Chapter 14
This is here:
"Have you got everything, Hermione?" Ron asked, two bags slung over his shoulder and a third one at his feet.
They were going to Hogwarts as soon as Headmistress McGonagall sent them her Patronus, signalling that it was safe to come to the castle. Remus had made the request to her at the last Order meeting and she'd assured him that she'd comply with his wishes although she was slightly puzzled by such secrecy. The werewolf hadn't deemed it safe to tell her about Harry with so many people around; they could only hope that his appearance wouldn't come as too great a shock to the witch.
Hermione shrunk a pile of books and placed it in the pocket of her robes.
"I think so," she replied, "The whole flat's empty now. Remus told me he'd come back a couple of times to check that everything's in order and that all trace of magic is gone."
It had been decided to give up the flat completely; they'd been living there for over a year now and it was time to find a new hiding place after their stay at Hogwarts.
Harry had packed up everything in his... the other Harry's room the night before. He'd put everything into a battered trunk, feeling uncomfortable at violating somebody else's privacy like that. There had been books – Muggle novels and Hogwarts textbooks – and clothes – old school robes stripped off the crest and oversized hand-knitted jumpers – and a huge number of photographs – Muggle and wizarding pictures of Ginny Weasley and the rest of her family; Hermione reading, Remus cooking, Ron playing chess; Harry's parents waving at him, Sirius unwrapping Christmas presents, Neville chewing on a pencil; Ron and Hermione sitting in a park, arms around each other; Harry himself, smiling a bit awkwardly and smoothing down his bangs over his forehead.
Harry had spent a lot of time staring at this last image, touching his own lightning bolt shaped scar as if to mirror his counterpart's gesture.
He was sitting in the living room now, observing Hermione and Ron bickering, obviously comfortable in each other's presence. He wanted... that. To feel that comfortable again, to feel that safe again; to feel that he belonged to somebody.
And if Hermione failed in her research, if they never found out how the bowl worked, then -
Severus would be out of his reach, forever.
Rising abruptly, Harry took out his wand.
"I'm sorry," he said, causing Ron and Hermione to raise their heads and look at him in puzzlement. "I'll join you later. Don't wait for me."
He Apparated with a barely audible pop.
This isn't:
Harry woke up by sneezing repeatedly; something was covering his face, tickling his nose.
He was lying in the same dark corridor Neville had left him in; the cloth covering him was the invisibility cloak. Pulling the cloak off him and sitting up, Harry started groping for his wand; finally muttering a quiet, "Lumos!", he was relieved to see its tip flare up some inches away from his fingertips.
Harry stood up and pulled the cloak over his head again. It was obvious that Neville had entered the Department of Mysteries by now, and as he didn't know how long he himself had been unconscious it was more than likely that the Death Eaters would be in there as well.
The turning chamber was exactly as he remembered it; taking a deep breath and picking a door at random, Harry got lucky: The Time Room stretched out before him. He looked longingly at the huge case containing Time Turners of every size imaginable; but the case was locked and he didn't have the time now to figure out how to open it without doing any damage to the Time Turners. He passed it by, advancing slowly and carefully towards the Hall of Prophecy, anxious to avoid making any noise. He need not have bothered with this precaution, however, as the shouting at the other end of the room made it clear that the Death Eaters and Neville were fully occupied with each other at the moment.
"NO!"
"Don't be stupid, boy," snarled an angry voice, "Just give it to us."
"D'you honestly think I wouldn't know how prophecies work? Why doesn't Voldemort himself come and pick it up?"
"The Dark Lord doesn't bother with such... mundane affairs," another Death Eater spoke – one that Harry recognised as Lucius Malfoy as he crept nearer to to where the voices were coming from, wand raised.
"Mundane?" Neville snapped, "Step back! I'll give you mundane – tell me where my father is!"
Sarcastic laughter rang out.
"Good old Frank," Lucius sneered, "You'll never see him again if you don't give us that prophecy, you know."
"But he was here!" Harry could hear Neville's voice shake with barely suppressed panic, "I saw him, he was here, kneeling! What have you done to him – Where is he?"
