Chapter 11: Bloody Manor

Harry heard the whooshing sound of the broom and reached out just before it lobbed itself into his head, using his injured arm, of course. A fresh wave of agony caused him to drop the broom and he bent over, clutching the arm to his chest. Nausea kept him completely still. There were echoes coming from down the hallway now, voices raised in anger and he listened as he waited, incapacitated for nearly a minute-a Disillusioned, yellowish figure shaking on the mirrored floor. Death Eaters were coming; Tom was here; and the potion was wearing off-things were not looking good.

Eventually, the more familiar pain from his scar overrode everything else and Harry could straighten, though very slowly. With a sigh, he took his wand, forced the pain down, and tapped the broom to Disillusion it. This time, the charm worked completely, rendering the broom camouflaged into the mirror behind it. Harry climbed to his feet and laid it back against the wall carefully, noting the place. He could not lose it. Without it there would be no escape from this house of stone and shadow. A shudder ran through him.

Harry's next problem was his wand. Bereft of his usual robes, or even Muggle pants, his mind was uncomfortably blank on options of where to keep his wand, and Lucius', safely. His mind was well and truly muddled now, whether from the pain in his scar, or his arm, or from fatigue, or whatever. There was nothing for it. He tossed Lucius' wand through the doorway and into the hall, wishing vehemently that he knew how to destroy it, or knew of some deep, dark hole to throw it in. He tucked his own under his arm.

As he fumbled at the waist of his pajama bottoms, a flare of dizziness took his breath. Harry stopped, took a deep breath, and leaned back against the cold, mirrored wall to steady himself. His fingers found the string wound through the waist of Dudley's cast-off pajamas and tugged. He'd added the string to the threadbare things himself to help keep them on. As it was, they still rode ridiculously low and Harry flushed dully as he jerked them up and re-tied the string tight enough to hold his wand in his waistband. He tried not to think of how many people had seen him dressed like this tonight.

The voices were growing more distinct now, and seemed closer. Snape had gone to Tom, obviously, because he had to, but would he now try to misdirect the Death Eaters? Harry wouldn't bet his life on it-he had to get moving.

As Harry grabbed the broom, a slight tremor shook him. Though his head was better, coldness flowed from head to toe and the pain from everywhere and nowhere had suddenly blossomed. It was going to be difficult to fly. He settled the broom between his legs, sending a quick "Scourgify!" to clean the floor of his bloody footprints. Then he pushed off from the ground, taking it easy and floating slowly through the door upwards toward the ceiling. As he headed far above the torchlights, the air around him grew dark with quiet shadows and Harry relished the feeling of safety.

Ahead there were a surprising number of archways and support beams crossing the ceiling. Harry eased up a bit higher until he was floating above all but the topmost support arches in the ceiling and then carefully eased himself forward. One fall would finish him.

Footsteps were clanging eerily about the hallway now. Suddenly below there was a familiar dark figure with limp, black hair striding towards the dueling room. Behind him were five more Death Eaters, all masked. Harry tried to turn and watch, but his balance was far too precarious.

In a moment, Snape's voice rang out with impatience. "Potter's gone. I should never have expected-Get Lucius up. Get him up, I said."

Several voiced babbled and then there was a clear, "Finite Incantatem!"

"Where is Potter?"

After a moment, Lucius' voice drawled out from deep within the room. "He summoned a broom of my son's. The idiot must be flying around the mansion somewhere. Find him! Accio wand!"

Harry shut his eyes briefly. Why hadn't he been more quiet? They didn't know he could do a Disillusionment Charm, but it wouldn't be long before they'd figure it out and he'd be an easy, slow-moving, yellow target.

Far below, the figures caught up and strode ahead of him. Lucius was wiping at his face with a handkerchief and talking in a low, furious voice to Severus. Then he turned to the Death Eaters behind. "Check the rooms, you fools!"

The five backtracked and split into the rooms. The first large door was thrown open with such a loud clang that lights exploded in Harry's head. He veered off course and hit the wall. Eyes closed, only the sensation of falling registered and Harry fought to control the broom. With a painful jerk, the broom recovered and flew upwards again, but Harry's head was ringing so badly that he could not continue.

Ahead, there was a small atrium where one wing of the house intersected the main hallway. The ceiling of the atrium was elevated above the smaller hallway, and where the two met, a decorative carving of gargoyles jutted out in a semi-circle between two enormous columns. Behind their heads was a small, dark space that looked wide enough to hold a person.

Harry flew into a wash of light and noise which he ignored the best he could and made for the carving. No spells were being thrown-so far, so good.

