Chapter 51: The snake's lair

Ginny was crying; fat, glistening tears slipping down her cheeks as she tried to suck in breath. Harriet bit her lip against the pain of her collarbone and the tingling of her newly released limbs, and looked over to Hermione, hoping she'd try to comfort Ginny, but she was curled into a foetal position, her hands over her ears and her eyes screwed tight shut, as if trying to block everything out.

Harriet winced and trembled as she stumbled to her feet, crossing the few steps to the other side of the room where Ginny sobbed. Carefully keeping her weight on her good side, she lowered herself to the ground again next to her and wrapped an arm around her heaving shoulders. "We'll figure something out, Ginny," she soothed, but, in truth, Harriet had no idea what.

She took stock of the situation, and it did seem wholly hopeless. They were in Malfoy Manor, if Lucius was to be believed, and she had no reason to mistrust that nugget of information. For a start, he was under house arrest, and presumably subject to Ministry tracking charms, so his very presence should have told her that.

They had no wands, theirs burnt to ash. She swallowed a lump in her throat to know that her wand, her constant companion since she was eleven, was gone. It was surprising how much she felt its loss, really.

She supposed they could make an effort at wandless magic, but the results would be, at best, unpredictable. At worst, it wouldn't work, and they'd just exhaust themselves trying, particularly if Malfoy had also spoken the truth about magic dampeners in their manacles. She'd heard of jewelry that suppressed accidental magic used in particularly strong wizarding children: after all, it would be truly inconvenient having a child who kept setting fire to everything. They could try to take a wand from whoever came in next; but if they really were cuffed with metal that contained magic, they may as well have a stick.

And then, there was the thing she was trying to avoid; the unspeakable reality that she was here, helpless, waiting for the certain arrival of Voldemort. She was probably facing the last hours of her life. She was a sitting duck, completely defenceless. She should be setting her thoughts to trying to save Ginny and Hermione, she supposed. But she couldn't even think of anything. She tipped her head back against the wall, ignoring a twinge of pain. She'd failed. She couldn't defeat Voldemort, not like this, here, with nothing.

Logically, she'd known for years that she might not survive this war. But knowing it and accepting it were two very different things. Over the last few months, she'd really seen some kind of future; a life. A home, with Robin, maybe even a child or two, one day. She'd seen herself as more than the 'chosen one'.

Robin! She bolted upright. "Hermione," she hissed. No response. "Hermione!" She disentangled herself from Ginny and reached over to shove Hermione. She finally raised her bushy head from the nest of her arms. She was dead white with fear. "If Voldemort looks into our minds…" Harriet began.

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed harshly. "You think they won't be listening?"

Harriet realised that she may well be right. She shuffled over to Hermione, placing her lips against her friend's ear. "Robin," she whispered.

Hermione nodded. "I know," she said quietly. "Not just him, either."

She looked sad. She was thinking of Severus, Harriet correctly guessed. If he was revealed as a spy, he'd be killed within an instant of being summoned, and he wouldn't even be expecting it. He'd come like a good little spy, to be met with avada and a high-pitched laugh. Hermione tugged Harriet's head close to hers again. "Can you hide your mind?" she hissed. Harriet nodded. "Good. I think...that is, I'm pretty sure I can. I've been practicing occlumency on my own since fifth year. I hope I'm good enough. Ginny doesn't know much, so they can't see it in her mind."

Harriet nodded again. At least the wouldn't have to worry about Ginny- she didn't know about Robin, and was only vaguely aware that Severus was a member of the order. But Voldemort knew that too… he thought Severus was spying on Dumbledore and the side of the light for him. Ginny's sobs had finally subsided, leaving occasional tears and an empty look in her eyes. She watched the other two girls impassively, apparently without any curiosity about their discussions.

"What do you think they'll do to us?" Hermione asked fearfully.