"There, there," somebody else said softly, his tone clipped and precise, "Frank Longbottom, kneeling? Our Lord will be most pleased to hear that his visions have left an impression on you, boy. I think..."
And in that moment Harry recognised the voice, recognised the deep baritone and the drawn out vowels -
"Somebody should have paid more attention to his lessons. Isn't that so?"
"Regulus Black!" Neville spat out, "I knew it, you bloody traitor, you never even tried to teach me -"
"SILENCIO!" Regulus roared.
Harry was now crouching behind a shelf from where he could see eight Death Eaters, all robed and masked surrounding Neville who had both of his hands raised defiantly, gripping his wand tightly as if to fend off Regulus' charm.
"Much better," Lucius nodded, satisfied, "Let's see how well you've learned your wordless magic, shall we? Imperio!"
Harry watched in horror as Neville's eyes glazed over and his posture grew slack. The other wizard didn't seem to be fighting it off, and he obediently turned around to face the shelf with a flick of Lucius' wand.
"Now, boy... Pick up the prophecy."
"Impedimenta!" Making a split-second decision, Harry ripped off the cloak and froze Neville in the process of stretching out his hand towards the small glass orb resting in front of him.
The Death Eaters whirled around as one, facing him. Before any of them could attack him Harry had cast a shielding charm; not too early because a moment later half a dozen hexes and curses hit the shield and bounced off harmlessly.
"Potter!" Regulus hissed and Harry could detect genuine surprise in his voice.
"Sir," Harry nodded back, choosing to play the role of sassy ex-student.
"Harry Potter?" another Death Eater asked, taking a step towards Harry. "The Quidditch Player?"
"The very same," Harry shot back and sent a stinging hex towards him; the wizard jumped back with a muttered curse.
"Release him from the curse," he ordered, turning towards Lucius. Out of the corner of his eyes he could his charm wearing off; Neville was steadily creeping closer to the shelf.
"Or what?" another Death Eater – Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry noted with hatred surging through him – asked. "What are you going to do, Potter?"
"You are outnumbered," the Death Eater he'd hexed earlier pointed out gleefully.
"Actually..." Harry allowed himself to think of Ron and Hermione on a bright, hot summer's day, all three of them entangled on a blanket. The memory was enough to produce a brilliantly shining Patronus, the stag bursting forth from the tip of his wand. Harry looked at it for a moment, then nodded and sent it on its way with a wave of his hand.
The Death Eaters had retreated a few steps back; all except for Bellatrix who had taken off her mask and was watching Harry with a hungry expression on her face, and Neville, still under the influence.
"The whole Order will be here in a moment," Harry said quietly, "I suggest you leave now and leave Neville behind."
"Never!" Bellatrix screeched loudly, pointing at Harry with long, thin fingers, "The Dark Lord has given us an order – and no mere boy will keep me from fulfilling his wishes! Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!" Harry shouted out; but Bellatrix' spell seemed to have broken the other's stupor because suddenly Harry had to defend himself against half a dozen attacks at once. He shouted out every single shielding spell and protection charm he knew, all the while being slowly driven back, away from Neville and the prophecy.
Finally, seeing no other choice, he shouted out, "Bombarda!" in direction of the shelves behind his opponents; the shelves exploded into a shower of splinters and broken glass. Harry was protected by another shielding charm; not all the Death Eaters were so lucky and he watched as two of them went down, half-buried under large chunks of wood.
All of this had made little to no impression on Neville; the young wizard was bleeding from various cuts on his face and Harry winced in sympathy as he saw that some small shards of glass had embedded themselves in the flesh of his cheeks and hands. Harry had only this one chance, exploiting the fact that the Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, were distracted for a moment. He tackled Neville bodily, pulling him down to the ground with him. The other man struggled feebly against Harry's grip, but his eyes were still vacant and he didn't utter a single sound. Seeing him thus made Harry's decision easier, even though he couldn't help a slight pang of regret at what he was about to do.
"Sorry, Neville," he whispered, and then, "Petrificus totalus!"
