Chapter Twenty Two

Harry arrived at the gates of Basgareth in the railcar, along with three women from the Order; Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance and Nymphadora Tonks. Throughout most of the journey they had ridden in the dark. Harry was holding onto Verillieon who was badly injured and unconscious. The other three were hesitant to touch the elf and didn't know any way to help him.

They rode for hours, Harry thought, through most of the night and most of the next day. They talked for short periods of time. The three women looked frightened by the prospect of going to Basgareth. The more they talked the more concerned Harry became. It wasn't that he was particularly scared although he dreaded the prospect of imprisonment. He also recognized their terror was linked to their dread of torture. Harry had faced his own death and recently suffered pain; neither were new to him. What he dreaded was being away from Nadya, possibly even dying before he saw her again. What he wanted most was to see their son born.

He held the elf wondering how he had ever managed to be captured by Voldemort's men, and why he would have even been near the rail station. Hestia and Emmeline could tell him nothing. Tonks was busy trying to console the older women. She was having difficulty, Harry could tell, because of her own great fear.

"Arry," she began, "We're going to have 'ave a tough go for sure. I don't mind saying I'm a little worried. But you! Well what we really need to do is make it so they don't know who you are." She was searching through her clothing and studying those of the other two women. "Ah, here we are," she reached over and pulled at a bit of white cloth sticking from Emmeline's pocket. "You don't mind Emma, do you?" The cloth turned out to be a handkerchief. Tonk's wrapped it around Harry's head like a bandage. "Now then, when we get there you act like you're hurt and they won't pull that off. Tuck yer glasses in yer pocket and seeing as how you can't see you'll be more convincing by stumbling 'round a lot."

"Thanks, Tonks," he said adjusting the cloth. "Do you have an idea about what we'll be facing?" he asked. Hestia cried a little at the question.

"Oh yes, Harry, I do," Tonks eyes widened. "What I'm going to do is change into a woman so I can go with Hestia and Emma. You'll have to take care of yerself. They'll separate us anyway, I'm sure."

"Got any advice?" he asked. She was the Auror with them and had special training.

She looked him straight in the eye, "Just try to get away. Know that they'll be tryin' to find you." She didn't look encouraged at all. He nodded just as they traveled into dark.

They arrived at a cave late in the day. Harry could tell because a filtered light illuminated the interior. It was a busy place, with two railway tracks occupied by two trains. One was being off-loaded, the other empty. He carried Verillieon and was herded together with the women into an open area. Harry recognized one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. It was Nott, a huge hulk of a man. Harry knew him because he had dueled with him at the Ministry of Magic. The man looked at them and called another man over. "Take the women to the cells, kill the elf and take that one- the boy- down to the holding area. I'll see to him in awhile."

Harry suddenly leaned forward and said very clearly and with a force that seem to come from somewhere around his chest, "LEAVE THE ELF WITH ME."

Nott and the other froze and their eyes took on a dreamy quality. Before Harry knew it Nott was nodding and repeating, "Leave the elf with the boy. He can carry the nasty creature with him."

Tonks stared at Harry with a peculiar expression on her face. He was pushed from behind by the man and stumbled with the weight of the elf and his inability to see anything in front of him. He was moved to another level, pushed onto a flat moving platform which descended several more levels. He was then pushed roughly into a circular cage where metal shackles were attached to his ankles. Verillieon was left at his side.

Harry studied the elf in the light of the cave after the man left him. The beautiful yellow hair was caked with blood and dirt. There were bruises and lacerations covering the arms and legs and the clothing was ripped and shredded. Who could do this to you, he wondered as he examined the elf.

Making Verillieon as comfortable as possible he crawled the circumferences of the cage checking the bars. If he was going to escape he needed to constantly be on guard to opportunities. The shackles kept him from reaching the edge but he was able to test the strength of the bars. He also was making a mental map of the terrain in which they had come. He thought it might be possible to retrace his steps given the chance.

Nott came to the cage hours later, he was alone. Harry continued to cradle Verillieon's head in his lap. The elf stirred uneasily several times but didn't wake. The wound on his head oozed blood and soaked Harry's clothes. He worried the elf was bleeding to death and he couldn't do anything about it. He thought about it and the sadness and regret he felt for the elf overcame him. He touched the wound and found to his surprise it sealed itself and stopped bleeding. Just before the arrival of the Death Eater, Harry remembered Jonas' words spoken a month before, 'think ahead, cover your tracks'. He took his bandage and dabbed into the blood of the elf and replaced it on his head so he looked injured.

"What would you want with that stinkin' elf in your lap boy. You gone mental have ya?" Nott laughed. "Well we'll just have a little fun with ya before we kills ya, we will. Go on then, take that elf along with ya, we're going down to the prisons." He waved his wand and the shackles dropped off and the cage door opened. Harry gently lifted the elf and put him over his shoulder to carry.

