Chapter Twenty
They marched Voldemort down the hall. Four guards marched in front and four behind. Kitty and Richard led the way as Harry was taken away. Richard stowed Voldemort's and Harry's wands in his pocket and draped Harry's coat over one arm. There were crevices set along the wall which emitted a green light which danced in the quartz running along the curved roof.
"Is it far? Only the scenery is a little boring," Voldemort asked. His hands had been bound tight behind his back. He shifted his arms marginally trying to imitate what Harry might do in a similar situation. He hated to admit it but the boy was better at this sort of thing.
No-one answered him. Instead they tramped along in silence, winding deeper and deeper into the belly of the hill. This place was a fortress, rather than simply a set of tunnels. Someone was presumably funding the group, Voldemort could take an educated guess given their deference to Richard and Kitty: Malfoy.
An endless series of spiralling stairwells, winding passages and long, chilly halls later they came to a pair of oaken. The doors swung open with a silent majesty at a wave of Richard's wand. They marched into a hall greater than the others, lined with rugged pillars. At the far end steps rose to a seat of freshly cut stone. Sheets of black glass covered the walls. Quartz ran along the floor, criss-crossing the black floor in the design of a spreading, leafless tree.
A man with tousled brown hair and a short beard lounged upon the throne-like seat. The guards fanned out around them. Voldemort waited, relaxing into the moment. He eyed the man in the chair, noting the dark bruises on his wrists and blackened veins, just visible beneath the sleeves of his robe.
"This is all tad gauche isn't it?" Voldemort suggested.
"Really?" The man in the chair asked lazily, "I designed it as an homage to your throne room. Isn't that poetic?"
"Should it be?"
"I practically worshipped you as a child. A man with a vision. An attempt to make sure the right people were in charge, still you failed," the man grinned delightedly. "Yet I can do it!" He stood and walked towards Voldemort, his eyes glistening.
Richard stepped in between them, "I wouldn't get too close, sir. He's not your average man."
"Precisely! He's more," the brown haired man said, smiling broadly. "And I want to give him a chance. Join me, my prince, you can do everything you ever dreamed of … just help me."
Voldemort suppressed a shudder at the man's enthusiasm. "How kind. I fear though that we have not been introduced. I can hardly help a man with whom I am not acquainted now can I?"
"Well then, I am Ambrose Fairechild. I doubt you've heard of me," he said with a hint of self-deprecation. "Yet, I am the man who will unite Europe. With the screaming souls of the muggle filth I will create an army with which to purify the world!"
Voldemort blinked. "I hate to ask: don't you consider the fact that you are completely insane a handicap?"
Ambrose ignored him, apparently lost in rapture. Richard rolled his eyes as they waited for him to regain his train of thought. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at the auror captain, who merely gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders.
Ambrose took a deep breath, "I am sorry. My passions run away with me a little for the moment." He glanced down with embarrassment at the dark, purple veins on his wrists and hands. "The rituals I have been using have a few side effects. If you have time I'd love to talk to you about them, they are only temporary, but your opinion would be invaluable."
Voldemort gave him a long, long look. "Child, this plan will fail. Malfoy is not your ally, he is your puppeteer."
Ambrose twitched and he turned on his heel, walking back up the hall. "Have you no faith, my lord? A belief in a god or two?"
"Polytheism has always appeared to me to have the flaw that it requires belief in too many gods; though monotheism suffers from the same condition," Voldemort said blandly.
"Faith in yourself then? You must have that," Ambrose urged as he sat back down in his throne.
"Of course."
"Then have faith in me too. I can bring your dreams to fruition ..."
"No."
"Why not? Surely you don't believe that this is wrong? I've heard assertions this is evil from weak minded fools, I hoped for better from you," Ambrose cajoled. Disappointment flitted over his features.
Voldemort almost laughed. "Evil? Evil is simply the name given to an act committed without guilt. It is only a concept of use when dealing with the sheep. No, it's simply because you are stark, raving mad. Also, I don't follow, I lead."
Ambrose shook his head slowly. "We could have done great things my lord, great things. Why do you wound me so?" He sighed wistfully. "I hate it when people disappoint me."
"The feeling of mutual. I always hoped a great man would take up my legacy. Not a mewling idiot," Voldemort straightened, for a man with his hand tied behind his back there was a certain regality to him.
