Author Notes: I wrote this chapter last night… well actually very early this morning. Damn insomnia! Couldn't sleep, so eventually I gave up trying and wrote this. This was the only story I could remember the last chapter of, so that's why there's another chapter for this one. I guess I'm kinda making up for the lack of updates on this story before. Well, here you are!

Chapter 5- Amani Kravadi

Eventually the lift reached its destination. While they had been in the lift, they mainly remained silent, apart from one or two glad comments on the decrease in temperature. When the doors opened slowly, they realised just how secluded they had been while in the lift. Again, like after leaving Mr Weasley's office, noise erupted around them. It wasn't the same kind of noise as before, though. Upstairs, the noise had been of the hustle and bustle of people running away from something. There had been shrill screams, the cold slap of people out of feet on stone floor, and obscenities shouted to move people out of the way. Down where they were now, the noise was not human. No, this floor had been evacuated of all Ministry officials long ago. Well, not all.

Even without taking one step out of the lift, Harry could see bodies strewn all over the place, all completely still, lost in a dream from which they would never return. There was blood splattered over the walls, and Harry had to work very hard to fight down the urge to vomit. The noise down here was of a cackle; one long, continuous cackle, never stopping, never wavering in its spine chilling tune. No, that wasn't human at all.

It was dark down here. There was a vague light everywhere, with no apparent source, but apart from that, it really was quite dark. Harry tried casting the Lumos spell with his wand, but although its tip did light up, the light it shed was very dim, and didn't go far.

As Harry stepped hesitantly out from the lift, he felt a wave of nausea pass over him. That passed quickly (although seconds later he heard Mr Weasley retch) but there was a lingering sense in the air that made Harry see purple stars, and he had an overwhelming urge to end it all there and then. He unconsciously turned his wand and pressed the tip of it against his chest.

"Avad-" Harry realised what he was doing, and pulled his hand away, breaking into a cold sweat. That could have been the be all and end all from the hands of his very own wand; his very own hand, even. He turned around, wondering what was taking Arthur so long.

"I'm … stuck … in this bloody … goo," Arthur gasped, in between attempts to pull his feet out of his shoes. Harry felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. He hadn't wanted Mr Weasley to come with him and get himself killed, but now the thought of venturing into the dark, blood splattered lair of the Warrior alone was a less than inviting one. "No problem," Arthur carried on. His change of tone was rather unsettling. "I'll just cut my feet off."

Harry began to marvel at his best friend's dad's ability to keep a sense of humour in a time like this, before he realised, as his companion conjured a large machete, that he was deadly serious. Harry realised that it was something to do with that wave of nausea; after all, only minutes before he'd been trying to kill himself. He jumped forwards and grabbed the knife. Mr Weasley was much bigger than Harry, but he had been bent over at the time, and Harry had the element of surprise, winning the machete over easily.

The machete was heavy in Harry's hand, and it carried a faint whisper of death Harry felt safer with it in his hands, as if he was in less danger of being killed if he had more means with which to kill his opponent. Or himself …

By that time, Mr Weasley had recovered, and he, too, was sweating from the experience.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, running a hand through his hair. Neither of them said anything, too shocked about the last few minutes for words. Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"Well, I guess I'd better … er … go … and, er … do something … to, er … you know …"

Ron's father nodded. "Are you sure you want to go through with this, Harry? It's not too late to back out," he asked hopefully.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He'd thought it through, and decided that he had to do this. Two things had aided his decision. The first was that he had complete and utter faith in Dumbledore. Dumbledore had sent him to the Ministry in the first place, and he had taught Harry the spell to create the arrow… The arrow! Harry had forgotten about it. He looked into the lift hopefully, but there was only Arthur and the goo. Harry sighed, defeated. The second thing that had aided his decision was that … well, contrary to what Mr Weasley said, Harry believed that … that it was too late to back out now. Ever since he had been born, and branded with his horrible scar, Harry had been fated with every person he met, and every move he made. It was his destiny to make friends with Ron and Hermione. And it was not by chance that their curiosity led them past Fluffy the three headed dog, and a second time into the Chamber of Secrets, a third on their time turning escapade, not to mention Harry's adventures in the Triwizard Tournament, in the Department of Mysteries, and only last year with Dumbledore in their searches for Voldemort's Horcruxes, which brought on Dumbledore's weak state, later causing his demise. Yes, every second of Harry's life up until this point had been written out neatly as a book, before Harry was even born. Harry shuddered as he wondered how the ending might read.

