The Kidnapping

Chapter Thirteen

Suburban Nightmare, Lakeside Dream

Harry stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move.

"How-how..?" he trailed off, his eyes watering. His forehead felt as if it was about to explode, and he thought he could feel something wet between his scar and the hand he had clapped to it.

"You know how, Potter," Voldemort said. "Our connection, our bond. I saw you being taken by Connor Salisbury and his minions. I could feel you in my mind, see what you saw. And I found if I concentrated enough, I could maintain that link over time. And so I knew where you must be going. That was how we knew where to find you at the airport. Once you were airborne, I could no longer feel your mind or experience your surroundings.. Salisbury possesses powerful wards on his aeroplane and also on his property, for once I came here to America, I felt nothing of you, until you escaped.

"But I was in no state to kill you then," he continued. "Dumbledore, Salisbury, and I nearly destroyed each other when we met in Mount Solon. I had to withdraw to recuperate, and so, I imagine, did they. So I fled and waited. Then I saw you again - or rather, I saw your nightmare, and then I knew where you were.

"And so how could I resist when you were forced to flee by those things you have taken to referring to as wraiths? You are going to die tonight, Harry, but not before I learn something."

"What?" Harry asked, trying to sound defiant despite the excruciating pain in his head.

"Two things, actually," Voldemort said with amused detachment. "First of all, how much do you know of our connection, and secondly, if you really know why it is that I tried to kill you when you were a baby." Voldemort was gazing into Harry's eyes.

Harry thought back to the day Hagrid had found him, when he had learned that he was a wizard. Hagrid had guessed that either Voldemort had wanted to make a clean job of it, or that he just enjoyed killing by then.

But there was more... yes, when the Dementors were around, Harry could hear them. His parents. And Voldemort. What had he said? "Stand aside, you silly girl!" Voldemort had killed his mother because she wouldn't get out of his way. Harry had been his real target all along. Why?

Voldemort laughed. "You don't know, do you? Albus Dumbledore didn't bother to tell his teenaged hero the reason why Lord Voldemort attempted to destroy him, all those years ago, did he? But what of our connection, Harry? Have you made use of it? Tried to spy on me, perhaps?"

Harry felt more memories rise to the surface - the dream about the old man who was killed after overhearing the talk of Voldemort's murder of Bertha Jorkins, the vision of Voldemort torturing Wormtail after Bartemius Crouch's attempted escape, Dumbledore explaining his theory to Harry and Sirius in his office after the disastrous conclusion to the Triwizard Tournament, and again to Minister Fudge in the Hospital Wing.

It was right about then that Harry realized that these memories were not surfacing entirely because of his own will. Voldemort smiled cruelly.

"Yes, Harry, I'm reading your mind," he taunted him. Harry felt violated.

"Perhaps it is time, Harry, for me to find out everything you know,' Voldemort said. He took his wand out of his robes, pointing it at Harry's head. "Legilimens," he chanted.

Harry staggered back and gagged. It was as if an immense pressure was pushing outwards from inside his head, and he could feel Voldemort's consciousness burrowing through his mind, sifting through every memory he had with terrible precision. There was also a strange incessant droning, almost like a car engine or something in the distance...

It was just as Voldemort had pushed his way back to Harry's earliest memories, memories Harry didn't know he even had, that Harry realized that the distant droning was not merely in his own head. Cho was transfixed, watching the mental struggle unfold, but the other Death Eater was shifting around as if to hear what was going on around them.

The Death Eater spoke, in a familiar drawl: "Master, I think-"

"Do not interrupt me, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, turning to face his servant, and the connection broke. Harry sagged and almost fell over, but Cho grabbed him before he could.

Voldemort had intended, no doubt, to kill the two of them, but now, like Malfoy, he was glancing around, trying to find the source of the rumbling. Harry was pretty sure it was the wraiths. Never in his life would he have thought he would be glad to see them, but nevertheless, he felt a renewed surge of hope.

They came roaring around a corner, shrieking as they saw their prey, and their motorcycles thundered up the street. Voldemort and Malfoy both made the mistake of turning around and leaving Harry and Cho unguarded.

Harry whipped his wand out from his pocket and Stunned Malfoy, while Cho reached down and grabbed the Cloak and the Firebolt. Voldemort turned round upon hearing Harry's voice.

"NO!" he raged, and Harry was certain he was going to kill them both, but the wraiths were too close for him to do that and fend them off at the same time. Voldemort took hold of Malfoy's inert form and together they vanished. Harry quickly picked up Hedwig and took Cho's arm, and they ran down a lane way towards the back yard of one of the houses.

Harry pointed his wand behind him, summoning up a thought of escaping from the wraiths' clutches, and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" There were angry shrieks from the wraiths, but Harry didn't bother turning around to see what was going on.

They slowed down long enough to open the gate that separated the pathway from the back, and then after getting through the gate they stood there gaping at the backyard, although it was far from unusual.

