Chapter Thirty-Six
"Unexpected"
Hijacking a wizard's bridge had never been attempted in the known history of wizardkind. The wizard's bridge, or traveler's tunnel, was a highly advanced algorithm of magic, involving the manipulation of the fabric of space/time itself. It was a sorcery that only a few wizards had ever even attempted, some of them paying for it with their lives. The bridges were relatively unstable once they opened, and there was a danger of being stranded in unfriendly territory if the portals failed unexpectedly. There was also a small chance of being caught in the portal, if it failed with a wizard inside.
Most of this history had its roots in a time known to Muggles as the Dark Ages, a time when European wizards first established a functional educational system and government.
Since those prosperous times, there was only one wizard known to have successfully created a wizard's bridge: none other than Lord Voldemort.
This meant that Voldemort would be fully unprepared for Dumbledore's attack. He would never dream Dumbledore capable of using the portal, considering that to find the portal, one needs to have seen its location before, or be travelling with someone who has. It was far beyond the reaches of Voldemort's comprehension that the Muggle with them, the Seer, could pose any threat against him.
They would use the help of the Seer to locate the bridge. The Seer would bring them straight to it.
It would not have occurred to the dark wizard to guard his weak spot: the very room in which he stood.
Standing at the edge of the balcony railing, Remus Lupin sighed deeply. He had accepted that as the hours wore on, more deaths would follow. It was likely that he would lose more friends today. He clutched the small, black book in in the pocket of his robes, giving one long look to the heavens. The sounds of passing Muggles didn't seem to reach him as he gazed skyward, steeling himself for the coming fray.
"Remus?"
Lupin turned. Dumbledore beckoned him from the doorway, and Lupin withdrew from the balcony into the dimly lit hotel room. Inside the room, several Order members were sitting and standing, all looking ready. Professor McGonagall, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley, Tonks, and Professor Snape were all in different stages of preparation. Lupin saw wands being cleaned and tested in one corner, and hoped his own wand would live up to the task.
When they spotted Dumbledore, most of them stopped what they were doing to turn and look. Dumbledore waited a moment, purposefully letting the silence stretch until they had all but succumbed to it. Then, he spoke. "This is it, my friends," he said in a strong but gentle voice. His words washed away any remaining fear from their eyes. "It may seem to some of you as though we fight today, to die. But hear me now, when I tell you there is hope. We have lost the ones we love, and we fear for our loved ones who are still by our sides. But there is hope, and we must have faith in goodness to prevail. For it will, and it always does. I don't lead you to die today, my friends. I lead you today not only to fight for what is right, but to live for it."
The group reached out to each other, encircling arms and gathering closer to Dumbledore. Even Snape allowed Arthur Weasley to throw an arm over his shoulder.
"We'll follow you into battle, Dumbledore," said Kingsley Shacklebolt boomingly. "For life, to death do I willingly go."
"Aye!" Growled Mad-Eye Moody, and there were several more loud declarations of loyalty.
Dumbledore looked around at them all, his eyes kind. "You are the pride of wizardkind," he said. "And your bravery here on this night will never be forgotten."
"Let's not get carried away, headmaster," snorted Moody with a grunt, but there was a softness in his features that didn't look as though it belonged there between the scars.
Dumbledore's face grew more serious as he looked out through the glass panes of the hotel window. "Once we locate the bridge, we must move immediately. Our attack must force Voldemort into distraction, without giving him time to order anyone killed in the safe room. We must overpower him quickly."
"What if the bridge is guarded?" Arthur Weasley asked from where he stood beside the bed.
"Voldemort will have stationed the majority of his Death Eaters at the other entrances to the Ministry. He doesn't know the portal can be compromised, so he is likely to leave it more or less unguarded. That is, from the outside.
"Plans may go astray," Dumbledore continued, "and that is why we have more than one. We have men covering all the other entrances to the Ministry, just as Voldemort does himself. Should Voldemort order the deaths of the people in the safe room, they will break into the Ministry on all sides, while we continue to engage Voldemort."
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Ministry of Magic, sub-levels
"Crouch, you're staying here. You still have orders to carry out."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Knox, if you are still here three seconds from now, you will regret it."
"Yes, my Lord!" A crack echoed against the stone floor where Harry lay as a Death Eater Disapparated. Several more cracksfollowed, and Harry ground his teeth together with each one.
