Going to post in bigger chunks but less regularly so we actually get somewhere lol. A lot happens in a short amount of time, but it'll get somewhere - I promise.

11th September 08:32

The moment he passed through the doorway, he felt the silence press into his ears, as if he was pushed underwater. There were silencing charms in here.

It was immediately apparent why. This was a torture chamber.

There were no enchanted windows here, no soft light of feigned sunlight to chase the shadows away. It was lit by a scattering of sconces set in the walls. Their flames had been denied the warm, comforting orange flow, casting instead a sickly pallid light. The chains hanging from the ceiling reflected the light. Various objects, devices designed for a very dark and sickening purpose lurked in the shadows. Glints of metal restraints caught Harry's wandering gaze as he tried to take in as much of the room as he could. His poor vision made the room worse as his imagination filled in the gaps where his eyes couldn't make out all the details.

One object stood in the centre of the room and it was here where Harry was being dragged inexplicably towards. He felt the floor slope downwards at a slight gradient, his toe catching on something metal. A grate of some sort. He didn't pay attention. Every part of his focus was fixed on what had to be the Veritas Quaesitor.

He didn't expect the thing that Yaxley was going to use to force his confession to be so… beautiful. It was a large stone column, inlaid with metal that appeared both gold and silver, sparkling in the unearthly, washed-out torchlight. It was finely decorated, the patterns curling around the stone in delicate lines that radiated up from the bottom, twining around the column. Harry's terrified mind failed to make out what the patterns were meant to be.

As he was pulled nearer, he saw the patterns take form. They looked like… flames.

Yaxley reached the column and rested a hand upon it gently. The metal in the pillar glowed at his touch faintly, only noticeable because of the gloom in the room. Harry felt it then, the cold that was radiating off the column. He thought it was his own shock, but his hairs were standing on end. He could feel its magic.

"Bring him here." At Yaxley's order, Harry was brought closer towards the column. He struggled in earnest now. He had no idea what waited for him, but he could feel the magic and every instinct within him recoiled at it. He moaned in his muzzle, fear taking control.

His arms were yanked free from the hold. He fiercely pulled against their grip, earning himself a kick in the back of his knee to unbalance. He was spun around forcefully and slammed into the column.

Hands pinned him against it. He saw Yaxley's wand come down near his face. He felt the cold magic pulsing under the stone.

"Do you feel it, Potter? I'm told that the touch of the quaesitor is instantaneous."

He could most certainly feel it. The stone at his back was shuddering with magic, a pulsing beat that entered his body. He felt it building in his bones. It could feel the cold magic seeping through the thin cloth of his robes, touching his skin and going deeper.

"Hold him there. I have to establish the connection first." Yaxley ordered. Harry struggled against the men, but they were pinning him with all their weight and strength. His legs kicked out in a weak attempt.

His skin crawled at the touch of the alien magic, the thrumming pulsing through him built up a rhythm, timing to the urgent thundering of his own heart.

"Quaesitor ineo!"

The cold magic that had entered his body now suddenly dug into him. He let out a strangled yell, flinching violently at the agony of icy daggers driving through his body, yanking him against the pillar.

It tore through him. His vision went completely white. Every sense wiped out in a moment as the magic slammed into his mind. His cry died in his throat as he was thrown out of his own mind. His muscles locked, his breathing frozen, even his heart stopped. In that split second, the quaesitor's magic had complete control of him.

Then darkness bled into his vision. His heart restarted. Pain flushed through his chest, warm, physical pain that melted through the ice that had paralysed him. He took in a shuddering breath. Tears dropped out his eyes as he returned to himself, skin tingling as the alien magic surged through his veins.

Awareness returned and with it, more physical pain. His arms were now behind him, the all too familiar bite of metal around his burning wrists. He'd been restrained, wrists manacled together at the back of the column. He bent his knees, breathing heavily, chin digging into his chest.

He felt something trickle out his nose.

"Back with us?"

Yaxley's voice was close, at his left ear. He flinched at the sound, looking over to see the Death Eater.