Harry scrambled back up again, away from Neville's petrified body and took a deep breath. Voldemort wasn't going to rest until he had Sybill Trelawney's prophecy in his possession; he wasn't going to give up until he'd heard it in its entirety. Harry's advantage in this was that he'd already lived through the events in his world; he himself knew the prophecy by heart and he was sure that the Albus Dumbledore of this reality did as well, even if Neville didn't.
There was therefore no need to leave the glass orb in the Department of Mysteries; no need for the continued risk of Voldemort's interest; the easiest thing would be to destroy the prophecy and be done with it once and for all.
Only one thing prevented Harry from picking up the orb and smashing it on the spot: A prophecy could only be picked up from the shelf by the person it had been made about in the first place; in this place, Voldemort and the boy who lived. But he, Harry, wasn't the boy who lived in this world. Here, he was merely a potential candidate who'd been rejected when Voldemort had made the choice of attacking the Longbottoms nineteen years previously.
On the other hand, Harry was the boy who lived; and part of Voldemort's power still resided in within him; he could still speak Parseltongue and Severus had said so as well.
"What now, Potter?" taunted a furious Bellatrix behind him, "What are you going to do, one against six? I'm sure I can make you beg for your life before your filthy mudblood friends arrive."
"I don't doubt that," Harry answered back, risking a quick glance at this opponents. They'd apparently chose to ignore their injured comrades for the moment and now formed a semi-circle surrounding Harry, wands raised and pointed at him.
"But I doubt you'll lay a finger on me once I've got... this." With those words he reached out, tracing the cool glass structure with his fingers before closing his fist firmly around it and taking it off the shelf.
"How on Earth -" one of the Death Eaters exclaimed and took a step forward; Lucius, his pale face still as a mask, held him back and shook his head.
"Impressive," Regulus muttered, "Very good, Harry."
"Potter!" another robed figure spat out, the haughty, sneering tone telling Harry exactly who was hiding behind the white mask. "You -"
"Draco, no -"
But the young wizard didn't listen. Ripping off his mask he incanted a furious, "EXPELLIARMUS!" which Harry barely managed to dodge. Still clasping the prophecy in his left hand he sent various hexes and curses towards the Death Eaters, all the while thinking about how to escape this stand-off. There was no way he could win a fight against six Death Eaters; and this time there was nobody there to help him – no Luna, no Neville, no Ginny, Ron or Hermione. He would have to try and stall for time until Severus and the Order arrived, and not get himself killed in the meantime.
Glancing round the shelves behind him he ground out, "Reducio!" A moment later a grumbling noise from above told him that the shelves would collapse in mere seconds. Pointing his wand at his own feet, Harry hoped that his luck would see him through this, whispering, "Levicorpus!"
He found himself propelled into the air, faster than he would have expected; the oxygen was driven from his lungs as if he'd been punched in the stomach; his vision blurred.
And this would be why levitating yourself is really, really frowned upon at school, Harry though dizzily as he attempted to control his trajectory.
He had to get away from the exploding shelves and the Death Eaters, away from this room. The Order would be arriving soon and he still had to get a Time Turner; that was what he was here for, after all. Closing his eyes, Harry cradled the crystal ball close to his chest with one hand and gripped his wand more tightly with the other. He desperately pointed it towards the ceiling, hoping that the spell would hold long enough to guide him; and it did. He sailed over the Death Eaters' heads and landed in an ungraceful heap twenty feet away from them.
"Stupefy!"
"Crucio!"
"Expelliarmus!"
He barely had time to react; throwing himself behind another shelf to dodge the curses sent his way, Harry stumbled as he stood up and nearly collapsed right away. The room was spinning around him at an alarming speed and little bursts of colourful lights exploded in front of his eyes; his stomach cramped painfully.
"Shit," he whispered to himself before taking off in a run through the narrow paths between the shelves, in the opposite direction from where he'd come from. His original way through the Time Room was closed to him now, barred by broken shelves and the Death Eaters in his pursuit. Harry could hear them running behind him, cursing and swearing. He heard Bellatrix cackle and increased his speed. Reaching the end of the room he wrenched open the door he found there and fitted it with a locking charm once he'd passed through. It was a simple spell that wouldn't hold any wizard worth his salt for long; but it could buy him a few precious seconds.
