Dark Lord had seen fit to have Wormtail take care of the dirty business of purifying Snape with pain.

And striding out of the fog, directly in front of him, was Lord Voldemort. He wore his customary black robe, but his snake-like visage was plain for any witnesses to see. Evidently, Voldemort was not concerned about any visitors from the Department of Mysteries.

"Severus, Severus, Severus," Voldemort said, lazily flicking his wand between his fingers.

"My Lord," Snape said, bowing with his head. "I was unaware that I had displeased you at our last meeting."

"Your flagrant breach of custom and security was annoying," Voldemort said, "but you at least had reason for it. No, this meeting has been a long time in coming, but recent events have accelerated its arrival.

"You see, Severus," he continued, "you have given me little reason to believe that you are truly a loyal and willing Death Eater. Certainly you have not passed on any information of real value, despite your position at Hogwarts and your proximity to Albus Dumbledore."

Snape felt himself go cold. Voldemort was onto him. Voldemort would torture him until he broke, and once he'd extracted any and all useful information, he was going to kill him.

"However," Voldemort said, and at this Snape felt a thrill of hope, "I believe you can make amends for your poor service of late. First, tell me, is Dumbledore planning to mount a rescue operation to recover the boy?"

"Yes, my Lord," Snape answered. Honesty was probably the best policy, he decided, as long as he didn't give away his double-agent status in the process.

"I see. Now, are you going to be taking part in this rescue attempt?"

"Yes, I am, my Lord."

Voldemort smiled. Snape felt a new chill of fear.

"Excellent. Then your task is made all the easier. It is quite simple, Severus. You must prove your loyalty by killing Harry Potter at the first opportunity."

He leaned in very close, sniffing as if to catch the scent of guilt from Snape's bound form. His eyes were angry and intense, and Snape wanted to do nothing more than escape from their burning gaze.

"Do I make myself clear, Death Eater?" he hissed.

Snape swallowed. "Perfectly clear, my Lord," he answered. Now there was no going back. His usefulness to Voldemort was ended: he would not be able to bring himself to kill Potter. But his usefulness as a spy was also destroyed, for once it was clear he had failed in his duties, Voldemort would know. And then the game would be up.

"Good," Voldemort hissed into his right ear. He stood straight up again. "Wormtail, release him."

Wormtail waved his wand, and the coils of rope keeping Snape tied to the rock vanished. Then, the two wizards Disapparated, leaving Snape quite alone.

Snape cursed out loud, stamping his foot on the ground. He checked his pockets for his wand: still there. He breathed a sigh of relief: not only had he escaped the Cruciatus curse, but Voldemort had seen fit to allow him the benefit of returning home by magic rather than forcing him to make his way on foot to London or some such nonsense. Once again, some sort of miraculous luck had saved his life. Snape wasn't sure if it would have to be paid for or if it was his reward for turning away from evil. Either way, he would have to avoid pushing his good fortune to the limits. Sooner or later he would overstep the bounds of chance, and his life would come to a brutal, violent end.

Snape pulled out his wand and vanished with a loud crack, leaving the ancient cairn and its unfathomable mysteries alone in the misty night.

= = = = =

Having spent all day in an airplane, Harry had been somewhat pleased to be off, despite the dual problem of being the prisoner of Connor Salisbury and of his captor's knowledge of his Invisibility Cloak.

Day was breaking in the Virginia countryside where Salisbury kept a large nineteenth-century manor home and surrounding estates. Waking up to the sound of summer birds and feeling the warm sun on his face was always cheering, no matter the circumstances, and Harry was confident that he would either find a way to escape, or that his rescue was immanent. He had been in worse situations before, and had so far managed to come out all right.

Harry rummaged through his trunk for some clean clothing. Hedwig had been left in the magical stasis they had put her in to keep her from flying out messages on Harry's behalf, and his Cloak, broom, and wand had been taken away before he had been given back his luggage.