"Richard take him away, dispose of him till tomorrow night. You're going to help me one way or another, though sadly you won't see your work completed," Ambrose murmured mournfully.
Richard nodded brusquely. "You four, with me. Katherine, bring Herr Fairechilde up to speed." He paused for a moment, before turning back to Ambrose, "For the future, sir, may I suggest that you endeavour to avoid giving away information to our enemies?" He passed Voldemort's and Harry's belongings to Kitty before turning to the doors.
"What's he going to do? Tell a wall?" Ambrose chortled. "I could tell him everything and it still wouldn't save them. The first blow will be enough Richard."
Richard threw a single withering glance over his shoulder, which Ambrose either ignored or simply failed to notice. With a snap of the auror's fingers the guards formed up around Voldemort.
"When this goes wrong, when you die screaming, remember this conversation," Voldemort said as he was led away. The words hung in the air.
The doors swung shut behind him and they marched into the labyrinth. Voldemort was silent, concentrating in maintaining grace and poise. The guards were keeping their distance. He considered making a break for it, but dismissed it. With his hands bound it would probably only result in humiliation. Voldemort shuddered slightly, he was considering heroics. There was nothing wrong with the concept of a hero, but pointless shows of bravado had never appealed to him. The chances of successfully possessing a body were low too: in an environment where contact with daemons was routine, if the Erlking was right, it would be pure madness to leave oneself unprotected from possession.
"Why didn't you at the very least pretend to be on our side, sir?" Richard asked as they marched down a passageway where the air stung their cheeks with icy cold. Frost covered runes glittered and sparkled.
"It would have made breaking out and killing all of you far less entertaining. Anyway I do not imagine that you would have allowed him to commit such folly," Voldemort said. He kept his voice low and his eyes fixed ahead.
"Herr Fairechild is perfectly capable of making any necessary decisions. I am merely here to provide advice and assistance," Richard said. Voldemort could not see his face, but he could picture the small discreet smile on the man's lips.
"Of course. Do tell me though, was it always the plan to hand us over here? Or did Malfoy just want us removed whenever it was most convenient."
"This was always the plan. For all your skills, my lord, you really are quite predictable. One might argue it is your skill which makes you predictable. You have grown stale my lord, your exile has done you no good," Richard said, almost sympathetically. 'This though is the end. This fortress is a cage as much as it is a fastness. It needs to be to hold daemons. When I tell you that escape is impossible I'm sure you see why."
"You are playing with fire. When you summon daemons there are consequences …" Voldemort warned softly.
"There are always consequences, sir. That's life," Richard replied, increasing the pace. They passed corridors through which they glimpsed rooms of mist and shadow, stairs of ice and windows of night against which formless things brushed. Voldemort was lost within the whirling mix of rooms, flights of stairs and hallways till they came to a sturdy iron door. It swung open at the touch of Richard's wand and they passed through. A line of barred cells ran along the wall. Harry lay unconscious in one and they ushered Voldemort into the next. Richard paused for a moment as the others left. "I'll be back in an hour or two to see you are properly fed. Until then my lord, adieu."
It took almost fifteen minutes of continuous shouting to raise Harry. Tom was privately unsure as to whether the boy had decided to stay quiet to simply infuriate him further or not. The bonds around his hands were not improving his mood.
"What is it Tom?" Harry asked testily as he checked the pockets of his trousers. The results, a length of string, a conker and a single galleon, were not promising. His side felt empty without at least a wand strapped to it.
"At last Briar Rose awakens, and not a hundred years too soon," Tom groused. "Incidentally, I told you so."
"Why is it that the first thing I notice is that you've gotten me into another fine mess, again," Harry complained as he began to search his cell for weaknesses.
"I got you into? I beg your pardon!" Tom asked incredulously.
"'Let's split up' you said, 'what a good idea that'll be you said. Honestly Tom, have you never watched a horror movie? I bet they're planning to sacrifice us to daemons right now," Harry said, kicking a bar which proved to be unsurprisingly solid. He winced, hopping from one foot to the other.
"Of course I have never watched a 'movie'," Tom protested before coughing awkwardly, "and as to the daemon sacrificing issue … that's unpleasantly probable"
Harry rolled his eyes before realising Tom could not see. "For your information I'm rolling my eyes."