To Harry's surprise he found himself in the turning chamber again. He closed his eyes as the doors began to spin nauseatingly around him; once they were at rest again he dashed off through one of them. Hopefully the Death Eaters wouldn't know which one he'd taken; that would force them to split up, increasing his chances of getting through this whole impromptu chase alive.
The room he found himself in now was rather medium in size, rectangular and was made entirely out of grey stone. It reminded Harry of Slytherin's tomb; both rooms – chambers – were similar in appearance, seemingly hewn out of a single material, and both of them had an air of great age and hidden power to it, despite looking innocuous enough. This room was empty except for an unlit fireplace opposite the door and a rough stone bench placed in front of it.
Harry took some steps into the middle of the room, away from the door, and turned around, looking up. The ceiling was only a few feet above him and yet seemed to be shrouded in shadows; darkness curled in its corners and a shiver ran down his spine. Whatever the purpose of this chamber was, power was leaking through it, stemming from the fireplace; and while it didn't feel actively dark or evil, it had nothing benign to it either.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry was hit from the spell from behind, completely taken by surprise; his attacker must have used a Disillusionment Charm to slip into the room behind him unnoticed. Severus' wand flew from his powerless fingers and clattered to the floor a few feet away. Harry himself had been hit with such force that he was blasted to the ground and narrowly missed cracking his head open against the stone bench.
He made a move to get up again; but the Death Eater in front of him dropped to his knees and bored his wand against Harry's heart.
"Don't even think about moving," he hissed, "I've got you right where I want you."
As the other wizard took off his mask Harry could see that it was Draco Malfoy smirking triumphantly at him.
"So, Potter," he said, "The prophecy, if you please."
"In your dreams," Harry spat and did what few pureblood wizards ever expected their opponent to do: He attacked him bodily. Kicking out with both feet he managed to repel Malfoy enough to spring to his feet; and while the other wizard was still gasping for breath Harry stepped on his right wrist.
"Release it!" he ordered; Draco looked up at him, hatred in his eyes and shook his head defiantly.
Harry pressed his lips together and applied more pressure. Draco howled in pain and let his wand slip from his fingers. Harry kicked it away and then crouched over his former school rival.
"You're pathetic, Malfoy," he said softly, "You and your whole bunch of Muggle-hating comrades. You're a disgrace to the wizarding world, d'you know that? Murdering two innocent people because your fragile ego couldn't take it that Hermione Granger bested you in every single exam – how sad is that?"
Harry had talked himself into a rage; seeing Drace huddled on the ground, seemingly drowning in his black robes, the usually pale face covered with red splotches and saliva glistening on his lips, Harry wanted nothing more than to punch him, knock the living daylights out of the bastard.
Draco looked up at him, panting.
"Sad, maybe," he hissed, "But still better than you. Better prepared in any case. ACCIO!" he commanded loudly and his wand came flying through the air, slapping into his free hand.
"Petrificus totalus!"
Harry was taken by surprise, again; and although Draco had to use his left, non-wand hand his spell was still strong enough to make Harry freeze up completely and slowly, helplessly topple to the floor.
"You're such a loser, Potter," the other wizard said, rising to his feet, "Such a little Muggle-loving fag."
Coming from a man who was sleeping with Regulus Black rather more often than not that remark was a bit rich, but Harry was hardly in any position to complain. Draco disappeared from his field of vision, coming to stand behind him.
"Pathetic," he said softly, "Shall I show you exactly what I do to pathetic, cocksucking nancy-boys like you, Potter,?"
Suddenly Harry was grabbed by his hair and dragged across the floor. He would have screamed out loud if he had been able to do so; the pain was excruciating. A thousand needles were boring into his scalp, hot flashes shooting through his head and down his spine. Malfoy twisted his hold and the pain intensified even more, became more specific, more vicious. Harry was dragged upwards, his upper body thrown across the bench, face pressed against the cold stone.