"I think you probably know the answer to that," Harriet said shortly, getting to her feet, her muscles finally beginning to lose the ache of the body bind. She picked through the fabric in the centre of the room, revealing three blankets. One of the buckets in the corner was filled to the brim with water, with a cup hung from the side; the other was empty. She prowled around the walls, running her hands along them, but they were close fitted stone, and she felt nothing beneath her fingers. The lamps were set higher into the walls than she could reach, but there seemed nothing spectacular or unusual about them. There was no window, so that left only the door as a weak point. She ran her hands all around the jamb, but it was solid stone. A hefty kick to the door left her with nothing more than a stinging foot and a knowledge that it was thick, solid wood.

"What are you doing?" Ginny's voice was small, hoarse.

"Looking for a way out," Harriet said grimly. Yes, she might be dead to a flash of green light in a few hours, but she owed it to Robin to try.

"They'll know we're gone soon," Ginny pointed out. "They'll fetch us back."

Harriet rounded on Ginny with a snarl. "Who will, Ginny? Who will rescue us? We're in Malfoy Manor, an unplottable, heavily warded fortress, probably crawling with death eaters. Dumbledore can't just waltz in and ask Lucius Malfoy if we're visiting, because he seems to have misplaced us! Besides, they don't even know where we are; Zabini used a double portkey, which means a destination is almost impossible to track, even with the Hogwarts wards!"

"Well, maybe you don't have anyone who cares enough about you to come looking, but someone will come for me!" Ginny snapped. "I have a family who cares about me!"

"Girls!" Hermione cried before Harriet could even pick her jaw up off the floor. "This isn't helping anyone. The least you two could do is try to make amends."

"Hermione's right," Harriet said dejectedly. She couldn't find any weak spots in the fabric of the room. "There's no point arguing. It doesn't matter now, anyway." She picked up the blankets, tossing one each to Ginny and Hermione before making a cushion with hers and flopping down with it against a wall. She winced as she jostled her shoulder.

"What's up with your arm?" Ginny asked sulkily.

"I think I've broken my collarbone," Harriet replied, her tone flat. She leaned her head back against the wall. "It doesn't matter. I won't be feeling any pain soon enough."

"Don't talk like that, Harriet," Hermione pleaded softly. "There has to be some way. There's always a way."

"Let me know if you think of one," Harriet said. She closed her eyes, trying to forget that she was in some dank cell beneath Malfoy Manor. She should be at dinner now, or doing homework. She'd have seen Robin again tomorrow, he'd have held her whilst she fell asleep. He'd have kissed her, they'd have made love. She tried to imagine his hand on the back of her neck as he held her close for a kiss, but the feeling kept slipping before she could grasp it. Robin didn't belong in this place.

Ginny still sniffled occasionally. She'd curled up in a little ball under her cloak, resting her head on her scrunched up blanket. Harriet could almost sense the cogs turning in Hermione's head as she searched for something, anything, some hint of a plan. The best Harriet could currently think of was attempting to rush the door next time someone came in, hope it was Crabbe, and make a run for it. That, or suicide, but in a bare room, she couldn't think of many ways to kill herself. Had they still had chains connecting their manacles, they perhaps could have garrotted each other. That, though, was unpleasant thought, and would leave one of them alive. On reflection, death by avada seemed far preferable. At least it was quick. She just hoped that Voldemort didn't use the cruciatus curse too liberally beforehand. It would just have to fall to Neville to be the defeater of Voldemort, it seemed. She felt sorry for Neville now.

Time passed. How much was difficult to tell in the windowless room where the lamps burnt magically. The light never changed, but Harriet was hungry and dreaming of Hogwarts breakfast, and Ginny long had fallen asleep when Harriet lifted her head, hearing something beyond the regular breathing of her companions. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the heavy rasp of the bolt had Hermione looking up. She shared a look of apprehension with Harriet as the lock clicked. Harriet steeled herself for red eyes and a flash of green light.

The quiet tap of a cane on the floor heralded Malfoy. Even Ginny had opened her eyes, though she hadn't moved. As Malfoy crossed the threshold, the cuffs around wrists and ankles sprouted chains, long enough to allow them to keep their current positions. Crabbe held the door for the older man, shutting it swiftly behind them and standing against it. Harriet looked up warily, unsure. "Potter. Come," Malfoy snapped.

