Book Three

Harry Potter, all related characters, and the original Harry Potter narrative are properties of J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 18
The Enemy's Servant

Harry tapped his familiar's shell twice as they approached the third-floor corridor, then slid his palm to the right.

Skipper slowed, padded spider feet making scarcely a sound on the rough stone of Hogwarts; following Harry's silent command, he slid up the right-hand wall, carefully rising above eye level for the sake of a stealthy approach.

Harry readied his wand, eyes scanning each hallway they passed. He could see a light in the corridor, quite near the door that had led to Voldemort and the Philosopher's Stone two years prior.

"Little minx," said a scratchy, judgmental voice. "Friends with Harry Potter, then?"

Someone coughed.

Hermione. Harry urged Skipper forward, forgetting stealth in the pressure of the moment.

"Out with it, then. You're the last of the little girls, you know."

Harry did not allow himself to wince.

"Just tell me what I want to know." The voice sliced across Harry's eardrum in a manner not entirely unlike a snake. "Where is ickle Harry?"

Good old Bellatrix, murmured Cynicism. Always quick to rage.

Harry set his jaw, refusing to respond to the growing memory of his scar. Skipper rounded the corner.

Bellatrix Lestrange had cornered Lavender Brown, and was holding the dark-skinned young woman against the wall of the corridor with magic. Lavender looked rather worse for wear - torn robes, smeared war paint, several bleeding scratches - but she held her chin high and proud, refusing to give in to an obviously unhinged sycophant of evil.

Not Hermione, Harry realized. She's got to be alright. She's rainbows. He pulled Skipper to a halt, just outside the circle of illumination that Lavender's discarded wand was giving off.

Bellatrix growled, throwing Lavender to the floor with a vicious twist of her wand. Then she laughed, and Harry was surprised, for the laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange was a clear and beautiful sound.m

That can't be right, Harry thought. Crazy evil ladies are supposed to have crazy evil laughter.

Things are not always so simple, young fool, chided Cynicism.

Bellatrix suddenly twitched, her gaze flitting to the corner where Harry and Skipper lay crouched on the wall. In that moment of distraction, Lavender slapped the older witch straight in the face with her left hand. The assault snapped Lestrange's head to the side, away from Harry's hiding place.

Right on! Harry crowed, keeping his exultation silent. He steadied his wand, snarling. "Stupefy!" A jet of red light shot out, aimed perfectly at Bellatrix' head.

She ducked.

Ghaah, never shout the spell, Harry rebuked himself. They always dodge when I shout the spell.

Lavender dove for her wand, doubling its brightness as her hand found purchase on the polished wood. "Protego!" she screamed, rolling to a half-crouch, and a scarcely-visible sheen of power filled the air between her and the unscathed Death Eater.

"Crucio!" Bellatrix countered, jabbing her wand through the thirteen-year-old girl's feeble defenses. Lavender dropped her wand again, howling in anguish and falling to the ground.-

Harry grimaced. What good was that? He nudged Skipper a few feet to the left, just in case Bellatrix had seen where his Stunner had fired from, and lined up for another shot.

"Dormire," he whispered, emitting a wave of irresistible fatigue. The woman swayed, the screaming stopped, and Lestrange, only half-asleep, fell sideways into the opposite wall. The impact jolted her fully awake again, prompting a half-curse from Harry. She must have had a shield up!

"Crucio!"

Skipper began convulsing, dropping from the wall; he landed badly, with Harry beneath him, twisting the boy's left arm something fierce. Harry screamed.

"Don't like that, do you, poppin? Don't like Auntie Bella's medicine?"

"Dormire Mortuus," Harry whispered, sending Skipper into an untouchable slumber. The spell took much more effort than the longer-ranged Simple Sleep Hex, and could only affect a single subject - not to mention the constant drain to the user's magic - but Harry preferred his familiar not be forced to endure any literally maddening magical torture. He'd have tried Num Mensis... if he'd wanted to experiment with deadening the nerves in anybody's brain. He screamed again, for effect.

"Oooh, it's invisible," cooed Bellatrix, inching closer to the disembodied screams.

"Finite Incantatem," Harry gasped, unsticking himself.

Bellatrix raised her wand again, pointing directly at Harry's liver. "Crucio."

Crud! Harry dove to the side as her spell manifested, screaming honestly as it grazed his side. He could see the smirk on her face - I've seen that face - could hear the cackle of delight, just as innocent as before. "Ventril..." Harry panted, unable to finish the incantation for lack of breath.

"Crucio."

This time, Harry didn't dodge. The sensation of every pain he'd ever felt, from the sharpness of a stubbed toe all the way up to the blinding lightning he'd felt facing Voldemort's spirit-thing in the castle's depths, rushed through him in horrific simultaneity.