Indeed, that was what was wrong with the yard: its ordinariness. It was fenced in, with limited room for manoeuvre, containing as it did a porch, a swimming pool, a nice lawn table and chairs on a small grassy strip, and a lining of flowerbeds.

"Harry, was that a Patronus charm you just did?" Cho asked as they turned around, wands out, backing slowly away from the gate. The wraiths were getting off their motorcycles, swords drawn. Dogs up and down the neighbourhood were barking, and Harry could hear a child crying from out of a window on the second storey of the house they were trapped behind.

"Er- yes, it was," he stammered, surprised that she had caught that little detail. His insides were writhing with the terror that surrounded the wraiths, but there was also something else helping twist his stomach in knots, something that kicked up a bit more when he glanced at Cho's face.

She smiled weakly at him. The wraiths were advancing slowly up the pathway as Harry and Cho backed onto the lawn. Harry felt as if there was something he was supposed to be saying right about now, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was.

"Do you - do you think this is... this is it, Harry?" she asked with an unusual sense of urgency.

Harry glanced back at the wraiths, which were now beginning to emerge from the gateway and were taking up formation in a tight arc. They didn't look like they were trying to take them alive.

"I-I guess it is," he managed to say. He felt like it was an entirely inadequate response: Cho had come all the way to try and rescue him, and between the two of them the best they could do was end up getting stabbed to death in some poor Muggle family's backyard.

Cho smiled weakly again. "Then I'm glad that- that I'm not going to be alone... I mean, you'll be with me when they - when they..." she trailed off, not quite able to finish the sentence and pronounce their obvious fate.

Harry felt an enormous surge of grief, thinking of Cedric. Perhaps he would be seeing him soon... he would never see Ron or Hermione again...

That thought galvanized him into action. He stepped forward, resolute.

"No," he said with renewed determination. "It can't end like this. Expecto Patronum!"

The stag leapt from his wand-tip and charged the wraiths, bowling them over with apparent ease. They howled, and there was no mistaking the fury - or the fear - in their inhuman cries.

"Can you hear that?" Harry asked, amazed. "They're afraid of it." One of the wraiths tried swiping at the stag with its sword, but it passed right through the silvery Patronus. The stag's antlers seemed real enough to the wraith, which was hurled bodily onto the porch, breaking part of the railing.

"How - how are you doing this, Harry?" Cho gasped.

"Practise!" Harry shouted back. "See if you can do it - I don't think I can hold them off all by myself."

Cho raised her wand hesitantly, but it was no good. One of the wraiths had gotten up on the porch, safely out of the stag's way, and its cry was the loudest and most soul-piercing Harry had ever heard. They both dropped their wands and clapped their hands over their ears, then they collapsed to the ground, faces contorted and bodies writhing with agony.

Then there was silence. No animals or people could be heard. Harry felt terribly weak, panting heavily with exertion. Beside him he could hear Cho whimpering. He shifted slightly and looked up.

The wraiths had collected themselves with the disappearance of Harry's Patronus. The five of them returned to their semicircle, and were advancing towards them.

And suddenly he could feel a new presence behind him. The wraiths stopped and stepped back, wary. Harry could feel tremendous power radiating from whoever was behind him: power and white hot anger. But he felt no fear that this newcomer would do him harm.

"Begone!" Albus Dumbledore's voice cried out, and jets of silver light streamed from outside Harry's field of vision towards the wraiths. They began steadily backing away and then broke and ran, shrieking. There was a distant sound of motorcycle engines roaring to life, and then they were gone.

Dumbledore was upon them in a heartbeat, gathering Harry and Cho in his arms with great tenderness. His tall face was grave with concern as he looked both of them in the eyes, as if expecting to see something terrible within.

"Professor -" Harry began.

"Let it be, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I will answer your questions in time. Just give me a moment and we will leave." He inclined his face towards Cho, who was looking up at him as if she could hardly dare to believe he was real. He smiled slightly, and was neither surprised nor discomfited when she burst into tears and tightly embraced him.

"There, there," he said gently, and he steered her towards Harry. "I just need to get something, Harry, if you'll please."

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish but found he could make no noise as Dumbledore smoothly planted Cho into his arms. She had stopped crying as suddenly as she had began, and now she was just trembling, as if she had reached the utter limits of her endurance.

Dumbledore went and picked up a piece of broken wood, pointed his wand at it and mumbled something. It shook in his hand for a moment and glowed blue, then returned to normal. Harry guessed he had made another Portkey.

"Alastor told me that the wraiths were able to trace you to the Order's old safe house here," Dumbledore was saying, "so I have decided to take us somewhere quite different."

"Professor Moody? He's okay?" Harry asked quickly as Dumbledore drew near, holding out the broken wood for them to grab onto.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Are you both ready?" he asked. They nodded. "Good."

And with that, they vanished.

= = = = =

Harry felt himself fall over as they arrived in a nice wooden room. No, he decided, nice was too pedestrian. It was palatial. It looked like they had arrived in an extraordinary Victorian mansion. He expected to see a butler come round the corner and ask if they were ready for breakfast or something.