"I'm going to enjoy this," Malfoy whispered hotly into his ear.
A wordless spell conjured ropes out of thin air, tying Harry's arms stretched wide apart to the bench in an iron vice. Shackles rose from the floor, binding his feet as well.
"And I think I'll want to hear you scream. Finite!"
Harry groaned out loud as the body-bind was lifted; his eyes drifted shut and he fought against the nausea rising up his throat.
"You see, at school – such a long time ago now, isn't it? - I amused myself by designing... spells. A useful skill, don't you think, Potter? Perfect for what I'm going to do to you because I've got just the thing."
Malfoy rapped his wand against Harry's back and he flinched; instead of the pain he expected, however, there was only the cool draft of air against his bare skin – Malfoy had stripped him of his shirt and left his robes in tatters.
"Why, Draco," he panted mockingly, "If you wanted me naked you need only have asked."
Draco's answer was to kick him in the ribs, hard; Harry coughed as he gasped for breath, stars exploding in front of his eyes.
"This is better, trust me," the wizard's voice rang out behind him. "Flagellante!"
And Harry's world exploded into shards of pain and blood.
Because the spell Malfoy had apparently created himself was deceptively simple in magical terms, but perfect in its ability to cause pain: A spell inflicting a flogging on a victim using a magical cat-o'nine-tails; and there was no whooshing sound as stroke after stroke rained down on Harry's back, nothing to announce the imminent connection to flesh, no way to prepare himself, to brace himself for blow after blow after blow.
"Flagellante!"
After the first blow Harry had cried out as all air was abruptly driven from his lungs. He'd then clenched his teeth, careful not to bite on his tongue, determined not to give Malfoy the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
"Flagellante!"
It was a promise to himself he was in no position to keep; and Harry started to scream as soon as he felt a warm, wet trickle start running down his back. The sight of Harry's blood seemed to excite the other wizard even more and he keened the spell in triumph, over and over again.
"Flagellante! Flagellante! FLAGELLANTE!"
Unconsciousness seemed to be the only way out, the only way for Harry to escape from this torture. A grey fog started to rise up before his eyes; he whimpered, his throat raw and hurting.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" a harsh voice suddenly rang out through the room and cut through Harry's dizziness; a glimmer of hope that – this would soon be at an end because he was absolutely certain that he couldn't take much more of it.
"Regulus," Draco's surprised voice sounded behind him. Harry would have liked to turn around his head to see for himself, but he was firmly tied to the bench, his head held completely immobile. He only had the wizards' voice as guidance to what was going on.
"Draco, what is this?"
"It's just a bit of sport -"
"Just a bit of sport? Have you gone insane like your aunt?"
There was a defiant pause and then Regulus hissed, "Answer me, boy!"
"It was just a bit of sport!"
"Have you forgotten your orders? Where's the prophecy?"
"I -"
Harry barely prevented himself from flinching; the prophecy was in the pocket of his robe where he'd put it during his escape from the Death Eaters. If Regulus really was a traitor, if his fate mirrored that of the Snape from his world, then that meant that everything had been in vain. He was utterly helpless; tied down, wandless, weakened by pain and blood loss he didn't stand a chance against the two wizards.
"You didn't care, did you?" Regulus asked, his voice deceptively soft. "All you cared about was living out your fantasies, obtaining petty revenge at all cost. Release him."
"No!"
"Release him at once."
"What gives you the right -"
"Release him, Draco, or I'm going to do it myself."
"You have no right -"
"I have every right!" the older wizard roared, "Stand back or you'll suffer the consequences!"
"No! He's mine to do with as I please! Stupefy!"
Draco's spell sizzled through the room and Harry clenched his eyes shut, the taste of vomit filling his mouth. He couldn't see, wouldn't see even if he could, and so he concentrated on the sounds behind him as the two Death Eaters duelled to decide his fate.
"Expelliarmus! Impedimenta!"
"Protego! Crucio! Flagellante!"
"Protego!"
A moment of silence, interrupted by two sets of laboured breathing, and then Regulus' voice, pregnant with power and magic. "Expelliarmus!"
