Disclaimer: See all previous chapters.

A/N: Well, this chapter was done waaay ahead of time (see AN at bottom) so here it is a little earlier than I'd scheduled. Thought I'd just be nice and get it out there. Harry's life certainly doesn't stay boring for long, I can promise you that. He's in the thick of things now and there's no going back. Of course, some things he just can seem to avoid…

Chapter 34: Rough Holidays

"Come on, Harry," Charlie said with a grin. "Let's get moving."

Harry rolled his eyes as he dragged his half-full trunk forward. As much as he wanted to get this 'trip' over and find out just where they were sending him, it was much too early in the morning to feel any sort of interest in what was going on.

Moody had insisted on it, citing the fact that 'Voldemort certainly won't give them any breaks,' and Harry had been woken up by a too-cheery red-haired Weasley. "I'm going to sleep all day after this," Harry growled, dragging his trunk into the front hall. Charlie laughed.

"What, this too early for you?" he teased. Harry nodded vehemently.

"Absolutely. Two o'clock is my bedtime some days. Not when I wake up," he pointed out. Charlie shrugged.

"Go tell Moody you want to wait, then," Charlie suggested.

"Yeah, right," Harry said sarcastically. "And then he'll tell me that we need to take ten portkeys to get wherever we're going." He hesitated. "I don't suppose you can tell me where we're going, can you?"

Charlie shook his head. "Sorry, Harry," he apologized. "You'll find out soon enough."

"It'd just be nice to have an idea of where I'm going to be spending my holidays," he muttered, trying not to sound too childish. He could already picture him, probably with one or two Order members, sitting in some dusty house on Christmas, out of touch with everyone.

It'd be very much like being at the Dursleys again, he decided. Except that no one would throw him in a cupboard if they saw him.

"True," Charlie agreed with a shrug. "You got everything you need?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I hadn't packed much for break anyway. Left everything at Hogwarts, pretty much."

"We're just waiting for—"

"I'm here, I'm here," Moody grumbled, stomping down the hall towards them. "You both ready?"

"Yep, Moody," Charlie said. "Ready to go."

"Potter," Moody said, as way of greeting. Harry nodded.

"Good morning," he said darkly. Moody smiled a snaggle-toothed grin.

"Mornin' to you, Potter," he said. He pulled a gold statuette from his pocket and held it out. "It'll activate as soon as we three touch it."

"Right," Harry said, stepping forward and keeping his trunk tight in his other hand.

He was just about to reach out to the portkey when the world exploded around him, reflecting very accurately the agonizing explosion inside his skull.

Pain burned through his brain, starting at his scar and driving him to his knees in an instant. He was almost blinded by it, so intense was the sick feeling of…triumph that permeated the agony he felt.

At the same time, the world outside his mind exploded as well.

One moment, the three were standing in silence, Charlie just walking towards Moody, and then the next Harry dropped to the floor, hands clamped to his head, while the door exploded outwards, kicking up a storm of dust. A gaping hole of ragged wood and stone was left, dirt and smoke billowing through it, and Harry had to throw up his arms as splinters of wood and debris showered him. He felt stone pelt his arms even as slivers of wood slashed his forearms, and as the rain of debris and the agony in his scar stopped he moved fast.

Dark shapes were pouring through the door, one after the other, and Harry knew they were in trouble. They had to be death eaters. Harry, though unprepared for the sudden attack, nevertheless managed to raise his wand before any curses were sent his way.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, even as he tried to dodge out of the way of a curse. He didn't see if anyone fell. "Stupefy!" he shouted again, sticking to the simple and short spell.

This time, he saw a body drop to the ground, victim of his spell, and he downed another before something hard hit him in the back, despite the shield his body formed in an attempt to protect him.

It was just his luck, though, that the attack was not magical, and his shield couldn't block it. A heavy timber from the front hall of Grimmauld Place had been sent careening into him. He was knocked forward, a painful burning blossoming out across his back, but he rolled and tried to duck down a hallway.

His way was almost immediately blocked by a roaring wall of flames, and he had to turn the other way. He didn't make it far. A fist slammed into his face, straight in the nose, and he fell onto his backside. He didn't have a chance to get up. "Stupefy," a cold voice snapped.