"Hmm. Well let me just remind you which of us was knocked out by a bunch of third rate, clichéd cultists," Tom pointed out with quiet indignation.
"That is in no way my fault. You gave me a phobia of cultists when I was young. How am I supposed to react reasonably around them?" Harry asked.
Tom hesitated, "You are joking are you not?"
"Yes Tom, of course I am," Harry sighed. "Your cultists were much too pathetic to give anyone a phobia. These ones ambushed me, they had the numbers, surprise and wards backing them up. How come you weren't stunned?"
"Superior skill of course," Tom declared grandly, before admitting, "I suspect the wards that way were intended to be lethal, they could not use everything at their disposal without destroying their ultimate plan."
Harry glanced around the cell, "Wandless magic any use?"
"None whatsoever. If it were my hands would be free!" Tom snapped. "Richard will be back in a couple of hours."
"Ah."
They lapsed into silence, considering their position. It took about ten minutes for Harry to break the silence, "Shall we play a game while we wait for something to happen?"
Tom considered the suggestion, "Very well, what do you have in mind?"
"I spy?"
"Does anyone like that game?"
"Three year olds," Harry suggested. Tom did not deign to reply. "Geography Endings then?"
"What's that?" Tom asked, although he could guess the answer.
"Well you say the name of a place, France, for instance, and then the next person has to pick a country ending with the last letter of that word, be it a town, village, river, sea, ocean, city, country, region, continent …"
"Yes, yes, I get the idea," Tom snapped. "Do you want to start then?"
"Diagon Alley."
"York."
"'Kamchatka."
"Tom paused, "Where?"
"It's sort of the easternmost tip of Russia, I think," Harry said, "I saw it on a Risk map when I was little ..."
"Does it still exist?" Tom asked dubiously.
"Probably."
"Fine … Atlantis. Do you want help preparing your lines? You'll be much more impressive if you have my help."
Tom had finally finished freeing his hands and was contemplating the existence of further place names beginning with "e" when Richard opened the door to their room and walked in. A tray of food floated smoothly behind him. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said and set the food down on a sturdy wooden table on his side of the bars. Tom leaned against the wall. Harry on the other side of the partition sat cross legged was arranging dust into patterns on the floor.
"Good afternoon," Tom drawled as Richard sat down.
"I hope you're both enjoying your accommodations," Richard said.
"They leave something to be desired. Is there anything we can do for you? Eviscerate you, perhaps?" Tom asked in a pleasant tone.
"I'm quite well thank you," Richard said and paused for a moment, "No hard feelings about this? It wasn't personal."
Tom blinked at him. Harry continued to doodle in the dust.
"I must admit to a certain pity for your plight, being betrayed without any obvious good reason must be galling. I hope it will comfort you that your country will benefit from your sacrifice," Richard said, kindly.
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," Harry muttered, "it's still your turn Tom."
"Ettersburg. Thorbecombe, my dear chap, if you think I give a hoot for my country you're madder than that man upstairs. It would warm my heart to think that everyone there will die, painfully, soon," Tom explained as if to a child.
There was a short silence; Richard's face set into a blank mask. "Then your removal is for the best." He flicked his wand and the food slipped through the bars of the cells.
"Gloucester." Harry turned to look at Richard. He stood slowly, straightening up. "I have a question for you: did you think we didn't know you were going to betray us?"
"If you weren't suspicious you'd never have lived this long," Richard replied.
"Really Mr Weasley thought further ahead than you," Harry said. "Alastor would be ashamed that standards have slipped so far. Hell, Lupin taught third years to be better than that!"
"What are you babbling about?" Richard asked as he narrowed his eyes.
"It really didn't occur to you? You see Sirius Black ..." Richard's wand was wrenched from his hand. It zipped through the bars of Harry's cell and into his waiting hand. "Sirius Black would have known that we'd have prepared for this moment. Forgive me the theatrics but I had your wand for hours. Didn't you think I'd have had an insurance policy? A pre-set spell can be activated at any time," Harry tapped the wand on the door to the cell and it swung open. Richard jumped to the side barely dodging the blue light of the petrifying curse shot past him. Harry opened Tom's cell with a flick of the wand.
"You can't win. Not against us," Tom said pleasantly as he strolled out of his cell. "Now, tell us where our possessions are?"
Richard shook his head, backing away down the room. "Guards! Guards!" His voice echoed around the room. "You won't escape. This place is a labyrinth."