He paused and looked out the window. He could see one of the wraiths was patrolling the grounds on horseback, though he wondered how any horse could stand to have such a thing riding it. Perhaps it was an unusual magical beast? Or perhaps it had been enchanted to be fearless? Maybe it was terribly dangerous.

"Hagrid would love to get a hold of something like that," Harry muttered to himself as he dressed. After they had arrived, he had been told that with certain exceptions, he was allowed the run of the house, as long as he didn't go outside. He planned on exploring wherever he could, maybe even getting into areas he wasn't supposed to see. But before that, it was time for breakfast.

= = = = =

"He's having some food now," Catherine Scott reported to her adoptive father, who was sitting at the desk of his study, reading Tolstoy's famous novel War and Peace. Connor Salisbury looked up at her in acknowledgement before returning to his reading.

"You know he's going to try and make a run for it sooner or later," she said impatiently.

"Indeed I do," was all he said, in a tone that suggested the matter was of little importance.

"Father, considering the trouble we went to getting him here, I find it hard to believe that you're treating the possibility of his escape so lightly," she said in annoyance, crossing her arms over her abdomen.

Salisbury smiled and lowered the book, looking up at her before replying.

"While he is busy nosing around today, no doubt trying to find some means of escaping at the first opportunity, I plan on slipping a little something into his robe, as he will surely abandon the rest of his luggage in the event that he does attempt to flee." Salisbury opened a drawer in the desk and picked out of it a golden ring, quite plain an unadorned. Catherine felt a frisson of stark terror pass through her at the first sight of it, but it was gone so quickly she was almost certain she had imagined it.

"A ring?" she managed to say sceptically.

"A magic ring, actually," he said, his smile broadening. "It will allow the wraiths to keep track of his location. And, if he should hold onto it long enough, it may have other uses."

"So what do you do with Dumbledore and Voldemort when they arrive and Harry is gone?"

"Destroy them, if I can. You must understand, my good daughter, that my purpose is to prepare the way for the coming of another. The one who comes after me shall have no equal on this world in might and power, but he will be vulnerable for several months until he has recovered from the ... transition. During that time, men such as Albus Dumbledore or Lord Voldemort could cast him out, which would leave him without substance or potency for the rest of time. He would return to oblivion. I must prevent such an occurrence, and so I must either kill or distract those two wizards."

"I was under the impression that Voldemort managed to survive the Avada Kedavra curse. How exactly do you plan on killing him?"

Salisbury grimaced. "That has always been a flaw in my planning, and one that unfortunately I can do little about. Both Voldemort and Dumbledore have an immense array of resources and cunning at their disposal. Nonetheless, I am the equal of either of them, and probably the wraiths' swords may be able to pierce whatever protections either of them possesses.

"Fortunately," he continued, "it is not an absolute necessity that either or both of them are slain. So long as they are kept unaware of the events that shall unfold soon, they will suddenly find themselves beset by a foe against which they have no hope of victory. In any case, our kidnapping of Mr Potter was conceived entirely as a means of keeping the wizarding world busy while those events that they should concern themselves with go unnoticed."

"I see. One last question," Catherine said. "Why would we want to be able to track Harry if we don't really care whether he escapes or not?"

"Because if he does escape, we want him to keep running, and draw as much attention to himself as is possible while he is at it. And if we dispatch two or three of the wraiths to chase after him, he will run." After saying this, he smiled again, his lips closed, and leaned back in the chair. He tossed the ring into the air with a flick of his thumb, and it spun about as it rose up in the air.

Catherine followed it with her gaze as it came back down. For an instant, as the sun's rays passed through the centre of the ring, she thought she saw the ring no longer, but an immense and terrible eye, catlike and wreathed in flame. Then the vision was gone and the ring fell back into Salisbury's hand. He chuckled and placed it back in the desk, and quickly returned to his book.