Bellatrix leaned down as he thrashed in genuine anguish, pulling his precious cloak away. "No..."

"Grumpy, isn't he." Bellatrix folded the cloak into an uneven bundle, stuffing it into her tiny purse.

Extension charms, Harry realized. She probably has weapons in there.

"Expelliarmus," quipped his tormentor, divesting him of his wand and the two knives he'd managed to grab on his way out of the Thunder Room. "Not much. Ickle Potter himself, innit? Weren't you the one calling for my blood?"

Harry pushed himself to a half-sitting position, quickly cataloguing his remaining assets. Secret mist power, unkillable magic scar, ghost pepper shaving cream, quick thinking. "That'd be Neville," he informed her as his left arm buckled. The floor was most unfriendly to his chin, which was disappointing, as they'd already been introduced.

Bellatrix hmmmmed. It wasn't the sort of hmmmm that Harry had grown to associate with interrogation, battle, or even deep thought; rather, it was the sort of hmmmm that Harry had heard Aunt Petunia use when confronted with a particularly fetching piece of useless triptych.

Harry felt a lump just below his left armpit. And one Beretta special. He heard footsteps coming from behind Bellatrix.

"Maybe I'll have time to play... with him," she whispered, leaning down 'til her lips tickled Harry's ear. "After I dispose of... you."

What, she doesn't know the prophecy?

"Crucio."

Bellatrix was never one for details, Cynicism sighed, as Harry screamed again, submerged in all remembered pain. So long as she sticks to my favorite for the finish, we'll both be fine.

Sweet mercy flowed into Harry's savaged mind as Bellatrix removed her wand.

What's your game, Cynicism?

That, Harry's scar replied with the most self-satisfied mental voice Harry could have imagined, is a secret.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't you dare belittle me!" Bellatrix shrieked, pointing her crooked wand at Harry's left eye. "Avada-"

"Expelliarmus!"

Bellatrix whirled, raising her arms in a futile effort to block, but her wand was torn from her grasp by Neville's charm.

"Looks like I got here just in the nick of time," Neville smiled, looking past Bellatrix to where Harry and Skipper lay mostly broken. "Now, what does that make me?"

"Duck!" Harry blurted. Neville looked confused for about one half-second, then snapped a Shield Charm into place just in time to deflect Bellatrix' first hurled dagger.

"Not a duck," Neville pouted, before turning to fight his most hated foe in earnest. "Stupefy!"

Harry groaned in frustration. Bellatrix was dodging - almost without effort - every spell, hex and loose rock that Neville threw at her, getting closer to her wand with every step.

"Dormire!" Neville shouted, sweeping his wand sideways to ensure catching the psychotic woman in the spell's effect. Bellatrix dove for her wand, laughing, while he was still swishing through the windup, and easily negated Neville's sure-fire finishing move with a lazy dip of her own lethal instrument.

Harry wormed his right arm under his robes, across his aching ribs, and into his holster. I really hope I left this thing loaded.

Children with guns? drawled Cynicism. How horrific.

Bellatrix raised her wand in triumph, savoring the moment as Neville realized just how outmatched he truly was. Harry had to admit, the sight of Neville losing his last shred of hope was one he wouldn't soon forget. He had the pistol in his grip, flailing his leg to try to get a better angle - and to get his torso off his arm.

"Crucio!" cackled Bellatrix, deliberately missing Neville. The spray of sparks as the curse struck stone made Harry's herbologically-talented friend jump, pushing him towards the corner.

Neville rallied, momentarily encouraged by Bellatrix' apparent bad aim. "Expelli-"

"Crucio!" sang Bellatrix, again missing deliberately. The sparks shot out just above Neville's head, however, and he lost his spell as he flinched from sheer proximity. Bellatrix laughed again, and for the third time Harry was amazed by the impossible purity of the sound.

"Enough." Neville set his jaw, striding forward implacably.

"Crucio," Bellatrix hissed, losing all semblance of innocence and beauty. Her face was purely predatorial, fixed on her prey; Harry rolled to his back, freeing the Beretta.

The curse struck home, knocking Neville from his feet, and he cried out as he fell. Bellatrix smiled all the way to her eyes, dancing a bit from foot to foot. "You, you're fun," she crowed. "Not like ickle Potty, all tricks and failing. You have the good stuff!"

Neville pushed himself to his feet, pulling a small frog from one pocket. He said nothing.

"Ooooh, I'm going to enjoy this! Let's play, oh," Bellatrix clasped her hands, swooning a bit. "Let's do play. Crucio."