There was a loud cry, a thud; a crack and then silence again.
Footsteps approached Harry; cool fingers touched his face and Regulus whispered, "Finite."
The ropes fell away from him, the shackles disappeared; and Harry slid to the ground and vomited until tears were streaming down his face and his body was wracked by hacking coughs. Regulus was crouching next to him, slowly smoothing sweaty strands of hair back from his face, letting the back of his hand wander over Harry's nape and rubbing a soothing pattern on his shoulders, careful not to stray too close to his wounds. When only bile was rising from his throat the older wizard summoned a cool cloth and made Harry look up at him.
His face was expressionless as he wiped Harry's mouth and face; his eyes betrayed nothing. Ever since that last spell he hadn't spoken a word.
He got up and held out his hands to Harry; he took them and was pulled to his feet. The world spun around him and he leaned against the older man.
"Tergeo," Regulus said softly, holding Harry by the waist, thumb stroking over the exposed hip bone. "Tergeo. Tergeo. Tergeo."
Harry could feel the blood vanish from his back, could feel his wounds close up by another murmured spell, though only superficially.
"I'm not a medi-wizard. This should do for the next hour or so. Get Severus to patch you up, he's got enough experience."
"What about Draco?" Harry whispered hoarsely, turning in Regulus' arms. The younger wizard was lying in a crumpled heap in the far corner of the room; his shockingly bright eyes seemed to be staring straight at Harry and only the unnatural angle of his neck told him that Draco Malfoy was dead.
"An accident," Regulus replied, "It was an accident. Where's the prophecy?"
Harry took it from the pocket of his tattered robe with shaking fingers; the older man closed his hand around it from him and sneered. "I was never very partial to prophecies, I'm afraid. And this one has caused more harm than most." He weighed it in his hand for a moment and then flung it against the nearest wall with all his might. The glass orb shattered into a thousand pieces, Sybill Trelawney's voice floating softly through the room:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
"Ramblings of a madwoman. Fitting that the Dark Lord should want to hear it, for he is mad himself."
"I... Thank you," Harry said, awkwardly freeing himself from Regulus' embrace. "For saving me. I didn't think... That is, I wasn't sure -"
"Harry, look at me."
Harry complied and was trapped by the other man's gaze; his blue eyes weren't emotionless anymore; anything but that. For the first time he was sure that Regulus was showing him his real feelings, that he wasn't wearing a polite mask or the veneer of arrogance customary for pureblood wizards.
"I've killed Draco. I've destroyed the prophecy. The Dark Lord will know; it seems my role as a spy has – finally – come to an end."
A tremor ran through his body and he twisted his mouth disdainfully before continuing, "I must run; I must hide. There's Death Eaters everywhere, and the Dark Lord – Voldemort – is going to arrive soon. This fireplace -" he pointed to the huge stone hearth behind them, "leads deep into the Department of Mysteries, to places where we'll never be discovered. It's the only chance I – we – have. We have to hide, Harry."
Harry shook his head slowly, licking his split lips. "There's something I have to do first. I can't... I'm sorry."
"Do you have any idea how many Death Eaters are out there? You're in no condition to fight one of them, let alone twenty!"
"There's something I have to do first," Harry repeated stubbornly and Regulus seemed to realise that further discussion would be futile; he sighed.
"So this is goodbye then?" he asked in a low voice. "I've never said goodbye to you before. Not even -"
"That's all in the past," Harry interrupted him. "You should go now."
A sudden thought occurred to him and he grabbed Regulus' sleeve to prevent him from leaving. Shuffling through the pocket of his robe he had to dig deeply before finally retrieving the piece of parchment he'd been looking for. He held it out to Regulus.
"This is... Severus gave it to me. It's a map of the Department of Mysteries and... Well. I know where I'm going. This is for you, for when you get lost."
The older wizard stared at him before gingerly accepting the map and nodding.
"Tell him – Tell him he has my gratitude."
With those words Regulus walked straight towards the fireplace, stepped into the hearth and disappeared in a sudden and short burst of blue flames.