He felt cloth brush his face and jumped, seeing an arm by his eye, Yaxley's robe sleeve tickling his cheek. He then felt a tug on his muzzle as Yaxley unbuckled the strap at the back.

As it came away, the trickle of blood from his nose dripped onto his lip. The sensitive skin seared at the touch. Yaxley saw the blood and frowned. He touched it, wiping it with a finger. He held the finger up to Harry's eye. His blood looked so bright.

"The quaesitor is not gentle, Potter. Not like veritaserum. Its magic is very old and very powerful. And you are completely in its thrall." Yaxley wiped his finger on Harry's robe, leaving a red stain on the grey cloth, then went back to removing the silencer. He pulled it away completely.

Harry could see the object that he'd been silenced within all its glory. The front piece was moulded to fit around his mouth and chin. There were two straps for the back of his head, one to tighten the bottom at his chin, the other to pull it tight around his mouth. Both had adjustable buckles.

Knowing how it worked might be useful later.

Mouth now freed, he flexed his jaw, eyeing the man that stood so close to him. He could even smell the faint musk on the man's robes. The man had even worn a scent.

"Leave us. Permit no one to enter," Yaxley said to his men. They turned away.

Harry understood the significance of dismissing them. They were not allowed to hear what Harry had to say.

It's starting.

Yaxley then placed his hand on the column, stiffening as he felt the magic respond to him.

"I request inquisition," he said. Harry felt the magic surge and he turned his face away from Yaxley in reflex. But the magic didn't harm him or paralyse him as it did earlier. Instead, it was Yaxley whose face twisted in apparent discomfort. He even dropped to one knee, but he kept his hand pressed on the column.

Whatever was happening to him ended and he rose back on his feet, dusting his robe with his other hand. Then he peeled his hand from the column. His skin was glowing faintly. Harry stared at it with wide eyes.

"Ah… yes, the magic is quite potent, isn't it?" Yaxley remarked, with a rough chuckle. The door suddenly slammed shut, making Harry jump at the sound. They were now alone.

"The Dark Lord has honoured me with the opportunity to carry out your interrogation. A reward for capturing the Boy-Who-Lived and delivering him to justice."

Harry's eyes flashed over to Yaxley, anger licking up at the words, opening his mouth to throw something at this man.

"You call this justi-."

He was stopped mid-word by a blast of icy magic seared through him. His entire body shuddered at the impact, a surprised cry pushed out his mouth. It pushed through him, then left, leaving behind lingering pains in his muscles, skin tingling as blood rushed to the surface. He dipped his head, breathing hard.

That had hurt. A lot.

Yaxley's face split into a large smile. "A purge already? I haven't even asked you anything yet."

A purge? Harry opened his mouth again, but then he saw Yaxley's hand glowing. He saw the eager glint in the man's eyes as he saw Harry go to speak. He closed his mouth.

He had no idea what had been done to him, but he knew better than to test it. Wasting his energy now out of stubbornness was not smart, and he had to be smart. If there was the slightest chance he could get through this without betraying the mission, he would need all his wits.

"He will come for you eventually, Potter. Don't worry about that. He may even let you hold your wand one last time… or just kill you with it."

His anger burned, hands clenching behind him into fists, but he didn't rise to the bait. He took a couple of breaths, lowering his gaze.

"I wonder what the fuss is about, myself. You didn't put up much of a fight yesterday… barely got a couple of spells in. And here I thought you were some prodigy duellist." Yaxley sighed, then stowed his wand away in his robes.

"Before we begin and before I allow the quaesitor to let you speak, I'm under orders to give you a little… reassurance. A message from the Dark Lord… to you."

Harry stiffened, raising his head.

"He wants you to know that your mind and your life belong to him. They are, until he comes to collect both, protected. While in my care, your mind and life are safe from me. No legilimency."

The threat in the message was enough to make Harry's stomach twist, but he ignored that. He knew what was coming for him. To think about it was a distraction he didn't need. What he focused on were the implications. His mind belonged to Voldemort. It meant that no matter what happened to him at the hands of Yaxley, and also Rookwood, they would be careful to not cripple his mind.