Neville rocked back, screaming, but somehow managed to keep from falling. Harry raised his little pistol, trying to balance its unfamiliar weight while aiming upside-down at a moving target behind his head. He noticed a rather haggard expression on Neville's face when the spell of ultimate torture receded.

click

Not loaded?

"Crucio!" Neville fell to one knee, still holding the little frog in his left hand, his wand tumbling from unfeeling fingers. Bellatrix laughed again - this time, though, an edge of insanity finally crept into her formerly dulcet peals. Neville screamed.

That's been bothering me this whole time, Harry sighed. He checked his Godfather's gift, just in case it had instructions printed on the side. I'd really rather not have to resort to throwing this bloody thing.

Neville retched as Bellatrix released her curse, vomiting onto the bloodstained stones. "Enough," he uttered, still ten meters from Bellatrix. "Enough."

"Crucio!" Harry squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he had something he could actually use properly to at least distract the murderess in a tattered dress standing half a stone's throw away from him. Yet as he was - one leg, his left arm most likely dislocated, wandless, with a gun he didn't quite understand - the monstrous invader was perfectly safe.

The safety.

Harry thumbed the inconsequential little lever, aimed again, and squeezed.


NOISE

Bellatrix flinched, just as Neville had done at her well-missed curse, as Harry's first shot struck the stone ceiling above her.

I keep forgetting how loud these things are.

Neville was staring at him in shock.

LOUD

Harry winced away from the muzzle flash, the second shot going wide behind Bellatrix. The sheer volume seemed to be making a difference, at least. Neville lurched to his feet, quickly closing the distance between them.

CRACK

Bellatrix whirled, staring at Harry and his mini metal noisemaker, then dismissed him as irrelevant. She leveled her wand at Neville, who was mere steps away.

Sklurch

Harry's fourth shot, by some miracle, struck Bellatrix Lestrange across the shoulder. Her aim fouled, she was unable to stop Neville from...

What?

Keep watching, evil scar voice, Harry mumbled, a bit bleary from injury and recent torture. Things are about to get reeeeeeally interesting.

Neville held out his left hand, presenting Bellatrix with a cute little acid-green frog.

Bellatrix was, for the first time she could remember, confused. The novel sensation of not knowing what was happening didn't last long, however, as Neville's harmless little frog exploded into a whirl of color and motion, resolving into none other than Voldemort himself.

"My- my lord-"

Voldemort - in fact Geraldine, Neville's new Boggart - sneered condescendingly. "I do not recall giving you permission to kill today, pet."

"I-" Bellatrix' expression, as far as Harry could see it reflected in the faux-Voldemort's eyes, fell from adoration to terror. "You wanted the boy dead-"

"By my hand," the pale figure snapped, striking Bellatrix hard enough to knock her off her feet. She raised a hand to her face, cradling the injury. Harry was certain there would be bruising.

"I'm sorry, Lord," Bellatrix stammered, sinking into a subservient grovel. "I'm so sorry."

"Dormire." Lestrange collapsed to the floor, actually asleep this time. Neville, meanwhile, grabbed the faux-Voldemort by the scruff of its hairless neck, shaking it out into a harmless-looking ribbon. "Probably shouldn't have done that."

Harry gave the lad a sideways thumb of approval. "Big hero," he wheezed, flicking the safety to 'on' again.

"Aren't I just," Neville agreed, aiming his wand at Bellatrix' head again. "Stupefy."

Harry glanced at Skipper, whose body had shrunk as Harry had been tortured, and was just beginning to awaken. "Better than I." He let sleep consume his consciousness. The Aurors could handle the rest.


Harry awoke in the hospital wing, which was not even slightly surprising. Somewhat more surprising was the robust witch puttering about with the stump of his right leg.

The woman was large, muscular, and more than a bit squarish. She was clad in sturdy leather, with a blackish, oily sheen to it that Harry suspected came from working with machinery.

"How long?"

"It's been about four hours," Sirius told him. "Kingsley and Snape took care of most of them. Sparkles was indispensable for stopping the Dementors, Harry. I'm proud of you."

Harry thought it was a bit out of place for Sirius to be smiling like that just four hours after an unprecedented attack on the supposedly impregnable fortress of Hogwarts. "How-"

"Those," Madam Pomfrey told him, bustling up with a large mug of steaming, fetid potion. She indicated a small medallion sitting beside Harry's bed - he recalled seeing one like it on Bellatrix, though it hadn't seemed important at the time. "Drink up."

"Those-"

"Ministry authorization medallions," Sirius explained. "A few decades ago, when Grindelwald was really getting into the swing of evil, there was a big security scare - so they put these useless trinkets together. They're free-for-all passkeys into Hogwarts, the Ministry, you name it. I hate them."