Up close, the gargoyles glared malevolently at the floor with surprising realism as they perched in a semi-circle over the entrance to the smaller hallway. They didn't move, though Harry half-expected them to.

He aimed the broom up over their heads and came down to rest in an absolute nest of cobwebs. Spiders were skittering all around him as he slid clumsily off his broom and sent up a mist of dust. He pulled at the cobwebs, coughing quietly into his hand, tasting the blood he had forgotten was there, willing himself not to pass out. The effects of the Cruciatus were gaining on him, and the noise around him seemed to have a horrible, elevated effect, though the potion still subdued the pain somewhat. Otherwise, Harry had a strong suspicion that he wouldn't be moving at all.

After a time, the noise from below eased and the pain, except for the scar, died down. He was safe for now, still bleeding invisibly, still in pain, cobwebs clinging to him everywhere, but he didn't care. After sneezing a few times quietly but painfully, Harry thought to try another whispered, "Scourgify." The dust disappeared and he could breathe much easier.

Below, it was easy to pick out the sounds of those searching for him. They had apparently expected him to be able to get a lot farther than he had. But it wouldn't be long before they searched the high places. Surely the Malfoys had other brooms.

Harry needed to get out of this-

A flaring pain made Harry grasp at his head and stifle a cry. Tom was livid, and it felt like knives were piercing his skull. It was a half a minute before the pounding stopped. Harry's arm throbbed and warm drops slid down to his elbow. He looked to the stone below him, where red drops were gathering, starting to pool. It might start out Disillusioned, but as soon as it left his body, the blood became visible again.

How much could he possibly have left? There must have been a replenishment tonic in the potion that Snape gave him. Maybe that was why his body had burned so badly at first. He wondered at that, settling against the stone wall. How had Snape known what to give him? How had he known to come at all?

It must have been George. George had seen the cut before the Portkey had been activated. And Mad-Eye as well.

But then again, perhaps . . . perhaps this had always been the plan if Tom got hold of Harry. Snape would feign wanting to join in, or actually would join the other Death Eaters in the torture if need be, but then manage to find an excuse to give Harry something to help him. It made sense.

And Snape had done it so well that Lucius hadn't suspected a thing. Neither had Harry. He had been questioning Snape's loyalty to Dumbledore right up until the time that he had Summoned Harry's wand. And even after that point, Harry had questions. It was confusing, to say the least: was Snape's behavior toward him at school genuine or feigned? Which of his attitudes here was the real one-the one who was disappointed at missing the torture, or the one that was willing to risk his life to help Harry? Could it be both? Did Harry really want to know?

He sighed and laid his head back against the wall, turning it slightly to avoid the tender area. He had no idea which Snape was the true one. It was just as confusing as Draco's sudden turn around, if that's what it had been.

It had seemed like Draco had been trying to help Harry, but then-what an idiot! He had sent an owl, his own owl, to warn Harry? As if his father or the other Death Eaters wouldn't notice? Even Ron had recognized that owl-

No . . . wait-Draco wasn't that stupid. He was cunning, if nothing else. That owl must have been sent by Lucius, a precursor to the handkerchief portkey incident, which Harry was still convinced that Draco hadn't known about. At least . . . he didn't think so.

Then Harry couldn't think at all.

Pain seared across his scar and his whole body convulsed in response. Hate, powerful hate was digging in, taking root and-

Harry arched against the wall. Tom was trying to see-

No!

Tom was prying, pushing, scrabbling in Harry's mind. He wanted to know where Harry was-he wanted him-his mind-

He was trying to possess him again.

Harry scrambled through the horrendous pain for that one memory-

Amid the furious onslaught which felt like a thousand of Snape's Legilimens curses, it seemed so fragile, so precious-

Other memories were leaking out of Harry's mind so quickly that he barely saw them: shoved against the wall by Dudley; sobbing in the corner; Hermione petrified; "Kill the spare."; Sirius falling; Lucius' cruel grin; "Crucio" again and again-

Harry lifted his wand. "Procclumis!"

The memories stopped; the gray screen went up; and Harry was entering the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny lay on a heap on the floor, looking pale as he turned her over.

Another jolt of pain as Tom rejoiced over the image and the misery Harry had felt. But then it all changed.

Harry was defying Riddle's younger self, hearing Fawkes' beautiful song and fighting the basilisk. Fawkes healed him, and Harry stabbed the diary. Riddle died, horribly and painfully. Harry was triumphant. Ginny awoke. And then Ron, the rest of the Weasleys greeting him, so thankful. Then Dumbledore's pride in him-that warm flood of relief and-love.