For some reason, this gave him hope. He would need his mind, all his faculties, to find a way to escape.

"Now…" Yaxley moved in close again. He raised the hand suffused with whatever magic the quaesitor gave him. His palm looked a shade whiter than the rest of his hand. He then pressed his palm into Harry's forehead. His palm was ice cold.

"From henceforth, this one is compelled to tell the truth and only the truth." At his words, Harry's body stiffened against his will. His breathing hitched.

"When I ask a question, he must answer. Of his free will… or not."

Harry gasped as the magic pushed into his head, vision going white for a moment. His hands stopped clenching as he briefly lost control of himself. The white faded from his eyes and he blinked, feeling tears in his eyes again.

All of a sudden, he felt true, overwhelming despair. It crashed into him, robbing him of his breath and he crumbled, sinking down the column, strength zapped out of him. A great pain ached in his chest. He doubled over, gasping. The misery was so intense. He couldn't think straight. It was like… remorse. Like he'd just lost someone, and he knew that pain all too well. The pain of loss was more familiar than it should be.

"You no longer can lie, Potter. It doesn't just extend to the lies you speak, but the ones that you tell yourself."

He remained on his knees, staring at the ground, tears filling his vision. He took in shuddering breaths, his emotions all over the place.

I'm going to die, but before I do, I'm going to betray everyone. Voldemort will kill them after he kills me. It'll all be over and it's all my fault.

No… no they will keep fighting. They will find the horcruxes. My fight will live on in them.

He'll hunt them down. They'll never know peace. They'll curse my name. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Died.

They won't. This voice was stronger. Because it's not over. As long as I'm alive, this fight is mine. Fight BACK.

He pushed up on one leg, then the other. His legs shook, still not recovered from the torture the night before. He sniffed loudly, the tears still wet on his face, but he raised his head.

His face burned a little at the embarrassment of falling apart, but he pushed it aside. His survival instincts were taking over from distractions like pride and dignity. To get through this, he had to abandon them.

"Very good, Potter. Some mental fortitude." Yaxley said. "But I'm not surprised. You aren't some pampered child. Orphans learn early to overcome their grief and you learnt that very early." Yaxley moved in close. Harry noticed him paying attention to his tears. He turned his face away.

"Quite a private person, aren't you? For one so famous, you keep yourself so very guarded. It's no wonder you reacted as you did. All those walls have been torn away. By the time we're done, I'll know you better than anyone-."

Harry suddenly felt the icy touch of the quaesitor wrench into his mind. He flinched, mostly in surprise, then in pain. His vision bleached with the magic as it crashed through his thoughts like a battering ram.

"Yes…" He gasped out, then shuddered as the magic released him. Yaxley was staring at him, mouth agape, then he frowned, thinking. His face relaxed.

"Ah, sorry. A rhetorical question. I'll be more careful."

Harry wasn't listening. Pure panic flushed through him. He had felt the quaesitor rip into him, taking his voice.

"Perhaps we should do some practice questions to warm up. You see, Potter, the quaesitor has one mercy. It was originally designed to help prove people of innocence. It allows the person in its hold to speak the truth willingly and will sense the truth in their words. You have five seconds grace to answer. If you do, the quaesitor will judge the truth. If you do not, the answer will be forced out of you."

Yaxley flexed the hand touched with the quaesitor's magic. "And I warn you, resisting the purge… it's known to be excruciating."

Of course it is.

"Let us start with something simple." He moved back, flexing his enchanted hand as he drew away, face enrapt with thought.

Harry's mind raced desperately. Five seconds. I have to use them. I don't know what it'll force out of me if I let it have the chance.

"What is your name?"

His first instinct was to not answer. He felt his jaw settling down. He didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of his obedience. He didn't want to play into his game.

I have to play. I have no choice.

"Harry Potter," he said quickly, knowing that five seconds is both faster than it seems and longer than it sounds. He hated seeing the satisfied gleam in Yaxley's eyes.

"You see, if you choose to cooperate, you'll get through this easily. The quaesitor's magic is designed so a repentant soul will not suffer."

