Sorry this update is late. I've had a huge block and have been trying to get rid of it by posting some other stories. Take a look at my pro and read them!
I hope this makes up for being late. It probably doesn't, but I can try, can't I?
Chapter Four:
Rescue
by PotterScar
July 1st, 1972
Several days had passed since James' kidnapping. The Wizarding world was still buzzing; even the wizards in foreign countries were helping to locate James Potter. The Potters were suddenly thankful for their many, many connections all over Europe. French Aurors were teaming up with English, Irish, and Scottish Aurors to comb the Atlantic coast of Europe, not only to locate James, but to try to find missing people from their own countries. Many businesses were sponsoring the hunt, trying to up their popularity, and Minster Bagnold had taken measures never dreamed of by her predecessors; she talked to the Prime Minister of the Muggles, who agreed to help locate the boy.
The Wizarding world was in a frenzy, all because of one twelve-year-old. Little did they know that disappearances would soon be common; that they would not be taking these huge steps to find one person.
Sirius had Finky bring him the Daily Prophet each day, desperate to know if James had been rescued yet. However, he was still not found, and with each passing day, Sirius gained his strength back. His worry for not only James but for himself swelled, and it peaked the day that Orion Black came into his room, threw a duffle bag at him, and told him to pack some clothes and other items.
So, here Sirius was, standing in that dreadful dark hall of the Riddle House, packed duffle in hand, and being told where his room was. He was still in a daze from being told that he was living at Riddle House for a week or so; his father wanted some sense knocked into him, apparently.
Sirius was scared out of his wits.
He vaguely registered that his room was up the stairs, second on the left, and he departed, stumbling up the stairs and into the room.
It was dark and gloomy, much like the rest of the house; it had wooden, filthy walls, an ancient mahogany bed with a black bedspread, old-looking mahogany nightstands, a matching desk and chair, a mahogany dresser, and one grimy window with a moldy window seat. Feeling sick, Sirius began to unpack his things. He ended up not putting his clothing in the dresser, as it was full of spiders, and decided to keep them in the bag. Tossing the bag on the desk, he collapsed on the chair, his head in one hand. He already owled Peter and Remus telling them not to try and owl him, as he would be on "vacation" for a while.
Sirius sighed, getting up and looking into the water-spotted mirror above the dresser. It muttered something about the several yellowish bruises on his face, but he ignored it, looking closely at the marks. All the Death Eaters knew where they came from, and they didn't think less of Orion for it. They did it to a lot of their children, after all.
He could vaguely hear the sounds of Disapparating down in the gloomy hall. The house was empty; all the Death Eaters and Voldemort were doing a raid in Bristol.
Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he immediately dashed out of the room, to the indignation of the mirror, and slammed the door shut behind him. Dashing down the stairs, he nearly fell several times, and he dashed back into the hall. Where was the door where Lestrange had taken James...?
There it was! How could he forget? It was black, with intricate snake detailing and a "D" in elegant script, surrounded by wilting roses. It was depressingly beautiful.
Wrenching it open, he felt a sudden blast of cool wind hit his face between the cracks of the stone walls. He carefully descended the steep, rickety stairs. After what seemed like ten minutes of walking, he emerged on a floor that was caked in dried mud. Cells lined the walls, breaking to form an aisle down the middle. The only light provided were spilling in through the cracks, but the cracks were so porous that Sirius had no difficulty finding his way.
"James?" he called softly, looking in each cell. "You there? It's Sirius."
"Sirius?" came a whisper from the farthest cell down. Sirius immediately sprinted for it, kneeling outside of the bars. It was the tiniest of the lot, but also the brightest; it had the most cracks. He could see James, curled up in a corner, his arms around his knees. The black-haired boy crawled over to Sirius eagerly, going up to the bars as well.
"How are you, mate?" Sirius asked, his voice tight.
"I'm fine. Hungry, but fine," James responded. His voice was weak, as if he'd gone a long period of time without saying a word. "Why are you here?"
"My father sent me here for a week," came the whispered response. "Voldemort and all of his snakes are out on a raid, and the house is empty 'cept for the elves, so I came down here to check on you."
"Thanks, Sirius. You're a brilliant friend," James said, smiling. Sirius felt a pang of guilt stab at his stomach.