It filled Harry's heart until the ache became overwhelming. The pressure left his head in a sudden lurch. Disoriented, Harry clapped his hands over his ears when a wailing screech filled the hallway, echoed in his throbbing scar.

The sound went on and on, until the agony in Harry's head overtook the blessed memory. He faded, as did the voice. Then perfect silence reigned. Seconds later, Harry stirred against the stone, tucked his wand back in his waistband, and gripped the broom shakily. It was now or never. He stood, though bent over by the inclined wall, and mounted the broom. Tom was still reeling from the Procclumency attack and the Death Eaters were probably stunned by his weakness.

So Harry flew.

Not very fast and not very stylishly. Instead, he settled for safely and in a straight line, past the small atrium and heading in the direction Snape had come from. Harry didn't want to take any chances of getting trapped into a back corner. He could still feel the warm blood dripping down his arm and the chill settling deep in his bones. He forced himself to keep both hands on the stick, though the weeping blood and the twinges from his scar made it difficult.

As he drew closer to a larger atrium up ahead, voices grew clear.

"Find him!"

"My Lord! I don't understand. What has he-"

"Imbeciles! It does not matter! He is here! FIND HIM!" The roar and the clattering of feet on the stone floor echoed endlessly around the hallway and Harry clenched his teeth. Just past the stone arch ahead, Harry could see Lucius striding out of into the hallway. He was walking jerkily, every movement agitated. He raised his wand.

"LUMOS MAXIMUS!" A bright, white light shot down the hallway and burned away the shadows in front of and around Harry. Except for one-his shadow.

"There!" Lucius cried out.

Harry panicked. He jetted to the wall where an arch across the hall, held his broom vertically and slid down onto the cold stone, angling his feet to fit. He had to make his shadow disappear. Carefully, he leaned back against the wall and eased down until his knees almost met his chest. The drop below was stunning. Harry pressed his feet hard, one in front of the other, wedging himself in place between the wall and the arch, feeling that he might pitch off at any second. But he didn't. The stone arch slid upwards in front of him, casting a thin, dark shadow on the wall.

Harry sucked in a deep, but quiet breath, feeling the warmth of his folded-up body. He shivered. By looking down past his knees, he could see Lucius peering toward the ceiling, his wand light growing even brighter.

"I saw something moving over there! Find him!"

Harry definitely wasn't moving now; he wasn't where Lucius was pointing; and he had his back to the wall, giving almost no room for the light to cast a shadow behind him. But Lucius knew Harry had a broom, that he was injured and that he was trying to escape. It was only a matter of time before he figured out why he couldn't see him as well. Only a matter of time.

Harry slowly moved his head to the other side, feeling his sense of vertigo increase greatly with the movement. A stream of Death Eaters were walking with wands raised, peering dumbly at the ceiling of the ridiculously long hallway. It wasn't a simple matter to see anything in the space littered with archways and decorative carvings and broken by several atriums.

"Slowly, slowly," Lucius purred, now adopting the attitude of a predator closing in on his prey. "He is here, somewhere. Go slowly. Nott-get those brooms now."

"FIND HIM!" roared Tom from somewhere ahead. Harry's head was speared with new agony. His leg muscles, forced into such awkward use, started to tremble. He reached below and clung to the arch with a white-knuckled hand. The other hand, his right, held on to his broom.

He could hold on for a while longer, just a little while. Beyond that, he couldn't bear to think.

Then he felt it-a little warm trail of blood running down his arm. Bleeding again.

In seconds, drops were hurtling down through the bright white, betraying him like soundless cries, sacrificing themselves to splatter darkly on the stone floor far below. Harry slowly pulled his right arm in and cradled it, feeling the warmth of his own essence slide across his stomach. The broom he laid along the arch, very carefully, and held it with his left hand. Apparently, he just wasn't going to get a rest.

An oily voice just below Harry grated on his nerves. "Lucius, perhaps he is capable of the Disillusionment Charm." Snape. What was he doing? "If he has, then we may never catch him," he went on.

"Always so eager to give up, aren't we, Severus? Always so eager to tattle, still the eight-year-old child who was locked in the basement for a month by his parents."

Snape sneered. "Always so ready to face the truth, unlike some of us, Lucius, who like to bend reality to play little mind games. Potter has gotten away, which doesn't speak well of your dueling ability, now does it? I left you with a cowering, injured, defenseless boy and I come back to see you as helpless as a Longbottom."

Blood was beginning to gather at Harry's elbow, and feeling as if it might go plunging off to land on Snape's head at any second. Why did he have to stand directly below?