While the quaesitor's truth magic is immensely potent, it also has some… drawbacks. A voice whispered at the back of Harry's desperate mind. He latched on it. What was that? Then he felt it return, the dream. He saw Rookwood, submissive yet calm. He saw pale fingers fidgeting, holding a wand… not just any wand. My wand.

"What is five plus six?"

"Eleven," he said almost immediately, eyes darting up to meet Yaxley's. The Death Eater recoiled a little at how fast he answered.

"Who is the current headmaster at Hogwarts?"

Harry's jaw clenched instinctively. He didn't want to answer. He felt the silence widen, knowing that he had to speak freely before…

He was too slow. It lanced into him, driving out a pained cry as the magic ripped through him. His body contorted as the magic slammed into his nervous system, taking control. His vision was gone, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

As he felt it seize control, he had a moment of clarity and pushed back. Agony tore into him, like a fractured bone touching a nerve. His body flinched violently.

"SNAPE!" He cried out, voice anguished, pitched highly from the pain. He slumped as the magic released him from its hold. He coughed, body lurching.

"I told you it's excruciating."

He drew in a steadying breath. Not only did that purge hurt, he realised, it had torn the truth out of him and forced him to speak it. He'd not been in control and his attempt to resist had easily been squashed. He was unable to hide from the unbearable realisation that he would not be able to resist the magic when questioned about sensitive information.

"Yes, Snape. The Dark Lord's favourite… I expect you'll be reunited before your time is done, Potter. The Dark Lord wishes to make quite the show out of you." Yaxley started to pace, taking small, casual steps as he moved to Harry's right. "It's only fair that he gets to share in the pleasure of your downfall, after all. Not least of all because he had to endure the indignity of being your teacher for years, but he has quite the personal hatred for you. Beyond sense, almost."

Harry felt his insides twist at the man's words. He hung his head, not wanting the man to see how the words affected him. The thought of being tortured, humiliated and then murdered was bad enough, but to think he would have an audience? He hadn't thought about it before, for a good reason. It was mortifying.

With the quaesitor's magic ripping away his mental defences, it was crushingly impossible for him to protect himself. He felt his hands tremble.

"I think that will do for practice questions," Yaxley mused to himself, soaking in Harry's defeated pose. "It looks like you've come to realise just how futile your situation is. You cannot resist the quaesitor.

Harry stiffened. His eyes darted about, staring at the floor, seeing the metal grates that he had felt with his feet when he had been dragged over to the middle of the room. He wrung his hands behind him, but there was no release, no escape. The chill of the truth magic thrummed in him, keeping him as much a prisoner as the metal around his wrists.

"Let's find out what you were really up to yesterday, then, shall we?"

The morning sun splashed on Hermione's bare arm as she descended the stairs at the Burrow, a slither of light making it through the drapes that had been thrown over the windows the night before. Every window she neared had been obscured to keep her and Ron's presence at the house a secret. She saw the flash of light on her skin, jumping at it, and quickly retreated into the safety of the shadows as she continued down.

The house was quiet. Compared to the constant quaking of activity that had pulsed through the house only a month ago, the Weasley home felt cold, lifeless. Shadowed in sobriety, it reminded her more of the depressing vibes that Grimmauld Place extruded. There were some sounds. Magical houses were never completely silent. She could hear faint clinking in the direction of the kitchen, signs of life.

Hermione rubbed her arm where the sun had licked it for that brief moment, giving a glance to the blotted-out window, seeing the culprit. A small slash of light peered through the curtains.

They had arrived in the cover of darkness the night before. Mrs Weasley acted fast when she received Hermione's patronus message, quickly ushering the pair into the house, casting silencing charms as they rushed past her under Harry's invisibility cloak. She moved with a proficiency that suggested that they weren't the first to sneak back into the house.

"Go to the living room and whatever you do, don't go near the windows. I'll cover them up."

Hermione recalled the evening with the spiralling thought patterns of one who had not slept. She thought back to how not long after she and Ron were bundled up in blankets, holding cups of tea, Weasley Senior arrived with the news.