"Et cetera, et cetera. You wouldn't believe how often I've heard people say that," Harry remarked raising the wand. "Imperio!" The wand resisted and the curse came out weak. Richard did not bother to step aside, his shoulders only drooped for an instant before he shook the spell off.
Harry raised the wand again, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to do this the hard way …"
The door swung open and Richard threw himself through it. Harry changed the movement of the wand mid-flick and locked the door in place. Boots scuffled as the guards readied themselves. Tom grinned savagely at Harry.
Richard was halfway down the second corridor when the screaming began. All in all it did not last long and he did his best to ignore it. He hurried onwards to alert the rest of the daemon summoners and arm himself properly. He flicked open a small hand-held mirror and barked out orders to Kitty as he clambered up a set of stairs.
Harry stepped over the last of the guards as Tom picked out the wand he liked best. Harry tucked Richard's wand into his belt as a spare and selected his own preferred choice: about ten inches long, unyielding and made from a silvery wood which might have been ash or birch.
"Pathetic workmanship," Tom muttered, "most of these would burn out in the hands of any decent wizard."
"You'd have to do something monumentally stupid to burn out a wand Tom," Harry said, closing the eyes of a guard. "You just don't like the ones with unicorn hairs. I think this one's dragon heartstring from the feel of it if you want to try."
Tom gave it a wave. The wood split, blistering as the magic pulsed through it. "I don't think the wood likes me, you were right though. Dragon heartstring."
Harry gave a small grimace. "You did that on purpose. You shouldn't have killed them all. One of them might have given useful information," Harry observed, trying to look at the carnage objectively.
"I think not. They were barely more than automatons. That one never even managed to give a spell," Tom said dismissively, pointing at the corpse of a young man with soft, brown hair.
"That's probably because you tore his throat out. How did you even do that? It shouldn't be physically possible," Harry said, looking away from the bloody hole in the man's neck.
Tom wiggled his fingers delightedly. "There are advantages to a body made rather than born. You can … edit the specifics."
"Did the addition of your wand make a difference?" Harry asked as they left the bodies behind.
"Not yet," Tom admitted. "I was hoping for still greater control of wandless magic. While my skills are as prodigious as always there has been no change as yet."
"Mmm. Which way do you think we should go?" They had reached a fork. One path sloped upwards to their left; the other sloped down.
"Up. We must come out eventually. Though I would like to find our wands …" Tom murmured.
"I'd like to get my invisibility cloak. Not everything is possible though," Harry pointed out.
Somewhere from deep in the complex a network of a bell tolled. Shadows twisted and shifted with the sound. The air trembled like a crystal chalice struck by a tuning fork. Harry was the first to speak, his voice a hushed whisper, "What was that?"
Tom's voice was hoarse, "At a guess an audio-sensitive ward matrix in operation and they just changed the setting."
"What for though?"
"To ensure Richard's wand will not bypass security? To unlock some doors and open others? I do not know. I do not intend to find out," Tom said, marching faster.
Shadows began to seep up the walls like ink on blotting paper turning the stone from red to black. The stone began to ripple, bulging here and there, trying to push outwards. Tom's eyes flicked from side to side. Harry followed his gaze and broke into a run as the shadows began to blot out the light. They tried to keep going upwards but shadows bulged from walls and floor driving them hither and thither.
They stopped, panting, at the top of a flight of steps steep enough that each had been a small leap.
"Do you think we've lost …" Harry paused, searching for a word to describe the shadows, "them?"
Tom shook his head. "I doubt it. Do you know anything which might slow … them down?"
"Fire, light? I'd bet cold iron would help, but I don't really think that's just lying around here."
"There has to be something! Doors, ward seals. They wouldn't allow that … those free reign," Tom insisted with a frustrated snarl.
The light around them began to dim. Like a tide of black water the shadows were creeping up the stairs, lapping over the stones. The temperature sank, mist rising from the stones, traceries of ice formed over them. Harry and Tom set off again, with alien wands their odds of success were low.
It took another ten minutes of running before they came to a solid, iron door. It was a formidable, square block of slate-grey metal, seven feet in height and studded with heavy rivets. The air around it was cool as if the heat had been sucked away.
"Warded," Tom concluded, spitting the word. He looked back down the passageway. The light was dimming, turning the walls a bloody crimson. There were no passageways or turning points. "Boy, I'm going to try and open this, hold them back."