"On the way out, would you be able to put some Holst on the turntable?" he asked her. In one corner of the room was an old vinyl record player, and Salisbury kept an astounding collection of LPs. Both the record player and all the records were enchanted to remain in mint condition, allowing him to extend the useful lifetime of his collection long after the medium had become obsolete.

"The Planets?" she asked.

"Please, and thank you."

Catherine quickly put the record in the player, and the room began reverberating with the first movement of Holst's work; Mars, the Bringer of War. The string section and the timpani rumbled on the low G that opened the piece.

An apropos piece of music, she decided. Dumbledore and Voldemort were gearing up to fight one another once more, and her adoptive father was certain that his actions would result in prolonged conflict. What better to suit the times than one man's terrifying musical vision of war?

= = = = =

The carriage rattled along the path to Hogsmeade. To the average observer, they were pulling themselves. But the fact of the matter was that Thestrals, invisible, carnivorous horses, were hitched to the carriages. They could only be seen by people like the two occupants of the carriage: people who had seen death. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape had both witnessed more than their fair share of death, often as not as the result of the work of their own wands.

Although Dumbledore was cheerfully smiling, looking for all the world like he was heading off on a holiday, Snape's expression was a mixture of disgust and exasperation.

"I find it somewhat galling, Headmaster, that I am being asked to interrupt my all-important preparations for the next school year to travel in the company of three tiresome students, a werewolf, and an escaped, if innocent, convict. More to the point, I find no reason why I should be required to come with you to the United States to find a student who should have been expelled years ago, and who has been as disrespectful towards me as he can help it."

"Come now, Severus, there's no need to be so gloomy. It's a fine summer's morning, and we're getting underway at last," Dumbledore said. "Our purpose may be serious business, but there's no sense in not enjoying the weather. After all, we don't get days like this much here."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Headmaster, you above all people know that I set little store in enjoying the weather, an activity I find quite unproductive and totally useless. Weather is merely something that spoils Potions ingredients now and again when they have been improperly sealed by some careless student. Longbottom has managed to ruin far more than his share of materials whenever it rains."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Always looking on the bright side, aren't you, Severus? Unfortunately, you're probably right. There's not much to look forward to on our journey."

"It's a trap, and we both know it."

"Yes, it is. But it is a trap that Voldemort will also be trying to spring. This Connor Salisbury wants us both to meet him in Virginia. Perhaps he will try to kill us. Regardless, he is acting purposefully and deliberately. Our task is to find out what his purpose is."

The carriage rounded the bend to the Shrieking Shack, where four people and a large, shaggy black dog were waiting. They were dressed in Muggle clothing, carefully selected by Remus to be stylish without being attention-getting.

"Delightful," Snape muttered sarcastically as he and Dumbledore got out of the carriage.

"We will be traveling to places where our robes would garner a little too much attention," Dumbledore reminded him. "You and I will have to change once we've taken the Portkey to New York City."

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape," Lupin exclaimed, approaching them with the others following. The dog nodded its head at them, and Snape was fairly certain he saw it bare its teeth for just a second while it was looking at him. Well, Black could behave badly if he wanted, but Snape intended to set an example. Dumbledore wanted them to co-operate, and co-operate he would, though he didn't like the idea one bit.

"All ready to go?" Dumbledore asked, turning to the three students: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Cho Chang.

"Yes, sir," Hermione responded enthusiastically.

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent. Our Portkey will be ready quite soon," he went on, taking an old leather boot out of the pocket of his robe. He held it out in one hand while taking out an hourglass with another. The hourglass showed in one half the precise time at Hogwarts, and the other half displayed the time in New York.

Each of the others reached out and grasped onto the Portkey. Sirius gave a slight whimper and bit into the sole with his teeth.

That's what you get for wandering around like a dog, Snape thought. Dumbledore was soon counting out loud.

"Five... four... three... two... one... NOW!"

And with that the seven of them vanished. The carriage waited around for a moment until, as if by some unspoken command, the Thestrals turned it around and headed back for the school.