His shield didn't form, since he didn't even see the spell coming.

He didn't even realize he'd been stunned before the world went black.

He woke up lying on a cold floor, cheek and bruised nose pressed against the stones. He tried to sit up, but his hands wouldn't move—they were tied tightly behind his back, and his legs were bound tightly from knee to ankle with heavy ropes. Somehow, he still had his glasses on his face, and he could see that he was surrounded by death eaters, though none were paying attention to him at the moment.

He suppressed a groan as his back started to ache in protest of his awkward position and instead focused on looking around. Almost immediately, he spied the other two prisoners. Charlie Weasley, half-conscious as well and tied to a chair, and Mad-Eye Moody, similarly restrained.

Charlie looked battered and bruised, but otherwise unhurt, while Moody was sporting a bloody cut on his face. Both looked conscious and relatively well, Harry decided. They hadn't been harmed past the first struggle, he hoped.

He, on the other hand, didn't seem to have gotten off so lucky, he realized. His body ached as if he'd been dropped and hit many times, and he wondered just how much these guys had to hate him to want to beat him up even when he wasn't conscious.

Charlie looked up slowly, and Harry caught his eye only for a brief moment before Death Eaters closed around him, seeming to finally notice that he was awake. A booted foot slammed into his back, just above his bound hands, and he cried out in pained surprise before wrenching his head around in order to look up at his captors.

"Scum," he snarled. The boot slammed into his back again, a little harder, and he bit his lip in order to avoid crying out again.

"Potter," the death eater hissed. The others had moved away, behind the other two prisoners, though they all had their wands drawn and at the ready. "You know why you're here, don't you?"

"Because you have nothing better to do? Because you planned a surprise late birthday party for me?" Harry said sarcastically, "Or is it because you all missed my escapes so much?"

This time, the man stepped over his body and kicked him in the stomach. The breath was knocked out of his lungs with a whoosh, and he had to gasp weakly for several minutes, trying to keep from passing out.

Over his weak gasping, he heard his captor speaking again, but he only barely listened, more intent on trying to get oxygen into his body than anything else. "You're here, brat, because my Lord demands the whereabouts of the Key. You know what I'm talking about, and you know where it is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry managed, voice a little shaky

"Just tell me where the damn key is, brat," Lucius growled again. Harry knew without a doubt, now, that it was Lucius because he recognized the voice—the man was wearing a death eater mask and kept his hood carefully over his blonde hair.

He considered answering the demand. He could see Charlie and Moody, watching him with seemingly no emotion, and knew that they thought that he should just give in. But it just wasn't in him to give up information so easily. Especially not to Lucius Malfoy.

Besides, the truth was that he didn't really know anything about the key or the Fortress or anything at all. But that would be giving up his position to Voldemort, and he didn't want to do that. As long as Voldemort thought he knew about the key and where it was, he wouldn't try looking for it on his own. But if he found out that the key was still somewhere out there…well, he didn't know much about this whole Fortress thing, but he did know that Voldemort gaining control of it would not be a good thing.

And so he smiled, noting the frown that flitted across Charlie's face as he did so. "All right, Malfoy" he said, emphasizing the name, "I'll tell you."

"So you've managed to gain a little sense," the man snapped. Harry saw him throw off his mask, proving his guess correct. It was Malfoy Sr., sneering coldly down at his enemy. "I'm waiting," he pressed, as Harry hesitated.

"I keep it under my pillow in my dorm," he said, still forcing himself to smile. "I'm the third bed to the left from the do—."

"Crucio!" Malfoy snarled. Harry had no chance to prepare himself, to brace for the almost unendurable pain. He knew he was screaming and writhing against his bonds, but none of it mattered.

Knives were pounding into his skin.

Flames were burning his bones.

Ice ran through his veins.

Stars danced in his fading vision.

The pain tore through his body without stop, and when Malfoy finally ended the curse he was shaking and shivering on the floor, gasping and panting heavily while he tried to remember what it had been like before the pain.

"Try again, Potter," Malfoy went on after another minute of recovery. Harry managed, with weak and shaking muscles, to look up at his enemy once more.