Lucius lowered his wand and moved forward until he was face to face with Snape. "You are in my manor, Severus. Never forget that."

"Of course not. And yet, isn't it ironic that Potter has managed to turn the vast grandness of your own manor against you?"

Harry's grip was weakening. If they didn't move, then he would be taking off right over their heads.

"Ironic, yes. But he will be found and brought to the Dark Lord as my prize. Something you have been distinctly unable to accomplish in your five bumbling years at the same school with the brat."

Harry slid the broom into position and started to straighten his cramped and trembling legs. Long before he was ready, his left hand loosened its grip and he fell sideways. He sprawled out in the air for long seconds, dropping like a stone until he got his broom under him again. Then it kicked in and he zoomed ahead, faster than he dared to go before. Had he made any noise? He didn't think he-

"Potter!"

"Get him!"

Harry bent low over the broom and ducked down under the remaining arches, followed by a volley of spells. He blew into the large atrium and veered around a chandelier that was as big as the Dursleys sedan. He flew dizzily around it, a glow of yellow circling the bright chandelier, feeling as if his head had been somehow left behind in the rush. Shouts came from all sides and spells blew in every direction, destroying walls, furniture-everything.

They couldn't see him, he was sure of it. But there were so many of them that he still had to dodge. Looking out as he circled, he saw that the atrium was surrounded by five rooms, each of a completely different nature. The one across from the hallway was the foyer, leading to the enormous front door. Two Death Eaters were stationed there, wands raised, watching the activity with masks off, their faces too blurred to make out.

In another room, Harry barely made out the form of Tom sitting in a chair, yelling something to everyone, striking out at the small, cowering figure in front of him. Harry looked at them so long that he veered away from the approaching wall only at the last second.

A flood of triumph filled him; Tom was so weak he couldn't stand. It had worked.

With a sudden clarity of thought, Harry shot for the darkest room. He cut right and dodged a green curse as he sped into what must have been the Malfoys' library. The darkness came, as Harry had predicted, from an enormous picture window full of the dark night outside.

"There!" Bellatrix screeched and several more shouts rang out. Harry's yellow light was easier to see in the dark and curses peppered the air. He circled the room just once, dodging as if he was in a Quidditch game, tempting fate and debating once more as to whether the glass would be unbreakable from the inside or not.

Not, he thought.

He jerked back to the left, accelerated and at the last second, threw an arm over his face. There was a flash of red, an explosion of glass and a concussion of sharp pains from the front, and then he was out in the cold air, leaving loud alarms ringing behind.

He clung to the broom, shivering, grateful to be alive and whole. The wind rushed by as he soared toward the moon, watching the ground fall away at a steep angle. He soon leveled out and found himself high above the trees.

For some time, he thought he might black out-the buzzing in his head was so loud, and the pain, overwhelming. Tom was furious. The chill in his body let him know that the potion had worn off, and the shaking in his limbs agreed. Harry finally had to give in and hold his right arm in to his side, steering with his left. The cold air made his mind feel sharper. With clarity, he now recalled Snape's words that Aurors were coming to rescue him, and he almost turned around.

But Snape had also told him to escape, and without Harry, the Death Eaters had no leverage. Since Tom was too much of a coward to stay for a fair fight; he would have Apparated out by now. The fight would be clean and fierce, but it would be over soon. They could win without Harry, and since he was safe, there would be no reason to stay and fight. He just hoped they found out quickly that he wasn't there. Maybe Snape would find a way.

Harry noticed a roadway beneath him and started to follow it half-heartedly. Where was Malfoy Manor located, anyway? For some reason, he wanted to say near London, but then, he wasn't sure why he thought that.

If he could just get to London, he could find his way to number 12 Grimmauld Place. Someone should be there. Of course, there was something wrong in his thinking, but he was simply too tired to re-think it. The cold had gone beyond sharpening his mind to numbing it. So Harry followed the road, ignoring the trembling in his limbs and the way his eyes were closing on their own.

At least until he jerked awake painfully and found himself drifting lower, almost in a forest. How was he still flying? At least his scar had dulled down again.

When several roads joined the one he was following, he started to go faster-a wild, exhausted desperation taking over. His teeth were chattering. Just about the time Harry's left hand and face went numb, he saw the beginnings of the city.

Houses bulked together in neighborhoods and neighborhoods joined to make suburbs and suddenly, Harry was looking at the outskirts of London, at fog and tall buildings with twinkling lights and-

The Underground? Paddington Station?

With vague thankfulness for the Disillusionment Charm, Harry started to follow the landmarks until he found a familiar road near Grimmauld, one that Mr. Weasley had pointed out to him on their return trip from the Ministry. He was vaguely surprised that he remembered it.