"Let me try Richard's wand first," Harry suggested. He ran it over the iron. For a moment sparks fizzed at the contact, then they died away to nothing. "Make it quick," Harry said turning back to face the corridor.
Tom began to cast, caressing the magic into action. Lights shifted and swirled over the door. Harry walked down the passage running Richard's wand over the stone about ten feet away from the door muttering. The line began to shine. He drew three runes, one at each end and another in the centre. The magic leapt upwards in golden shield which cast rainbows onto the walls before it shifted hue into a fiery red. Harry worked on the next layer: an orange swirl of fire hung in the air, spinning like a Catherine wheel, sparks striking the walls. Yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Lines and shields burst into life as he retreated leaving only a three foot gap between the door and the final defences.
Tom's brow furrowed as he tried to tease the net of spells over the door apart, fraying the strings of magic until they snapped. Whoever had made the door had done their spellwork well, when he forced the magic to breaking point the net refused to weaken. So far he estimated two thousand, one hundred and eighty seven strings formed the net. He had broken twelve of them. It was going to take time. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. The boy had created a seven part defence, but beyond the shimmering colours the corridor was pitch black. A whispering hiss of sound was coming from the shadows and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.
Shadows gathered against the red shield. They did not charge or ram the shield. Instead they piled themselves on top of one another until any hint of light from the corridor beyond had been eradicated. Harry felt the drain on the ward suddenly as the shadows devoured it. The light flickered, waned and died, a lamp with its batteries left on for too long.
Tom picked apart another strand. Holding the parts in his mind he cauterised the wound. Another strand snapped apart. He kept his eyes shut, ignoring the world around him. His wand hand was moving on autopilot as he worked. He was, he decided, getting faster, though a little voice pointed out that faster was not fast enough.
The shadow surged forwards, crashing against the spiral of orange fire. Sparks flew and there was the smell of flint on flint. Harry was certain now, there was a malevolent intelligence behind the shadow. The red line had been defensive, designed to resist a forceful attack, the orange was aggressive, pushing back with calculated force. The shadows had met each accordingly.
"Any progress?" He asked as the orange flames winked out in a final furious blaze.
Tom opened his eyes coming back to the real world. "A little. The door is drawing in too much energy for me to crack it open safely. How are you doing?"
"It could be better," Harry admitted as the shadows began to corrode the yellow bands which criss-crossed the passage, biting into them like acid.
"Make it better!" Tom ordered shutting his eyes again.
"I. Am. Trying. I need age old defences, not split second shields!" Harry snarled. He twisted his wand in an attempt to fortify the yellow bands. For a moment their flow brightened and they expanded forcing the darkness back. Steam curled from where light and dark collided. "Can we drain the door into the wards?"
Tom considered the possibility, the pros and cons flickered before him as he tugged another strand of magic loose. "Possibly. I'll need you to open a gateway in the shields. We'd better get to the side, if this goes wrong ..." He didn't bother explaining, both of them were all too aware of the dangers posed by wild magic.
Harry cast about for a way to open a channel between the door and the final shield. With a flash of inspiration he knelt laying the wands they had taken from the guards end on end, they almost stretched the distance. With a muttered curse he cast a weak cutting charm at the back of his left hand. As blood welled up he dripped it over the wands and stone linking them together. He pressed the final wand against the shimmering purple field and slowly weakened it leaving it barely more than a tremble in the air.
Meanwhile Tom tied the strings of magic to the line Harry had created. He gently urged the magic to siphon from the door to the wards, prodding the flow every now and then to limit it. The trembling light steadied and then grew, pressing outwards, filling the corridor. The sibilant hissing began to retreat. For a moment it looked hopeful, then the yellow bands burnt out, overloaded. There was a shudder and crimson smoke erupted from the yellow bands of light before, with a roar like the wind, they vanished. The wands and blood glowed with brilliant golden-white light forcing Harry and Tom into the corner.
"Open the door!" Tom roared, barely audible over the fiery wind.
Harry pushed the slate grey slab of metal with both hands, and then threw his shoulder against it. "It's locked, or stuck. I can't move it."
The light was pulsing now, stronger and stronger. The shadows had shrunk back, leaving the corridor empty. However, the power was too much for the flimsy wards which shook and strained against their bonds.