"I—I…" he said weakly. "I hid it in my P-Potion's textbook," he said, immediately bracing himself for the pain his answer would bring.

He wasn't disappointed, and this time the agony seemed to last even longer, tearing apart any last shred of control that he had over his body as he screamed and tried to escape it. Never, he knew, would he ever feel something this unendingly painful again…unless Voldemort possessed him again…but this was now, and this was longer and unending and so much more humiliating and debasing…

When the pain subsided, he realized that Malfoy had ended the curse again. He regained his breath one ragged gulp at a time, trying to regain just a little equilibrium. "One more chance, Potter," Malfoy said.

"Only one?" he asked, his voice harsh from screaming. "Then what—you'll kill me?"

"Perhaps I'll ask your Weasel friend if he knows," Malfoy suggested. Harry frowned, setting his jaw.

"Touch him or Moody and you'll never know where I keep the Key!" he snapped.

Malfoy smiled coldly. "I do believe we've found the boy's weakness," he stated. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Tell 'em nothing, Potter," Moody said gruffly. "That lousy piece of filth ain't worth it."

Malfoy's face reddened ever so slightly as his anger grew. "Crucio!"

Moody didn't cry out as Harry had, making him feel somehow ashamed. Instead, the old man twitched and convulsed in the chair, good eye rolled back in his head while his magical eye stared straight at Malfoy.

"Stop it!" he snarled finally, when Malfoy did not let up. "You're going to kill him!"

Malfoy hesitated, but didn't let up. "You'll tell me what I wish to know?" he asked.

"Never!" Harry spat back automatically. Malfoy shrugged.

"Then your friend here will die," he explained.

Harry raced to figure out a solution to the situation, and finally realized that there was none. "I'll tell you," he said weakly.

Malfoy lifted the curse, and Moody panted weakly, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. Charlie looked shocked, determined, and angry all at once, his eyes burning holes in the back of Malfoy's head as he turned to stare down at Harry.

"I'm waiting, boy," Malfoy snarled.

"I—I can only tell Voldemort," he tried. "If I tell anyone else—"

"Crucio!"

Moody had had no chance to recover at all, and one short scream burst from the man's lips as the curse hit him again. His hands clenched and unclenched, fighting the agony, while his back arched and his whole body shook.

"STOP!" Harry shouted, feeling his magic almost burst out of his skin. "STOP IT!"

There was some sort of explosion, though Harry was too busy trying to keep himself from blowing up the building around them. His magic swirled through him and blasted several death eaters backwards into the wall behind him, where they connected with solid crunches. Harry watched through bleary eyes as three dark figures slid to the ground, unconscious or worse.

The other death eaters hesitated, even as Harry's magic receded, leaving him drained. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they wouldn't cooperate. "Moody?" he asked weakly.

His magic tried to stir again, but this time it only prickled at his skin and did not escape. Too many spells, too many missed meals, too much exhaustion. He couldn't do it.

There was no answer to his one question, and he only vaguely felt his head hit the floor as he passed out.

It seemed he hadn't killed Malfoy, Harry realized quickly, though several death eater shapes were still slumped by the wall.

He had been woken with some sort of spell that was like an electric shock, leaving his muscles quivering in a frightening way. He couldn't make any part of his body move, except his eyes, and the disturbing way in which his muscles jumped and twitched on their own bothered him.

As in scared him enough that he couldn't think about it without feeling the first prickles of panic.

His eyes darted around as he tried to find Moody and Charlie, and with a sickening feeling he realized that only Charlie remained. "Where's Moody?" he demanded, voice raspy.

"He's alive," Malfoy said. Harry felt relief wash through his body…until Malfoy smiled. "That was quite the magic that you did, Harry. I was quite impressed, but I'm afraid that it makes me loathe to let you summon that much energy again…the spell I just used on you should see to that."

The death eater gestured, and Harry twisted to look—and saw that Moody was standing there, just barely on his own, and another death eater had a wand to the man's back.

"Give me the information I want," Malfoy said.

"I—I can't," Harry said.

"Don't say a damn word, Potter!" Moody barked.