"I'm... I'm not," he replied weakly, knowing that if he didn't tell James soon, he'd explode from keeping it in. "The night... the night they took you..."
He stopped, swallowing hard. James was looking at him carefully. Sirius knew every bit of trust James had for him was about to disappear.
"I was there. My father took me. I should have helped you, I'm so sorry," he said quickly, before standing up. "I... I gotta..." Sirius shook his head, backing away from the cell doors and running down the hall.
"Wait! Sirius!" James yelled, but Sirius didn't stop. He couldn't bear to look at the hurt that would obviously be on James' face, hear the awful words that James would say to him.
He ran up the stairs, flew across the hall, dashed up the second set of stairs, ran into his room, and threw himself on his bed, burying his face in the pillow. He didn't notice the musty smell as he cried his heart out.
"SIRIUS! SIRIUS!"
James yelled his friend's name, until it was quite clear that Sirius was gone. When he realized that, he fell back, renewed sobs shaking through his body.
Sirius must think that he was mad at him. Quite the contrary; James understood completely. How could Sirius have helped? He was with his own father and a bunch of Death Eaters; he would have been killed on the spot. James was, in fact, glad Sirius hadn't been a stupid prat and stepped in.
Soon, his sobs stopped, and a deafening silence fell as the loneliness that had been relieved by Sirius slipped back into his heart.
Sliding back into the corner, he stared longingly out of a split in the stone. He could see green grass and an old man; he was watering some flowers outside of a cemetery. He considered yelling for help, but deduced that it would be pointless; the man might be a Death Eater, or, even worse, a Muggle. If he was the latter, he would ask what James was doing in there, and that would lead to awkward questions. James wasn't prepared to break the Statue of Secretness.
So he continued to watch the old man hobble around; apparently he had a bad leg. He bent over, watering a group of tiger lilies, while James watched him. He appeared to be muttering to himself; James could only catch snatches of it ("blasted kids" and "foolish gossips").
Soon, the old man went out of sight, and James sighed, turning his back and resting his forehead on his knees. Something skittered over his feet, but he had become used to the rats in the dungeon that he didn't even look up.
This went on for a half-hour, but soon, his reverie was disturbed...
"Bloody huge dungeon!"
A voice drifted down the cell aisle, rousing James from his half-doze. It was a young, Scottish voice, teeming with excitement.
"Stay lively, Wood, we're looking for Daniel's kid," came another voice, one James recognized; it was Jamie Prewett.
"Yes, Chief," Wood replied, and the sounds of a few people advanced down the aisle. James instinctively curled up tighter, even though he knew these people were here to save him.
"Brilliant that the snakes decided to go raiding today," another voice spoke, closer. He had a thick Irish accent with a hint of English, as if it was an Irishman who'd been living in Britain for at least a few years.
"Yes, very lucky," Prewett replied, his voice about six or seven meters from James' cell. "Dammit, where is he... James, if you can hear us, please give a shout!"
"I'm... I'm here!" James called weakly, his voice small. "In... in the end cell!"
"I heard him!" the Irishman exclaimed. James could nearly feel the others rolling their eyes.
"We all did, O'Brien," Wood said, a hint of laughter in his voice. "He's in the end cell. Well, let's hurry it up! We never know when those nasty Death Eaters are going to return!"
"Right," Prewett agreed, jogging to the end and stopping immediately at James' cell, looking carefully, before spotting the boy in the back.
"Yer a lucky one, you know that?" the Irishman said to James, as the other five caught up to Prewett. He had a thin, freckled face, orangish-blonde hair, and dark green eyes. His expression was kind as he observed the frightened Potter.
"Perry, you're the lockmaster, undo the charms on the door, if you will," Prewett said to a well-built brown-haired man, who nodded, pulling his wand from his back pocket ("How many times has Mad-Eye warned you not to do that?" Wood exclaimed) and tapping the small, brass lock on the door. It fizzled, and a red string of light hung between Chris Perry's wand and the lock. He smiled grimly, before setting to work on it.
"How'd... how'd you know where to find me?" James asked in a weak voice.