Harriet didn't move. She didn't exactly want to make anything easy for Malfoy. She didn't think it would make any difference to the length of her life, after all. Malfoy didn't seem to care: he'd probably expected defiance. He nodded towards her, and Crabbe surged forward, his hand grabbing for the chain between her wrists. She struck out, but failed to connect with anything as the manacles snapped together like strong magnets, keeping her arms bound before her. "Don't try that again, Potter," Lucius drawled. "I'll bind your feet too if I have need, and have you carried."

"What's to say I'll go anyway?" Harriet snapped, glaring up at him.

He lifted a shoulder in a smooth, languorous motion. "You've made your choice," he said, and her ankles snapped together with some force. She cried out in pain as Crabbe yanked against the link of chain at her wrists to bundle her into his arms like an unwilling animal.

"You're hurting her, you brute!" Hermione shouted, but neither man gave any indication they'd even heard.

Crabbe carried her out into a stone corridor as Malfoy locked the door again. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, trying to sound courageous, defiant, even, but she just felt frightened.

"To see the Dark Lord," Malfoy supplied. "So you should be on your best behaviour should you desire mercy."

Harriet snorted. Mercy? "I didn't think your master believed in mercy," she commented. Malfoy stayed quiet. Crabbe carried her up a set of stairs and through another door, which Malfoy unlocked by tapping at it with his cane. A magical lock then, quite possibly tied either to Malfoy or to his wand, which Harriet presumed to be inside the cane. How on earth had she even gotten herself into this situation? She'd never thought that Zabini would go this far, and she avoided being with him anyway. This was well planned, though… either Malfoy kept well-protected gaols as a matter of course, or it had been prepared for her. Blaise had carried portkeys to Malfoy Manor with him… and it sounded like Draco had as well. She wondered if Blaise had actually intended to kidnap her, all those months ago in the empty classroom. Draco had surely had opportunity too- like the late night in the library. Why hadn't he? If he had taken her then, at least Ginny and Hermione would have been safe, back at Hogwarts and not here, paying the price for her life.

On the other side of the magically-locked door, the surroundings became rather more sumptuous. The stone floor was replaced by thick cream carpets, the walls wainscoted in dark wood and covered in heavy green damask above. Harriet was surprised to see light slanting in the windows they passed- it was morning. No wonder she was hungry, she hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday.

They traversed a large marble hall with sweeping stairs, a formal drawing room of some kind, another corridor, then, finally, a study. Lucius tapped on the polished wooden door before pushing it open, Crabbe hanging back, having walked a step behind the Malfoy patriarch all the way. Malfoy dipped into a low bow. "My Lord, I have brought the Potter child."

"Bring her in, Lucius," Voldemort insisted, his voice low, sibilant. Harriet wanted nothing so much as to shut her eyes as Crabbe carried her in, then dropped her, none too gently, on the floor. The burgandy carpet was luxuriously thick, but she couldn't quite avoid a grunt of pain as she landed on her knees.

She looked resolutely at the ground, knowing that eye contact made legilimency much easier, and checked her shields. She needed to keep her thoughts realistice... Hogwarts. Yes. She should be at Hogwarts. She didn't understand why she was here. Lessons. Lessons were boring, she was too good for lessons. Someone like her didn't need lessons. She'd rather be playing quidditch, she was the best at that, and it was more fun. Her mind jumped erratically from the last practice, where one of her beaters had hit a bludger the full length of the pitch, to the match before, to a slightly drunken revel in the tower, and then to her empty stomach. She wanted food… roast chicken, maybe, or shepherd's pie. She liked the way the pie at Hogwarts always had lots of cheese…

Cold fingers slipped under her chin and yanked up, forcing her to meet blood-red eyes. Yes, cheese, Harriet thought, feeling the subtle stroke of a questing mind on hers. The white cheese was nicer than the red cheese, less oily. She didn't like red, not like those red eyes. She had to try not to be scared… only cowards were scared. Like Neville. Neville was a coward. She had to be brave… brave like her parents were.