"I—I," Harry said, fishing for anything to prevent what he knew was going to happen. Flashbacks to Cedric kept popping into his mind, and he was having a hard time keeping his memories at bay. "If you let him go now, I swear I'll tell you," Harry tried. "Let him and Charlie go. If you wait, Voldemort can get the information he wants from me…"

Malfoy smiled again. "Although I would love to watch my Lord torture you into a mindless puddle, Potter, I was ordered to bring him information. That means I must have it now. And you will tell me."

"Potter…" Moody growled in warning, his gruff voice even rougher than normal.

Harry thought fast, though the burning in his muscles from the Cruciatus and the other spells was making it more than difficult. There was only one option, as far as he could tell, and it wasn't very good.

"Bastard," he snapped. "You're no better than a mudblood yourself, and here you are—"

A boot hit him in the jaw, snapping his mouth closed sharply, teeth just missing his tongue.

But it was what he wanted. Draw the attention away from Moody. Malfoy couldn't kill him—that was Voldemort's great privilege—so hopefully it would buy enough time for the Order to find them. Or for someone to come up with a better plan.

"Your whore of a wife could do a better job getting information out me," Harry spat, managing to get the whole sentence out before Malfoy acted.

"Electrificus," the man said, voice filled with rage.

Harry's back arched completely off the ground, and he couldn't help the momentary panic as his arms and legs twitched and spasmed of their own volition. It was like he had no control over his body, as well as incredible pain in his joints and bones.

It took him much longer to recover from that spell, and by the time that he could hear something other than his own harsh breathing, only two words reached his ears.

"Avada Kedavra."

He braced himself, and felt green light wash over his body…but he wasn't dead.

Moody, though, had a look of solid determination permanently fixed on his grizzled face. The one blue eye was blank and lifeless, just as Cedric's grey eyes had been, and Harry watched in horror as Moody's legs buckled and the wizard fell into a heap on the floor.

He knew he was hyperventilating, images of Cedric and Moody now both playing in his exhausted mind, and it took Malfoy's sharp kick to his stomach to stop him.

"That seems to have made an impact," Malfoy said coldly. Harry barely heard the man, his eyes focused on the death eaters that were now moving Moody's body over into a corner of the stone room.

"Potter!" Malfoy snapped, kicking him again.

Harry looked up. "Bastard," he snarled. "Bloody, greasy, evil bastard," he almost hissed. "Pathetic, useless, mindless—"

"You've got one minute before I kill Mr. Weasley, Potter," Malfoy said.

"I—no," Harry said. "I'll tell," he said, resigned to how this would end.

"Where is it, then?" Malfoy asked, sounding expectant, though Harry had no intention of giving up anything.

Somewhere in his head, his brain was screaming at him to keep his mouth shut, to give in and let it be done. To save Charlie.

To shave himself.

But he didn't listen to that little voice, the voice of reason. Instead, he said exactly what his heart wanted him to say.

"I shoved it up your bloody ass, bastard," he said loudly and as insolently as he could.

"Crucio!" Malfoy snapped, all control gone.

Harry knew he was screaming, that he was writhing and scrabbling with his bound hands at the floor beneath his body, but he couldn't stop it. It was as if his body had taken on its own mind, one that demanded he escape the inhuman pain that was tearing through his body.

"Harry!" he thought he heard someone shout, but he wasn't certain. "Harry!"

The curse lifted, or at least the pain eased somewhat, and he pressed his face into the stones, not wanting to look up and see Malfoy's sneer, the wand pointed at him for another bout of agony.

Or worse…he was afraid he'd see Charlie's face, void of any emotion…dead. How would he ever face Ron again, if he had killed his brother?

And so he waited, eyes shut, for the pain he almost hoped would come.

But it didn't come. He felt hands on his shoulders and he grit his teeth, jaw clenched with pain, before turning his head. The room was filled with dust now, he noticed in surprise—when had that happened?

And he was looking up at the most welcome sight he'd seen in a long time. Remus Lupin's worried and haggard face.

Hands pulled him up off the ground, and he only got a fleeting glimpse of Charlie, being untied, before there was a loud bang and a gut-wrenching twist, and he was suddenly in the living room of a house. It was the Burrow, he realized a moment later, but he didn't have a chance to look for Ron or anyone else as Remus laid him down on the couch and kneeled down next to him.