"We got a tip off from a Mr. Sirius Black just ten minutes ago," Prewett replied. "We weren't sure whether to believe him, being a Black and all, but we decided to dispatch some people to check it out. Apparently, he's trustworthy."
"Where is he?" James asked eagerly, scooting up further.
"Up in that nasty hall," O'Brien said, his voice laced with disgust. "It's such a gloomy place, I dunno how he can stand it."
James didn't reply. He knew that the hall was probably a well-lit, colorful place compared to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, as Sirius had called it one time with disdain.
Perry was still working away at the lock, which would make little sputtering and sizzling noises when he cast certain spells on it. It wasn't inclined to open up, but James was sure it would give way soon.
Perry, however, had different thoughts. He was keeping a fluent string of curses running under his breath, and finally, he lowered his wand.
"The Death Eaters must have their own lockmaster, this is impossible," Perry said tiredly, looking worn from all his fruitless work.
Wood looked worried. "What are we going to do?" he asked, as James' heart sank.
Perry looked grim. "Well, we don't have much time, so I'm going to do something drastic... stand back..."
James crawled into the back of the cell, while the other Aurors backed up. Perry pointed his wand at the lock, and said, "Reducto!"
He jumped back as the lock exploded, and pieces of it went flying.The other Aurors and James put their hands over their faces to protect them, and Perry shouted in pain as his hands went up too slow and pieces struck him.
"You alright, mate?" O'Brien asked, lowering his hands. Three pieces of the lock were imbedded in Perry's forehead, and another was stuck near his jaw. He was clenching his jaw, trying to pick them out. Blood was dripping from the cuts that now lined his face.
"Merlin... Wood, take Perry and get out now. O'Brien and I will get James," Prewett said, quickly opening the cell door. James scrambled forward, and O'Brien yanked him to his feet. The three dashed after Perry and Wood, who were ascending the stairs.
"Shit! Chief, they're back," Wood hissed, his hand gripping Perry's upper arm. Perry was beginning to swoon as the pain became too much to bear.
"Portkey!" Prewett muttered, pulling out a Galleon that had an eerie bluish glow. "Grab hold, everyone." James reached out, touching the coin, and O'Brien, Wood, and Perry did the same. They could hear Sirius being quizzed by the Death Eaters why he was just standing there in the middle of the hall.He was making up a convincing lie, and the Death Eaters seemed to believe him, for they let him go.
"Wizengamot," Prewett muttered, as it was the word to activate the Portkey, and they whizzed away in a flash of blue light just as Voldemort suggested they check on the prisoner.
The group appeared in the middle of the Auror department, and the second the lingering Aurors spotted James, the entire department went into an uproar.
"SILENCE!" Prewett shouted over the din, and immediately, the group quieted. "Somebody get Daniel Potter from the Department of Mysteries and tell him to report to St. Mungo's immediately," he ordered, and a blonde man offered to go, scooting out of his cubicle and leaving the department.
"Wood, accompany James to St. Mungo's," Prewett said, and Adrian Wood nodded, guiding James to the one Floo fireplace in the Auror department. O'Brien and others had begged it be put in two years ago.
Tossing in some green powder, he told James, "Get in and say, 'St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies'." James nodded, feeling dazed, and climbed in, saying the words as clearly as he could.
When he stepped out of the grate at St. Mungo's, he felt even sicker, and the noise in the waiting room didn't help. Thankfully, though, nobody noticed him stumble out of the fireplace, and soon Wood was at his side, taking him up to a room that the hospital had had ready since the Aurors had called them almost a week ago.
"Just lie down, your dad will be here soon," Wood assured him, as they entered the room. He half-dragged James over to the bed, where he collapsed and let a nurse fuss over him.
Just as he was falling asleep, there was a loud BANG as the door opened, and Daniel Potter appeared, winded. He ran over to his son, who had been awakened by the noise, and embraced him. James buried his face in his dad's shoulder, hugging him back.
"Thank Merlin you're alright," Daniel whispered, and James mumbled something into his shoulder that Daniel didn't catch.
"Your mother is on her way," Daniel said, loosening his grip on his son.
"HOW DID THEY GET HIM?"Voldemort roared, the grimy windows in the hall of Riddle House blowing out. "Who told them where he was? WHO!"