Voldemort smiled. He actually smiled, showing odd, slightly pointed teeth and blood-red gums. The odd pressure of legilimency against Harriet's mind was gone, but still she kept her shields, thinking about how scared she was, but how she couldn't show it. "Changing your sex has not improved your intelligence," Voldemort murmured softly. He released her chin. "You have done well, Blaise. I am pleased with you."

"Thank you, my Lord," Blaise said. Harriet peered around, seeing him to her left and slightly back, his hands clasped before him. "I hope to serve you always."

"In good time, my boy," Voldemort told him. "You have a few months of schooling left yet. Have patience."

Blaise sank to his knees. "I do not see what more I can learn from Hogwarts. Please, Lord, I wish to follow you."

"I do not mark schoolchildren," Voldemort replied with a cold laugh. "Lucius knows this: he's begged me on bended knee to give his son the mark enough times. No; you are too vulnerable there, amongst your peers, under the watchful eye of Dumbledore, old fool that he is. If you were found to bear the mark, you would be a risk to me. Fear not, Blaise, you will be permitted to take the sign of my approval in the summer, at the same time of Draco. I reward those who are loyal to me, and those who bring me treasures."

A pale hand tangled in Harriet's dark hair, sending an involuntary shudder of revulsion down her spine. He tugged upwards. "Stand, girl," he hissed. She tried to obey, if just to relieve the horrid pulling on her scalp. Her bound hands and feet couldn't quite get into the right position, though, and Voldemort laughed, chortled at her misfortune. Even Malfoy chuckled, though a tilt of his cane towards her lengthened the chain, letting her stumble up.; Voldemort stepped back, looking her up and down. "Look at me," he instructed, then, as she didn't comply, slapped her across the face.

Harriet gasped, and, hoping that this was nearly over, that he would be quick, looked up into his unearthly-pale face, the blood red eyes standing out. He still had no nose, though he had grown hair since Harriet last saw him, even whiter than his skin, and wavy. He smiled, showing teeth again "Pretty little creature, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically; at least, Harriet hoped it was rhetorical. His intonation was strange, halting, like he was speaking in a foreign language. She didn't answer, and he didn't press. She kept her gaze on his forehead to avoid his deepset crimson eyes, still keeping her thoughts guarded and skittering, trying to emulate a frightened mind. It wasn't difficult; she was frightened, very frightened. She didn't feel any incursions into her mind, but everyone said Voldemort was one of the best legilimens. She might not know if he was trying to gain access to her mind. She wondered what was happening to Hermione and Ginny at this moment. Were they alone in the cell, or subjected to torture, or dead? She didn't bother hiding that thought.

Voldemort circled around her. She curled her hands into fists, wishing so very hard that she had her wand. She wanted to cry, remembering Malfoy burning it in front of her, but she couldn't show weakness like that, not now, not here. His freezing fingers trailed over her cheek, making her flinch, and he ghosted his hand over her hair. He caught her fringe in his hand, then pressed one long digit to her forehead, hard, right over her scar. Harriet gasped in pain, the dull headache that she'd had for hours blazing into icy agony. She tried to flinch back, break the connection, but to no avail. After a few seconds, Voldemort dropped his hand, leaving her with flashes in her vision and a pounding in her head.

Voldemort's next words made her gasp, and her blood run cold. "Strip her," he ordered. Immediately, Crabbe's meaty hands were grasping at the collar of her robe, tugging. She struck out at him, prompting another laugh from Voldemort. He grasped her wrists easily in an iron grip, his skin as cold as the metal of the cuffs. She'd have kicked, but her feet were still bound tightly enough that it was all she could do to keep her balance. Zabini stepped forward, a swish of his wand slicing through fabric and pulling it off her without needing to unfasten her chains. She closed her eyes in mortification as he pulled her robes away, then her blouse, leaving her standing in her skirt and bra. The undergarment fell away, and she let out a cry of mortification, straining her wrists against Voldemort's icy grip. Her skirt fell around her ankles, and Crabbe's fingers tucked beneath the waistband of her tights.

"Why can't you just kill me already?" Harriet ground out. "Leave me some fucking dignity."

"Oh, I have better plans than a quick death for you, girl," Voldemort hissed delightedly.