The density of Voldemort's followers in the room had thinned significantly as Voldemort ordered them elsewhere in the Ministry. They were fortifying the premises against Dumbledore, who they must have heard was nearby and planning a move. Harry bit his lip, worrying what the headmaster's move would be.
Crouch was still there in the room, with two other Death Eaters whom Harry didn't know by name. Those two men headed for Sirius where he stood Body-Locked against the wall. Harry twisted and strained, and watched them go, so intent on them alone that he only remembered Crouch when he felt a light nudge in his side.
Crouch bent over him, a grin etched on his reddish face. "We're not finished yet," he growled at Harry. The Death Eater bent over and grabbed Harry by the shoulder, pulling the boy roughly onto his back.
With a struggle and a glare, Harry looked up into his tormentor's creased face, breathing hard. Crouch's eyes combed him from top to bottom, studying Harry's jeans and sweatshirt, and the sheer Muggleness of the presentation. But he didn't look disapproving of his captive, and his eyes were hungrier than they had ever been. "Where were we?" He purred.
Harry didn't respond, but he wouldn't have had time to. Before he could react, Crouch had pulled him up by the shoulder of his sweatshirt, so they both were standing, facing each other.
As Harry struggled to back away, Crouch jabbed his wand upward, and new ropes fell from the ceiling to hang above Harry's head. With another casual wave, the ropes around Harry's wrists unwrapped themselves, and his arms were pulled up over his head and tied tightly again.
Harry swung there, his feet barely touching the ground, as Crouch approached him. "If you want me dead, just kill me," said Harry furiously.
Crouch laughed. "A quick death? You must be joking! That would be so horribly wasteful." Crouch came closer, and reached out, swinging Harry halfway around by his sweatshirt. Harry swung back, and Crouch could feel the boy's heartbeat through the thin fabric.
Harry struggled in vain, his feet scrabbling to get a foothold on the cold floor, but the ropes were too tight, and they held him too high.
He saw Voldemort come to the edge of his platform, watching them. The sorcerer's tongue flicked across his lips, and as he spoke, Crouch's wand traveled bitingly across Harry's chest. "Your symbol is over, Harry Potter," said Voldemort softly. "After tonight, it will no longer have any meaning."
Harry bit back a cry of pain as Crouch's wand crested his shoulder, and trailed sharply down to his abdomen.
"After tonight," Voldemort continued, "The world will let go of that shred of hope they feel when they hear your name. When your name is uttered, they will know death is coming—for I will find any of them foolish enough to speak it, and obliterate them from this earth."
Crouch reached up, and Harry tensed again, eyeing the man's outstretched hand. It looked like he was going for the zipper of Harry's sweatshirt, and the urge to react overpowered Harry's ability not to. He lashed out with his foot toward Crouch, but his sudden movement caused him to lose his balance, and he swung back toward the Death Eater. Their chests collided, and Harry curled away, kicking with both his feet now until one of them found Crouch's leg. He pushed back against it, but Crouch angled in, and Harry's feet slipped past his legs.
Crouch had Harry by the front of his sweatshirt again, and there was nothing Harry could do as the man pushed him back and took hold of the zipper. He pulled it down all the way, and with a hardy tug, broke the small piece off the end of the garment and threw it aside.
Crouch gave Harry a hard push, setting him swinging once more. The sweatshirt fell off one of his shoulders as he spun and twisted, trying to stay facing Crouch.
Then Crouch had caught him again, and he was tearing the buttons off the front of his shirt.
Harry was overcome, thinking of the horror of having Sirius witness this, whatever it would be.
Crouch studied the letters scarred into Harry's chest. When his eyes found Harry's again, they shone with triumph. "I see they couldn't heal you," he murmured. "Not completely."
Harry's hands were starting to go numb from holding his weight in the air for so long. He grimaced angrily as Crouch gave his shirt another hard tug, pulling it out from the hemline of his jeans. Harry's cheeks burned. He wished he could sink through the floor and disappear, even if it meant he would die.
A few buttons clinked to the floor as Crouch ripped Harry's shirt the rest of the way open. "Shame to kill you, Potter…" the man was saying under his breath. "Shame to kill a boy like you, when you could keep me pleased for so, so long…"
Sweat beaded on Harry's brow as he felt Crouch's fingers sliding over the scars on his ribs. The muscles in his abdomen jumped under the cold touch, and a dangerous redness threatened the edges of Harry's vision. He couldn't believe this was happening again. He had done this to himself. This was all his fault.