The Death Eaters were silent, looking at one another uneasily. Voldemort stared deep into each other their eyes, before deducing that none of them had been the rat.
"Who could have told?" he whispered, and it took a minute before the Death Eaters realized he was waiting for an answer.
"W-Well," Lestrange started, "did any of the J-Juniors know that P-Potter was here?"
"Of course n–" Voldemort started, but he stopped. His eyes narrowed, and suddenly, he whispered, "Of course... I should have known..."
"Bring me Sirius Black IMMEDIATELY!" he roared, and Nott immediately fled to retrieve him.
"M'lord... my son couldn't have done it... he hasn't the courage," Orion Black said bravely, and Voldemort turned to him.
"Oh, your son has more courage than you can ever imagine," Voldemort said, his voice deadly quiet. "Yes, that is why he is a foolish Gryffindor..."
Nott came back in, dragging Sirius with him. Sirius looked more confused than frightened. Voldemort narrowed his eye at him, making Sirius involuntarily take a step back.
"When I let you stay in my house," Voldemort hissed to Sirius, "I did not expect this!"
Sirius remained silent, unsure of what to say. The Death Eaters watched him with bated breath.
"Now, don't you think you should be punished?"
Sirius remained silent for a moment, before saying in a timid voice, "N-No, sir..."
"CRUCIO!" Voldemort shouted, pointing his wand at Sirius, who immediately collapsed to the ground. "I do not appreciate traitors. I dispose of them."
Sirius looked up quickly, looking from Voldemort to his father, who was chewing his lip so much that it was beginning to bleed.
"Avada Ked–"
Suddenly, there was an explosion from the head of the hall, where the doors were. The aforementioned doors had been blown out, and several dozen Aurors stood there, wands at the ready. Sirius grinned, looking dazed as the Death Eaters tried to escape, and fell unconscious.
When he awoke, he was laying on a clean, white bed in St. Mungo's Hospital. His father and mother stood by the door, conversing in quiet voices, and Sirius couldn't see his brother, and could only assume that he was at home.
His mother spotted him, nudged Orion, and the two of them walked over to his bed.
"About time," Celena said harshly. "Now we can finally go home."
Sirius rolled his eyes, heaving himself out of the bed (his muscles, still sore from the curse, protested greatly). His parents left the room, Sirius trailing behind them, heading towards the waiting room, where they could Floo home using the fireplace.
He spotted James in one of the rooms with his parents, and managed a small wave, before being shoved by his mother and father towards the lower floor.
Sirius was thankful that James was safe again, even if ratting out the Death Eater's secret hideout was a danger to himself.
"MUM! DAD! THEY FOUND HIM!"
Remus had been getting up earlier than his mother every day to check the Daily Prophet to see if they'd recovered James. He was running up the stairs to his parent's room, a now-wrinkled copy of the Prophet clutched in his hand.
"Mm?" Blake muttered sleepily, waking up and blinking blearily at his son. Sarah Lupin was doing the same. "Found?"
"They found James!" Remus said excitedly, jumping around like a hyper puppy. "They located the Death Eater's hideout! He's alright!"
"That's terrific," Blake said, relief passing over his face. The Ministry would soon be returning to normal, thank Merlin.
"It's wonderful, dear," Sarah said, getting out of bed. "Do you want some breakfast? It's high time I woke up, anyway..."
Remus just grunted, running down the hall to his room to write a letter to Peter, telling him everything was alright again.
July 1st, 1972
Relief passed over the Wizarding world when James Potter was found in a manor fairly nearby, hostage with the Death Eaters. He is alright, his parents say.
"He has minor dehydration and starvation, but he'll be fine," said a relieved Michelle Potter, as James was being looked over by a nurse in St. Mungo's Hospital.
He is scheduled to go home tomorrow.
Aurors received a tip off of the location from a source whom they wish to keep anonymous for the informant's own safety. They also stormed the manor later, capturing three Death Eaters: Keith Hollingworth, Percival Parkinson, and Eric Avery. All face life sentences in Azkaban.
(See page 2 for more information on Potter's condition)
(See page 3 for more information on the Death Eaters that were captured)
Another chapter done. Hopefully this one was more action-packed.
PotterScar