"Harry," Remus said.

Harry didn't really feel like responding, and wasn't sure he could, but Remus was persistent.

"Harry, please," Remus said. Harry noticed suddenly the deep purplish bruises forming on Remus's face, and wondered how bad the fighting had been. But he didn't say anything. He was still more interested in just lying there, pain burning in his body but now manageable, and wondering if he'd ever managed to defeat Voldemort, like he had to.

"Harry, Charlie is all right," Remus went on.

"Moody." Harry forced out that one word.

Remus blanched. "I'm so sorry, Harry…"

Harry shut his eyes a moment, forcing himself to accept the fact that the man was dead.

Then, he opened his eyes once more. Harry watched the haggard man run trembling fingers through his thinning and grayed hair. "I don't know how many more times I can take this, Harry. You were almost killed again, just like on the Hogwart's Express…I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you." Harry could see tears in the man's eyes, but he didn't move. He felt too tired and weak to even move his arms, much less smile or lift his head.

Remus cleared his throat roughly, and Harry looked away a moment. When Remus spoke again, his voice was unnaturally weak and unsure. "Poppy will be here soon, too, to look after your injuries. And Albus will come as soon as he can. They arrested several death eaters, but Lucius escaped."

Harry couldn't help a small flinch at the name of the man that had tortured him so ruthlessly and who had killed Moody, and Remus saw it, Harry realized, because a moment later Remus had buried his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Harry," Remus said weakly. "I know I said I'd be there for you, but I was wrong, I'm so sorry…"

"No," he finally said. It took a great deal of energy to force out that one word, and he sagged back a little, weaker. Remus looked up sharply.

"Harry?"

"Don't be sorry," he said. "Not your fault," he added, voice raspy…from screaming, he realized.

"Oh Merlin, Harry," Remus breathed, sounding relieved and sorrowful all at once. "For a moment there…"

"'M okay," he rasped, surprised his voice still worked. "No brain damage yet," he weakly joked. Remus looked pained.

"Harry…"

"Move out of the way!" Madame Pomfrey shouted. Harry cringed at the loud intrusion, and the nurse apparently saw his face. "Sorry, dear," she said more quietly. "This house is just packed with people…" she grumbled.

"Ow," he commented, hoping she'd give him something soon. Pomfrey sighed.

"Remus, if you can get him up…" she said.

Harry stiffened slightly from pain and surprise as Remus slid his left arm under his knees and put the other under his upper shoulders. It was a very foreign feeling, to be picked up. He didn't remember ever being carried as a child—he'd always had to walk everywhere, watching while Dudley got to ride in the grocery cart or on his father's shoulders…until he'd become too large, of course, which had been fairly quickly.

"Does it hurt too much?" Remus asked him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Harry shook his head weakly.

"'M okay," he said again, thinking of Moody, and how no one would ever talk to him again. "Go quick."

Despite his assurance that he was 'okay,' Harry cried out as Remus moved his battered body, and his vision went dark.

He woke again with a jarring start as there was a jolt of movement. "Hold still, Harry," Remus said near his ear. Harry realized with a start that Remus was still carrying him, though he had to be struggling with his weight.

"What—?" he started to ask, but his throat was too dry to continue.

"Shh," Remus said. "The Floo's blocked. Dumbledore's pulling us through the wards on his own. It'll be over in a second."

Harry nodded weakly, but another jolt forced him back into unconsciousness.

Lucius kicked him again, hard, right in the stomach.

Harry cried out in pain, trying to escape the hard boot that slammed into his body again and again. But the boot followed him wherever he went. And then Lucius raised his wand…

Moody's eye stared at him, the magical one rolling wildly in its socket. That eye held reproach, anger, loathing…

He couldn't bear it…and suddenly it was blank, empty, dead…

Moody was dead. His fault…he should have thought faster, he should have given in…

"—as if he hasn't had enough trouble," a voice said softly.

"Always getting into ridiculous situations," another muttered, not as quietly as the first. "This so more than any other."

"What do you say he should have done?" the first accused.