Harry is alive. The news ebbed into her again, pulling up her spine by a fraction. He is alive, but detained in the Ministry... in a prison cell, unable to move or speak. Her shoulders dropped again, horror sweeping through her again.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, screwing up her face against the well of misery. Her hand went up to the locket that she wore and the silver metal trembled in her grasp, as if reacting to her misery and… leeching onto it. She gasped, releasing it. She had felt something jolt her, something penetrating through her skin. Her arm tingled with the aftermath of its touch.

She wanted to rip the thing off her and throw it as far as she could. It was evil. She was sure that she'd just felt the piece of Voldemort's soul, trapped inside the body of silver and emerald, try to reach her. Touching it willingly was not a good idea, she realised, but she had to keep it on. Losing it right now… the whole reason why Harry had been so exposed in the first place… she couldn't bear to think about it.

She kept to the shadows, moving to the kitchen. She kept her distance, staying in the shaded dining room, cautiously looking at the windows that had been left uncovered. Mrs Weasley had to act normal, as if she wasn't harbouring two fugitives, just preparing her breakfast with a withdrawn, scared expression that she seemed to always wear. Hermione only saw it disappear when she hugged her son last night, holding her boy in her arms.

"I know you're there," Mrs Weasley said, speaking to the window as she stirred milk into her porridge oats. "Go into the living room. I'll bring you something to eat."

"Okay," Hermione said, moving back, taking out her wand for some reassurance. She glanced upwards, thinking of Ron who was still in his room. She hoped he managed to get some sleep.

She waited patiently in the living room, listening to the various quiet sounds of the magical home at rest. It was so different from her own family home. There was no TV, for one thing, no stereo or any electrical equipment. All the muggle gadgets in this house were in the shed, the home of Mr Weasley's hobby. At the thought of the shed and all the muggle memorabilia, the thought that Hermione had while she stared up at the ceiling, laying on Ginny's bed, came back.

The magical sensors in the Row won't detect muggle technology. There's plenty of magic down there to cause a lot of interference, so it'll be impossible to make a broadcast or use any signal. But what about recording equipment? A tape-recorder? Even a camera?

She thought back to the camera that Colin Creevey carried around with him. The magical defenses of the school hadn't fried the camera. It had worked perfectly, much to Harry's embarrassment. She thought back to how red Harry had been when Lockhart suggested that they have a photograph together. A hint of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"Here you go," Mrs Weasley had arrived, holding two bowls of porridge. She set Hermione's down on the coffee table, then motioned to return to the kitchen to eat hers, like she would do normally, but then gave a sigh. She put her bowl next to Hermione's and settled down on the sofa next to her.

"Ron's always been a late-riser," she remarked.

"I don't think he's asleep."

"No," Molly gave another sigh, "I imagine he's not."

"Shall I… bring him up something?" Hermione asked.

"No… when he wants to be alone, it's best to give him some space." She said heavily, voice tinged with regret, and went to pick up her bowl. Hermione copied her, spooning in the hot porridge, wincing as she burned her tongue.

They ate quietly together, both lost in their thoughts.

"Did you manage to get any sleep?" Molly asked Hermione, her scared demeanour shifting away as her motherly concern took over.

"No," Hermione whispered. She unconsciously went to touch the locket again but stopped herself in time. Why did she want to touch it so much? She covered up the move with a scratch. She noticed Molly studying her face and she gave a small, sad nod.

"Poor dears… all of you," she said quietly, "to have to face this all at your age. It breaks my heart to see it."

Hermione met her look.

How can she feel sympathy towards me? She wondered, incredulous. I brought danger to her family. She's terrified that her husband might never make it back home, that Dark Aurors will arrive at any moment to arrest them and they'd be forced to fight for their lives. She must be so scared for her family, not just Ron and Arthur, but Ginny… the twins. Bill and Fleur have barely had the time to enjoy their lives together and…

"I'm… so sorry, Mrs Weasley. What we're putting you through. You never asked for this."

"Hush now," Molly said firmly, but her voice was still soft. "I was part of this fight before you were even born. They murdered my brothers."