They took another ride, going lower and lower. The air became less fresh and the light diminished. What didn't diminish were the sounds Harry's ears picked up as they descended each new level. The high pitched screams of people being tortured and in great agony pierced his brain and sent shivers through him as if he had suddenly got chilled.

Harry swallowed hard and strained to see in the dark. What was making those horrible sounds, he wondered. And yet, he knew.

Nott pushed him with the tip of his wand down a long corridor lined with metal bars. In the shadows were even darker shapes. The smells were unbelievably vile and Harry thought he would gag at any minute. His determination to keep his mind clear helped him carry the elf the last few feet. A door opened and Nott shoved him through it. Straw, fouled and stinking, lined the floor of the dungeon.

When Harry's eyes became used to the dim light he noticed there were two other men with him in the small cell. He sat staring at Mad-eye Moody, now blind and without his revolving eye. What remained were two eye-sockets staring back at him. Nearby was Kingsley Shacklebolt curled into a fetal position in the corner, completely naked. He was knocking his head against the wall and whining piteously.

"Who is it?" Mad-eye asked, his voice drained of any energy.

Harry couldn't bring himself to answer for a minute. These were the two men who had helped him escort Dumbledore from No. 12 Grimmauld Place by Knight bus and they had been kidnapped by Voldemort during an attack. That had been months and months before. "It's Harry sir, Harry Potter."

Moody scuttled crab-like across the floor on his knees with more energy than Harry would have given him credit for.

"Potter?!" Moody grabbed at him and caught his arm. A hand came up and caressed Harry's face. Harry tried to shy away from the stench of the breath in his face. "It can't be," he said, "and yet it is." The hand reached beneath the make-believe bandage and touched the scar. Moody let out a low moan. "We are lost now."

Harry jerked away and almost sat on Verillieon.

"What's this," Moody's nostrils flared. "I smell someone else. Who is it?"

"It's a wood glen elf by the name of Verillieon," Harry answered. "He's a friend."

"An elf!" Moody said spitting in Harry's face. "How did they ever capture an elf? Ah well, never mind, he'll soon be dead."

"Moody," Harry began, "what's wrong with Shacklebolt? Is he alright?"

Moody rolled back and pulled himself by his hands to the wall of the cell. It appeared he wasn't able to use his legs. "Shacklebolt is mental, Harry. Gone over. 'Course they think I have too, but I haven't- AND WON'T!" That last was almost a shout. It died down to an unhealthy gurgle. "Gonna die before that happens."

Harry stared at Shacklebolt and then back to Moody. He was sitting in a cell with one notorious Auror and another very good Auror and they had not escaped their imprisonment. He was thinking that he was a seventeen year old wizard who had just been accepted for Auror training and wasn't ever going to see it happen.

They came for one of them a day later. Harry had slept for a few hours, had examined the cell and had tended to Verillieon's wounds as much as he knew how. Moody talked very little and sat watching the door. He heard the footsteps before Harry did.

"They're comin'," Moody whimpered. "They're gonna take one of us."

"Take us where, to do what?" Harry asked squatting down beside him.

"Tor…torture us," Moody struggled to say the words. "Har...listen we gotta call you another name. Sam. We'll call you Sam! Look when they get here, you gotta act like you're passed out. Let them take me. I'm going to die soon anyway and maybe you can escape." The blind blank holes that were once eyes stared into Harry's face. "Someone will come for you."

Two men were at the door and Moody was groveling on his belly towards the door.

"Take me you moth-eaten, pigs. I won't scream for you, you bloody monsters!" Moody grabbed at the feet of the man that stepped in. The man laughed and kicked the hands away.

"Don't want you old man. Want fresh meat," he grunted. The muscled arm swung around and reached for Verillieon.

Once again the voice drifted up from Harry's middle, up through his throat and out of his mouth without his conscious awareness, "TAKE ME."

The man turned slowly in an arc and reached for Harry. "We'll take this scrawny runt."

Harry had known pain; had been hurt and healed. He had never known pain that lasted for so long and hurt so much. He tried to keep his mind focused on anything other than what they were doing to his feet. The vat was below him. His hands were tied and he was suspended in the air. They lowered him slowly. At first it felt like fire and then the flesh-eating beetles slowly chewed their way towards his nerves.

He thought of Nadya and of his son. He thought about flying, about Hogwarts. After a certain point, he could only think about not screaming- from minute to minute. And then, they stopped. With a wave of a wand his legs were healed, the pain stopped and he was lifted into air, uncuffed and dragged back to the cell.

He rolled over on the floor in a pool of his own sweat and stared at Moody's blind face. He knew that if the man could, tears would be rolling from his eyes. Great sobs erupted from the grotesque twisted hole of his mouth. "Oh gawd!" he wailed. Harry closed his eyes and slept.

The next day, he too, could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor.

"You must let them take me," Moody said.

Harry began to learn how to control the voice that seemed to come from the depths of his being.

"TAKE ME."