The trembling exhaustion that had been coming and going for what seemed like hours took hold again. Harry found himself slowing down to a near stop as he turned onto the street. Narrowly missing a streetlamp, he nudged his way ahead until the houses at number eleven and thirteen came clear. He focused on the passwords in his mind and-nothing at all happened.

Harry lowered to the street and dropped with a clatter as his legs refused to hold him up. There he sat, heaving cold, relieved breaths. The air felt warmer here; the wind was still.

The pain in his scar had faded, but with the potion out of his system, the pains in his body had righted themselves. All of his muscles ached from the extended Cruciatus; his face and abdomen were bruised from blows, the back of his head from several meetings with the floor; and though the cold air had finally staunched the flow of blood, his arm was throbbing fit to be cut off. He didn't know if he could do this.

Taking another deep breath, he concentrated again, shoving his thoughts behind the gray screen in his mind, clearing away the desperation and latent fear. Instead, he focused on the words Lupin had had him memorize last summer, the location of the Order of the Phoenix.

And then, with a sudden, wonderful pop, the house appeared and Harry's face held a vacant, pleasant smile. Until he remembered whose house it was and the sudden pang made him double over, grimacing. Sirius. He wanted more than anything to have Sirius there, to yell at him for being stupid and yell at him for worrying him and then grouse around, sulking about being locked up. But no-it wasn't possible.

Harry sucked in a breath and looked up. He couldn't leave the house open like that. He needed to move-now.

He was going to have to walk up those stairs.

Weakness dragged at Harry as he made a supreme effort to move to his hands and knees. His right arm collapsed under him, nearly landing him on his face. He'd forgotten about it already. He tried again, this time with his slowly defrosting left arm alone and somehow pushed up enough to get his legs up under him. He stood like a thin reed in the wind, swaying with dizziness. With a leaning first step, he stumbled for the house.

Each step was harder than the one before and jarred his injuries painfully. But just as he started up the stairs, a strange light-headedness took over. He couldn't feel the ground under him, or the door as he reached for it. He felt warm and safe, as if he were floating on clouds.

The well-lit but silent house flickered in and out of his vision. Behind his eyes played a different environment on a gray screen-stone, with a large, grimy statue of Salazar Slytherin overhead.

He thought he might collapse, but the curious, light feeling buoyed him all the way into the den. There were signs of hasty leavings all over, in the over-turned chairs, the magazines scattered, and the fire that still burned. Ginny wasn't there. But then she wouldn't be, would she?

Harry stood still for a moment, swaying. "Hello?"

There was a muffled sound, but then only silence. Harry tottered over to the couch. As he sank gratefully, painfully into its depths-noting that everything around was wavering into darkness and stone again-a muffled, angry-sounding voice caught his ear. He couldn't call out, couldn't speak a word. Fatigue lay on him like a thick, wet blanket, weighting him down in the darkness.

Just before he drifted off, he thought of his Disillusionment Charm. He nearly laughed. Ginny must be hiding. He had scared her. His Procclumency had driven Tom away and now she was scared because she couldn't see him in this dark place.

With a heavy hand, he pulled out his wand, tapped himself and felt the cold trickles as he became visible once more. Several gasps sounded and footsteps headed his way.

"Harry!"

Ron's hoarse cry jerked Harry's eyelids back open and he looked up into the pale face of his best friend. Puzzled, he tried to speak, but couldn't. "Where the bloody hell are your glasses?" Ron croaked out after a moment.

"Out of the way, Ron!" Ron was moved bodily aside and then another freckled, red-haired Weasley took his place. This one moved so quickly that it was a few seconds before Harry knew who the red blur was. "Harry, is this your worst injury, here, on your arm?" Ginny looked at his face with fierce eyes.

Harry blinked slowly to say "yes." Ginny started wiping away at the blood with a soft cloth and he distantly heard her ordering Ron to get something. His arm hurt, and he wanted to tell her to knock it off, that Fawkes should be here soon, but something was pulling him away . . .

He was fading, like he had once before, in the Chamber of Secrets. But this time, Ginny was alive and she was the one crying on him, healing him-not Fawkes. Harry wasn't sure if he had already stabbed the diary or not. He felt terrible, and terribly confused. Why was Ron here? He found just enough strength to whisper, "Ginny."

"What is it, Harry?" She was crying.

No. He wanted her to feel better, now that she was away from Tom. Words finally came, pushed past lips that were numb with cold, "Ginny, I'm . . . so glad . . . you're alive . . ."

And then it was all darkness and pain and blood.