Hermione gave a little gasp. "I'm… sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay. Fabian and Gideon were in the Order at the time. They knew the risks, as did we when we joined the cause. Of course, I'm worried about what will happen to us, but you forget, I was sorted in Gryffindor too."

Hermione glanced up to see the hint of a smile glinting in Molly's eyes. She felt a surge of affection towards the woman. She took up her spoon again and ate some more porridge, but soon found herself unable to eat anymore. Her stomach was in knots.

"This may sound strange, but will I be able to go into the shed? Where Mr Weasley keeps all his muggle things."

"Whatever for?"

"I… can't shake this feeling that I'm missing something obvious. Something that we can use to help Harry," she gave a shake, "a way to get a message to him."

"Arthur said that he'll try again tonight. When he comes home for his lunch break, you can give him a message to tell Harry. We all can."

"No, no... like a recording. So he can hear our voices," Hermione put the bowl down on the table, "so he knows that we're with him… that we didn't leave him…"

"Oh… sweetheart," Molly said, her voice so understanding. She put her porridge down and rested her hand on Hermione's arm. "I'm sure that wherever Harry is right now, he knows that you didn't leave him."

Hermione felt the hot tears drip from her eyes. She hadn't felt them form. "But we did… we could have gone back. I… I was wrong."

"If you had gone back there, you'd be in the exact same situation Harry is in right now."

"Maybe I should be."

"Do you think Harry would want that?" Molly asked.

"At least he'd know that we were willing to fight for him… that he matters more than this thing," she grabbed the locket at her neck and wrenched it off. "That he matters more than this war and his part in it. He spent most of his life alone, and then when he needed us the most, we left."

She gasped in a breath, then threw the locket from her. The moment it left, she felt a warmth spread through her chest. It landed with a thunk on the floor, a foot away. Her throw hadn't been a quidditch-standard lob.

"How do you think Harry would feel if he knew you were down in the Row with him?" Molly asked her quietly.

Hermione stared down at the hand that had thrown the horcrux, breathing heavily, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"He trusted you with the mission Albus gave him because he needed your help and support, but that wasn't the only reason. Harry has lived with the threat on his life for a very long time, Hermione. He told you because if anything did happen to him, he wanted you to carry on without him."

Molly watched Hermione quietly, watching as she put herself back together. She saw the grief and guilt torment her, but she also saw her recovering slowly.

"I know a bit about this pain. This guilt… it will only drag you down and hurt you. Stop blaming yourself for what happened. It doesn't help Harry and it doesn't help you."

Hermione shuddered, then gave a nod. Molly pulled her into a hug. "It will be hard, for both you and Ron. I'll go up and speak to him in a bit, then we can look in the shed for whatever you think will be in there. Okay?"

She nodded again. The emptiness she had felt within herself ever since she obliviated her own parents was starting to heal a little. She leaned into Molly's embrace, needing the comfort that it offered. The woman gently let her go and stood, taking the bowls of unfinished porridge with her.

Harry waited on his knees for the torment to resume again. His eyes stared at the floor, unseeing, lost in his own misery. He was leaning forward as far as he could, head bowed. A strand of hair hung over his nose, moving with each breath. He heard a noise, head flicking up, anticipating another question, another hit of the icy pain, but it was just one of the guards shuffling.

Yaxley's absence was a blessing. It gave him time to mentally recover from the interrogation. He had sunk to his knees to conserve his energy, his head throbbing with a headache from all the quick thinking he had to employ. He wasn't made for this sort of game. He might be quick-witted, but he struggled to think ahead of the man, to find an alternative truth for every question within the five seconds he had.

Harry attempted to evade his questions with vague truths, having experience with dodging questions from his own misdemeanors at school. But avoiding detention and avoiding an ancient relic armed with powerful truth magic were pretty incomparable. Before long, the Death Eater learned enough from him to know that Harry had been at the Ministry for a specific object, not just on Dumbledore's orders, as Harry tried to distract him with. The quaesitor blasted him with everything it had and he ended up betraying the secret.