"You're a wizard! Open it!" Tom shouted as he strove to contain the overflowing power.
"Are the door's defences down yet?"
"Maybe! They should be weak enough to rip through anyway ..." Tom was cut off as Harry pushed the door again it swung open, faster than Harry had expected, leaving him sprawling on the floor beyond.
Tom hurled himself through the doorway letting it slam shut behind them as he released the containment charms. Dust drifted from the ceiling as a dull boom shook the corridor beyond the door. They were lying at the foot of a set of stairs. There was the clatter of boots in the corridor above them and then at the head of the stairs Arabella appeared, juddering to a sudden halt, wand in hand, Cor sat on her shoulder.
Harry blinked up at her surprised. Tom spoke, "You are late."
Arabella ignored him. Harry picked himself up, dusted himself down and he looked up at her, "You came back. Why?"
"Because I am not, and never will be, like you," Arabella said blankly. She hurried down the steps and twisted her wand in a tight circle, sealing the door. "Now, come on. I slipped past the wards, but I don't doubt they'll notice before long. Would I be right in guessing they succeeded in capturing you?" She asked looking them up and down.
"We made separate strategic decisions in order to gain a more comprehensive understanding of their organisation," Tom said, taking a few steps up the stairs and scanning the way carefully. "You haven't met any daemons have you?"
"How would I know, given the company I keep?" Arabella asked tersely,
"You would know. They are … unmistakable, provided they're not hiding," Tom clarified. "Which way is the way out? And how did you did us?"
"I asked Cor to lead me to the biggest magical disturbance he could sense. I hoped it would be you. As to the way out …"
Cor leapt from her shoulder and soared gracefully up the stairway, landing neatly on the outstretched arm of a brazier. "This way, this way," she croaked, clawed feet fidgeting on the dark metal.
There was a long screech as something moved against the other side of the iron door behind them. Harry flinched, covering his ears. Tom cast a glance at the door and set off after Cor.
They heard the distant pounding of feet from a side passage as they rounded another corner. For moment they hesitated and then Tom pushed Harry onwards.
"Go. I will finish this. Leave a trail for me to follow. You will not want to be a part of this," Tom ordered, taking up position in the centre of the corridor. He scanned it for possibilities as the feet drew nearer. He corrected his grasp upon his wand slightly, holding it almost casually. He looked for all the world as calm as if he were about to attend a private soirée.
Harry hesitated for a moment before Arabella pulled him onwards. They ran, following Cor's lead, scorching marks on the wall as they went. Seconds ticked by, Tom pirouetted, testing the floor's texture. He slashed his wand through the air and then stepped back around the corner, disappearing from sight. The odds were in his favour. It was not long until the first guard's head came around the bend. A piercing curse caught the man just above the temple. He collapsed like a marionette whose strings were cut. His limbs twitched in a final spasm.
The second guard, a woman of perhaps sixty years with neatly coiffed grey hair pulled herself to a halt, barely dodged the collapsing corpse. A sweep of Tom's wand and a thousand splinters of stone tore themselves free from the walls. She raised a passable protego charm and the slivers of rock burst into a shower of dust. The other guards, led by Kitty, were beside her now. She reinforced her shield with further charms.
Tom flicked his wand upwards and the dust rose in a screen between them. He aimed randomly into the haze and let loose a wide killing curse. It cut through the dust like lightning through a storm cloud tingeing the swirling particles a vicious emerald for an instant. There was a thump as a body hit the ground. Tom smiled in satisfaction. In this case being one against many was an advantage. Life might be dull, but in battle he soared. This was to be alive.
"I chose the field this time. I hope you like it," he called out mockingly. He let his wand fall to his side, waiting for them to return fire. He took a step to the side.
"You've made a mistake, sir. You should have run," Kitty replied from somewhere in the haze. A brilliant blaze of spells, red, white and orange erupted from the dust cloud. Tom barely moved as he slipped between them. He aimed high, guessing the angle required and flicked out a ricocheting flesh-melter. It cracked against a shield, the force of the spells interacting sending a mini-shock wave down the corridor.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance ..." he remarked. Then, unable to resist he ruined the statement's menace with a delighted, "I have always longed to say that. How delightful to be given the opportunity." A flick of his wand and the stone rippled. Serpents of rock slithered towards the guards. Two stunners shot out of the dust cloud towards him. With a bored sigh he conjured a shield and the spells died away harmlessly. Idly running through shield-breaking curses he disillusioned himself, fading from view, and began to pad soundlessly up the passageway. He let the dust storm stop, dropping the particles to the ground. There were four guards left and Kitty. Two hid at the edge of the corner, two with shields raised crouched in the passageway and behind them, wand trained on the hallway waited Kitty who was carefully picking off the snakes.