Harry decided he'd pretend that he was still asleep and wait for McGonagall and Snape to finish their argument. He wanted to see where it ended.

"I heard what Potter did," Snape went on. "Mr. Weasley says the brat purposely baited their captors. He kept their attention on him. He's an idiot."

Normally, Harry would have been angered by that comment, but somehow he couldn't seem to find the normal hate he reserved for Snape. Ever since… No, he wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't let the sour and pathetic excuse for a wizard get to him. Never again.

"Harry's friends have often commented that he has a 'saving people thing,'" McGonagall countered. "I'm sure he was not thinking of his own welfare at the time."

"You may be sure," Snape said sourly. "He would have done better to keep his foolish Gryffindor mouth shut. Pomfrey is not sure he will fully recover from the Electrificus curse that was used twice upon him."

"His foolish mouth kept Mr. Weasley from death, most likely," McGonagall said back. Harry felt tears in his eyes, and forced them to stay behind his eyelids. His emotions were close to the surface, and no matter how he tried he couldn't push them down.

Moody hadn't been saved. Charlie, only because the order showed up just in time. He hadn't done a damn thing to help anyone.

"Mr. Weasley and Alastor were nothing in their game," McGonagall went on, answering Harry's question. "They were less than nothing…they are only interested in Mr. Potter."

"His foolish mouth has once again put him in the hospital, with half the Order mooning over him," Snape said.

"Concerned or jealous, Severus?" McGonagall asked mildly. Harry could just imagine Snape scowling now, but couldn't find the strength to feel happy about McGonagall pretty much scolding Snape.

"Alastor Moody is dead. Charlie Weasley would be dead, if I had not figured out Malfoy's location in time. Mr. Potter is only alive because Lucius was not yet seriously trying to get information from the boy."

Snape laughed, a cold, sallow sound. "No, Minervera, I am nothing close to jealous, and it is an insult to me to suggest that I am concerned. I would merely like to point out one thing: the brat is going to get himself killed," Snape said coldly. Harry heard McGonagall sigh.

"I pray every day that it doesn't come to that," she said so softly that Harry almost didn't catch it.

His insides froze at her words. It was frightening and somehow much more real to hear someone else acknowledge that this war could kill him, of all people, and probably not too many years from now. He'd always known it, deep inside himself, but it was scary to know that it wasn't just his own secret. Others knew it could end that way.

As it had for Cedric.

His parents, before that, and Bertha Jenkins. So many others he couldn't name…

And others that he could.

Sirius.

And now Moody.

He rolled over slowly, deciding he should make his consciousness known. "Harry!" he heard McGonagall exclaim. He opened his eyes and blinked, clearing his bleary eyes, and then sat up stiffly. "How are you feeling?" she asked. He rolled his head around and flexed and relaxed numerous muscles, testing his body.

"Stiff, but all right," he said, somehow surprised that he could still make coherent thoughts and sentences. He didn't mention the aches in his joints, the stiffness that made them awkward to move.

Moody no longer had any joints or stiffness to complain about.

"You're not going to be able to stay here for long," McGonagall told him. Harry looked up at her, squinting without his glasses.

"What?"

"Voldemort knows you're here, and he knows that there are very few here to guard you," McGonagall explained. "We've arranged for a place for you to stay for the rest of the winter holiday."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling disoriented and confused. "But—" he started, then stopped. Why argue? He had killed so many already, and he knew that he wouldn't change their minds. "Where?" he asked instead, feeling defeated.

"Snape Manor," Professor Snape cut in. Harry blinked.

"Oh," he said softly. He felt odd still. Everything felt wrong. Had he really been capture and tortured? Had he really escaped?

Had Moody really died? Charlie…was he really alive?

It was as if nothing had happened.

And somehow, that thought took more out of him than everything else.

A/N: Harry angst ahead! Just so you know. Harry's got lots of issues in his life that he's trying to work through, and sixteen is a tough age to be. This chapter was primarily written before the several chapters that come before it, as I had this particular sequence of events clearly in mind just as I was beginning to map out this story. The chapter that is to come next was written before this one, even, and was something that I'd been attempting to write many times before.

As usual, PLEASE review, and I'll post as soon as I can.

Thanks,

Miss Laine