"I was after Voldemort's horcrux."

He had no idea what effect this was having on him physically. His upper lip was bloodied from the nosebleeds the quaesitor caused whenever it really dug into him to wrench out a truth.

After he'd given up the word, he started to panic. He told Yaxley that Dumbledore had entrusted the mission to him, that no one else knew his secret, betraying the reason why he had been so willing to endanger his life for the mission.

He spoke desperately, revealing more than what he wanted willingly, but the fear of giving away more information and potentially endangering people he cared about, kept him focused enough to occupy Yaxley. He was fortunate that the man was more curious about where the horcrux was and why Harry needed it rather than what it was.

When Harry started to lose his voice, Yaxley decided that it was time to call a break. Harry's knees were starting to hurt from his position, indicating that it had been a while since Yaxley had left.

Harry glanced up at the guards again, giving them a confused frown. Why were they there? It wasn't like he could go anywhere. His shackles were very tight and he somehow doubted that the quaesitor would just let him walk away, not when he still felt its icy grip.

"Any… chance for some water?" He asked, testing the waters with these men. He tried to speak normally, but his voice came out as a breathy rasp.

"Shut it." That was hardly a surprising response.

"Is that a no?" He didn't know why he was goading the guards. Probably because he didn't know what else to do. It was better than breaking down in front of them.

There was suddenly a clank at the door. Harry jerked at the sound, arms tensing, his body reacting instinctively at the potential new threat. It clattered loudly as the bolts were drawn back, then it wailed as it was pulled open, the shrill scream piercing through the silence charms.

The guards glanced over, expecting to see Yaxley returning, but instead a harried wizard in the blue security robes entered.

"Wh… where's Administrator Yaxley?" He asked the guards, sounding very stressed. Harry regarded them with interest.

"No idea," one of the guards said roughly, "just told us to stand guard and make sure no one enters… so get out."

"I… can't," he said to them, looking ashen as he glanced over to Harry. "Madame Umbridge is here and she is very determined to speak to Har- I mean the prisoner."

Harry's frazzled mind picked up on the guard's slip up. Not allowed to say my name. He watched the intruder's desperate glances between the guards and him prone on the floor.

"Well go back and tell her that she can't. Orders come from the top."

"You think I didn't tell her that?" The wizard gabbled, putting a hand on his head. "She demanded to see paperwork and when I said we didn't have any, she asked to see Yaxley and, well, he's not here."

"Bloody hell, man, she's just a dumpy woman. Just turf her out." The other guard said with a scoff.

"I do not want to tangle with that woman. You know what she did to Henderson… and Miles. She'll have my family sent to Azkaban."

"There are worse people to piss off than Umbridge."

"Are there?" A new voice entered, sickly sweet. Harry felt his hands go cold at the sound, watching as one more blurred shape entered the activity at the door. "I wouldn't test that right now. What's your name? I've never even seen you before. Yaxley's been hiring under my nose again, I see. Another thing I will make sure I mention when I see him." She burst into the room and no one went to stop her. They recoiled, their shock making them slow to react.

"Madame Umbridge," the guard followed her, sounding alarmed. "We are under strict orders to make sure no one enters this room."

"So I've been told by every dim-witted thug that tried to get in my way." She pulled up to a halt, spinning around to face the guard. Harry had heard her this angry before - when she lost it in the forest after learning that Hermione had tricked her. She attempted to attack a herd of centaurs. It hadn't gone well for her then, but it appeared these people feared her a lot more than the centaurs had. The man that had entered the room cowered at her words.

"I'll say to you what I said to them," she snarled at him. "I answer to the Minister and unless I see orders, written in his hand, that specifically says that I cannot have access to a known traitor to the Magical Order, a suspected murderer and malcontent, you have no authority to stop me."

A silence fell at her words. Harry stared at her, scarcely believing what he was hearing. She clearly believed that she was the one in charge, or at least believed that she could bully her way in charge. She was either completely oblivious of the danger she was putting herself in or actually believed that she had more authority in the room than Yaxley, and by extension, Voldemort.

Harry couldn't help himself. He laughed.