He crept forward waiting for the perfect moment. He could see the fear in their eyes. Their companions' bodies lay crumpled behind them.
"Where is he? Where's he gone?" One asked in German, a thick Bavarian accent layering his words.
There was no reply. Then Kitty's eyes flicked down taking in the shifting dust under Tom's feet. He winced realising the mistake as a rolling wave of fire blasted forth, filling the passage. Tom held his wand firmly forwards, a shimmering blue shield pulsed from its tip: deflecting the flames. The blast lasted a full minute before Kitty sagged and let the spell fall.
Tom could feel his muscles trembling, the unfriendly wand hummed in his hand, but he could not afford to pause. Closing the last few metres he pressed his wand to the shield and channelled a pulse of electricity directly into the magic. The shield flared, the guard's wand burst into flames and his skin blackened and charred as he was burnt inside-out. Then the shield fell.
The body slumped sideways and the second guard's concentration and shield broke. Tom's cutting curse opened her throat. Another flick and boiling blood flew towards Kitty. She ducked out of its path, throwing a wide blasting curse in Tom's direction. He sidestepped and the next guard never a chance to dodge the thin line of white fire which leapt from his wand tip.
Kitty threw a reducto at him and he caught the spell upon a hasty shield. The blow threw him against the wall. He grunted. His concentration broke and his disillusionment charm dissolved. With a grimace he struck out, the wand tip connected with the last guard's neck and the man dropped his wand before freezing in place. Tom kicked the wand away and locked his gaze with Kitty's.
"Just the two of us then. Now you are going to help me …" he began, twirling his wand lazily.
"Stupefy! Impedimenta! Diffindo!" Kitty snapped, the wand movements merging together.
"Protego," Tom replied calmly, batting the spells aside. "Crucio."
Kitty dodged. She stumbled over a corpse and the spell crackled over the stones above her head. She threw out an arm to stop her fall and Tom moved. He lashed out with his leg kicking her wand arm aside. She reached out for a weapon but his wand stopped her.
"That's better. It was very rude of you to interrupt. Now to begin with … petrificus totalus."
She froze in place and he stepped back levitating her and sticking her to the wall with a few practised wand movements. Only her eyes betrayed the traces of fear.
"I want to know where my wand and the boy's possessions are. You will take me there. Now I am going to demonstrate why you are going to do this and remember this: do not lie to me. Lord Voldemort always knows." Tom raised the last living guard to his feet, half cradling the man's head. He ran the tip of his wand over the guard's cheek, keeping Kitty's gaze fixed on the spectacle as the flesh blistered before beginning to rot, revealing the white teeth beneath as the man's cheek fell away. Tom began to hum.
Tom sighed with delight as he picked up his wand and felt a thrum of recognition run through the wood. The room was barely more than a cupboard illuminated by the light of his 'borrowed' wand. Throwing Harry's coat over his arm, with the holly and phoenix feather wand tucked into the pocket, he turned to Kitty's floating body. He let the spell fail and she crumpled onto the floor. Her limbs trembled from the after-effects of the cruciatus. She had been surprisingly difficult to persuade.
"You won't win," she whispered softly. "You can't."
Tom knelt down beside her, stroking her hair gently. "Oh, my dear, I always win." He paused for a moment in thought. "You know I was going to wander around trying to find a way out; however, this will be a good deal faster, it may cause you some discomfort though …" he ripped into her tattered mind tearing out the necessary information with ruthless determination before standing up and walking away from her. He ducked quietly into an alcove as another set of guards hurried by. There was no reason to take more risks than strictly necessary.
It took a little less than ten minutes to come to an iron bound door beside which scorch marks marked the way Harry and Arabella had passed. Tom opened the door a crack then with a final incantation slipped through, out into the fresh air. Inside the hill dark flames leapt and surged, mythical animals formed of intertwining fire began the hunt.
"Let us go," he said, shutting the door behind him.