Then he looked out the window, and his breath caught. It was an extraordinary view of a lake. Mist was rising off the water, patches where it had cleared away completely were shimmering with the reflection of the rising sun off of the slow ripples. And everywhere was green. Across the lake a forest rose up on a hill. He could see spaces in the trees where other buildings were. They didn't quite look like homes, more like cottages, really.

"This," Dumbledore said, "is a summer cottage my family has owned for some time now, ever since my great-uncle moved to Canada. He had no children, so he left everything to my father. We are in the Muskokas, a lake region known to have the summer homes of many wealthy Canadians. Most of them are quite displeased with this property: to Muggles it looks like an abandoned shack."

"It's beautiful," Cho said, gazing in awe at both the spacious interior and out the window.

"My great-uncle did have good taste," Dumbledore said. "I often enjoy getting out here for the summer when I can, although this may be my only chance to spend time here for the next few years.

"Now, I am prepared to answer what questions I can, but first, the two of you will need something to eat... and yes, I think some Chocolate, right away."

Out of his robes he pulled a large hunk of Chocolate - does he keep some of that in there ALL the time? Harry wondered - and broke it in half, handing a piece to each of them.

He took a bite of his Chocolate, and immediately felt better. Warmth ran down his throat and spread through his body, and he felt the tension and residual fear melt away. They didn't make it like this in the Muggle world. Come to think of it, most wizarding chocolates weren't like this either. Harry supposed that some bright witch or wizard had come up with the idea of medicinal Chocolate. Despite the stresses the morning had brought, he was feeling much better.

Dumbledore had wandered into another room, and from the sounds that were now issuing forth from it, it was most likely the kitchen. Then he came out. Whatever was happening in the kitchen went on without him.

"Breakfast should be ready in a half-hour," he said cheerfully, his eyes alive and sparkling. "Why don't I show you around?"

Their first stop on the ground floor was a sitting room. A small bookcase held a number of interesting titles from both Muggle and magical literature. Another vast bay window looked out onto the lake. A number of comfortable chairs and sofas were scattered around, accompanied by coffee tables. One corner of the room was dominated by a grand piano. Dumbledore looked at it for a second and waved his wand at it briefly. The piano began to play on its own. Light, carefree chords sounded over a nostalgic, almost bittersweet melody.

"Claude Debussy, Clair de Lune," Dumbledore said softly. There was a pause as they listened to the music, watched keys and pedals pressed down on the piano by the invisible force.

"Do either of you remember what I once said about music?" he asked them suddenly. Harry was almost taken aback. It was a tone he'd never heard in Dumbledore's voice before: a sort of wistful nostalgia.

"Yes, yes I do remember, Professor," Cho spoke up. "You said it was a far greater magic than anything we did at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes... yes, I did say that. And it is quite true." There was an odd look in their Headmaster's eyes as he absently stared at the piano. There they remained until the last chord died away. And then they stayed there for a while longer, from what Harry could tell, Dumbledore was in some kind of reverie.

"Professor?" he asked. Dumbledore blinked and looked around, smiling when he saw them again.

"Begging your pardon," he said. "I really mustn't drift off like that. Now, where were we?"

They went back out into the hallway and went to the neighbouring room. It was, obviously enough, a dining room.

"Not much to say about here," Dumbledore said, "but it's a bit big for four. We'll be eating in the kitchen."

"Four?" Cho asked.

"Alastor will be coming down soon. He's been recuperating a bit. He barely avoided injury in his battle with the wraiths."

After a while, they had seen most of the ground floor and second floor, other than the kitchen and a few bedrooms. Dumbledore had not shown them the attic or the basement, since, according to him, there was nothing in there worth showing them. Harry didn't quite believe him, but after his experience with Dumbledore's Pensieve he wasn't about to go poking around.

They wandered into the kitchen. Some of the dishes were busily being washed of their own accord, while place settings were settling down onto a small table. Dumbledore waved his wand at it, and four high-backed chairs appeared there.

The oven opened up, and a number of large platter-sized plates appeared. On them were stacked small piles of food: sausages, bacon, pancakes, hash browns... a refrigerator also opened and out came a big bowl of fruit, along with little jugs of milk. A large teapot floated off of the stovetop towards the table, and all sorts of seasonings made their way from cupboards and the counter near the pantry.

Harry was awestruck. He'd seen wizard cooking before, but nothing quite like this. Dumbledore smiled at his reaction.

"I've had a lot of practice," he said, and Harry noticed that his face was taking on a wistful expression again. This did not last long, as a thumping noise coming from the stairway meant that Moody was coming down.

"Good to see the two of you alive and well," Moody said, squinting at them as if trying to make sure of their identities. "Things got very sticky this morning, I think it was about the worst fight I've had in a very long time." Harry was thankful that Moody refrained from speculating as to what had happened to him and Cho.

"Anyway," Moody went on, "I'm down here for my health, not chit-chat. Let's eat."