"Never got one?"

"Never," Sirius confirmed, scowling furiously.

"Heh."

Poppy pushed the putrid potion into his empty hands. "Drink, Harry."

Harry tossed back about half the potion before his tongue rebelled. "Eugh."

"Finish it," Sirius warned. "Poppy's medicine is always exactly what you need."

Harry tried to persuade Madam Pomfrey otherwise with a plaintive look. It failed. "Alright. Sirius, can I get a Num Lingua?"

Poppy quashed that plan with a mere frown.

"Darn." Harry tried another swallow, failed, and spat the slimy mouthful back into his mug. "Eeeech. Medallions?"

"I thought they decommissioned all of them after, well, you happened," Sirius explained. "I guess Bellatrix had a few floating around, somewhere." He glanced at Harry's bedside. "You used the Beretta?"

"Er, yeah. Hard to aim it upside-down, but it's loud enough it didn't matter." Harry looked at the squarish woman again. "Who's she?"

"She- Right!" Sirius exclaimed, jumping from the stool at Harry's bedside. "Harry, meet Finola Finley, your prosthesis specialist."

"Fionnuala Fionnlagh," the woman clarified.

Sirius nodded. "Right. Finola. She's the best in all Scotland, you know."

Fionnuala sighed, muttering "dobber." She tightened something on Harry's leg. "Tha's near set, then. Step easy," she admonished Harry, waving a solid finger in his face, "or you're like to harm it worse."

"Thanks," Harry accepted, trying to see what she'd done to his leg.

Fionnuala turned to Sirius, wearing an expression that would brook no foolishness. "I'll be gettin' the good leg from Shernle in a week. Make sure this 'un don't break afore then."

Sirius saluted her, standing to rapt attention. His form was impeccable.

"Ten Galleon charge for mocking, Mister Black," warned Fionnuala, stumping out of the hospital wing.

"Tough customer," Sirius commented, relaxing into his usual indolent posture again.

Harry sniggered.

"Finish your potion."


"Sirius, where's my Cloak?"

Sirius hesitated. "The Hallow?"

"The what?"

"The- your Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry nodded. His wand, Skipper, and the Beretta had been at his bedside table - apparently Madam Pomfrey wasn't familiar with handguns - but Harry hadn't seen his Invisibility Cloak since Bellatrix had taken it.

Well it is an invisible-

Shut it, Cynicism.

"When did you last see it?" Sirius smirked.

Harry sighed. "Never, or in Bellatrix' purse. It's bigger on the inside."

Sirius blinked. "Harry, Bellatrix didn't have a purse."

"What? No, she-"

"She's right over here," Sirius added, pulling back a curtain to Harry's left. Sure enough, there lay Bellatrix Lestrange, looking almost angelic despite the heavy iron manacles around her wrists. At some point in the past four hours, someone had apparently bathed her and given her a clean hospital gown - probably the first clean clothing she'd had since Voldemort's first fall.

Harry fell out of his bed, away from Lestrange.

"She's sleeping, you know."

"She's evil!"

"Agreed," Sirius nodded, "but quite well secured. She'll be in St. Mungo's by dinnertime." He let the curtain fall. "All she had on her, aside from the wand and the medallion, were these nasty licorices."

Harry blinked. "No little bag?"

"No little bag. Explains her teeth, though."

Subtle despair blossomed in the depths of Harry's stomach. "Then my - my father's-"

Sirius twitched. "Harry, I didn't realize-"

"It's all I have of them." Harry shook his head. "Had." He felt Sirius' arm around his shoulders.

"Not all."

Harry looked up at the scruffy old man. The legendary outlaw, the former Marauder - "YOU!"

"Me." Sirius blinked a few tears away, hugging Harry a bit tighter. "And Hagrid, Remus, McGonnagal," he added, smiling. "Even greasy old Snape."

"Their friends."

"Their friends." The loss of an ancient family heirloom didn't seem quite so bad in that light.

"But where did the bag go?"

Sirius shrugged. "I'll check the corridor again," he promised, "but I'd guess it was enchanted to take her booty back to whoever wasn't attacking us."

Harry swore.

"Normally I'd cuff you for that," Sirius confided. "But it's justified."

"NO SWEARING IN THE HOSPITAL!" came the voice of Poppy Pomfrey.

Sirius cringed.

"So," Harry said, speaking slowly. "You're telling me that the Death Eaters have my Invisibility Cloak."

Sirius sat for a moment, pondering that. "Bloody HELL!"

"SIRIUS BLACK," Poppy shouted, storming into the room. Sirius leapt out the window.