It took a while, but in the end Harry managed to convince Arthur that there was no way he could come with him. Defeated, Arthur consented, but would not agree to going back up to the floors above; he would wait there until Harry's return.

Briefly, Harry wondered how he would know which way to go. Then he realised that still ringing in his ears was that awful cackle. He guessed he just had to follow it? Well, he could think of no better plan, so he wished Arthur Weasley farewell and headed down the corridor in which the evil laughter seemed loudest. The 'vague light' disappeared in this corridor, and the light from Harry's wand wasn't even enough to see his hand in front of his face, so he navigated the corridor by feel. To his frustration, when he reached what he judged to be halfway down the corridor, the laughter stopped. An eerie silence filled its place, which Harry found he liked even less than the cacophonous laughter. He wondered how he would find his way from here.

So lost in his thoughts was he that he tripped on a lose stone, and found that if he had flown any more millimetres forward then he would have hit his head on the wall. From the influence of the fall, his wand had flown out of his hand. Luckily, the tip was still illuminated, and as he bent to pick it up, he saw a jagged red arrow painted on the wall. His mind raced with possibilities at what it could have been painted on with, but only one stuck out. Blood. This must be an arrow to the Warrior.

From then on, Harry moved more carefully. He felt for every next step tentatively with his foot before going there, and kept his wand to the wall, trying to find another arrow. It wasn't long before he found a fork, and he had to scrutinize each route so that he found the arrow. This time the arrow was gold. He made it to the end of the corridor; and found a dead end. He turned and went back, puzzled. Then he realised the gold arrow had been a trick. He had to look for the arrow of blood. He found it quickly, and entered, knowing that the gold arrow had been put there to try his nerve.

Harry saw a light at the end of this corridor, and quickly extinguished his own. He came out in what was a seemingly empty room, although part of it was cast in shadow. A figure stepped out of the shadow, and Harry recognised him as the face in the sky from his unusual dream. The Warrior. Just to check, Harry tried looking at him from the corner of his eye, and again saw a slightly blurry figure that he immediately forgot when he looked away. Even so, he was sure he recognised the figure. The Warrior spoke.

"Now you must die. My master couldn't kill you, so now I will. There's no one to protect you. My master will reward me greatly for this." He pointed his wand at Harry, and Harry fell over, landing painful on his back on a large rock. Harry's wand flew out of his hand, and he realised he was up against a mighty wizard. Ropes flew from the rock, binding him to it. He couldn't move. He was going to die. He watched as the Warrior drew something in the air. Then he turned to Harry.

"This is a spell I made myself. It's called Amani Kravadi. As soon as I cast my next spell, it will whisk me away to my desired location, not even bothering to let me see the results of my spell. Not that I need to see the results. I already know them; you'll be dead." Harry had no doubt about that, and closed his eyes as the Warrior turned his wand on him once again.

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry eyes exploded in green light, and he felt a great pain in his forehead, before he lay still, limp and unmoving on the cold floor. The Warrior was no where to be seen. He hadn't seen the results of his spell.

Author notes: Oh my God, even I didn't know this chapter was going to end like this! But it has! I would be grateful if you could leave your views on what just happened, and what you think will happen in the forthcoming chapters. I would leave a preview of the next chapter, but … I don't wanna! I know, I know, I'm evil! So sue me. Anyway, a big thanks to:

Hnz786, iluvromnce (not quite what you predicted, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway!), Misty-Eyed Pixie (ooo, good guesses, but are they right? We shall soon see! Hope you liked the chapter! Thanks for your Boy With A Problem review as well!).

See you guys soon! xxx