Chapter twelve: interpretation

Harry woke from his trance with little memory of what had transpired within his mind. His head throbbed, and his eyes burned, watery. He made to rub them, and his hands came away crimson with blood. Though he could not recall the feeling of being one with the skull, there was one thing he did remember, it echoed throughout the innermost reaches of his mind. A single, phrase, a single word. But more than a word, a plea, a request, an order. Return.

Harry was exhausted, his head lulled, no longer drawn to the skull. He saw that it had once again been covered by the sack, which might have explained his awakening. The tight black cords disappeared, as the spell was undone. Harry stumbled to his feet, light-headed. Still, after a moment of realigning himself with the law of gravity, he was able to stand quite unsupported. Already, he felt better.

The skull needed to be returned, that much was sure, it was dangerous. But not by the Death Eater's, not by Natasha's terms.

"What was it like mate?" Mundungus swaggered into Harry's line of vision. "Looked bloody strange to us, you in some kind of tra-" The rest of the statement was made indiscernible, as Harry drove his fist into Mundungus's face. The man spun away, blood flecking the air. He whimpered, clutching his broken nose.

He was outnumbered, and he didn't even have a wand. But Harry was the boy who lived. He'd been in worse scrapes, he was sure of it, and he wasn't going to give up again. He was through playing by the Death Eater's terms, and he was going to do his best to wipe that smirk of Natasha's face. Breaking Dung's nose was only the beginning.

"Enough of this," there she was, the girl stepping foreward to face him, ignoring Mundungus, who was trying, and failing, to heal his nose with his wand. "The skull has chosen you. You will speak to Longbottom, you will lead us to Akator."

"Why?" said Harry. "It's my destiny or something like that?" and he lunged, diving for the steel blade at the girl's waist. If he could get to the sword, he might be able to.

But when Harry was only a foot away, huge hands closed on his shoulders, pulling him away. Natasha hadn't even blinked. Dovchenko threw Harry to the ground, hard. As he moved to get up, the large Death Eater pulled his wand from a pocket of his trousers, and pointed it at Harry, unfaltering. Harry hadn't even seen the man come in. and from the look on Dovchenko's face, he was all too reminded of the graveyard back in Nazca. The Death Eater would have killed him then, and he was all to eager to finish the job.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me," said Harry heavily, staring daggers at Natasha. "It won't make a difference."

"I know that," said Natasha, evenly. "Which is why I had something far more entertaining in mind."

Two more Death Eater's were summoned, to escort Harry out into the camp. Dovchenko by himself was more than capable of the job. But Harry surmised the man thought it beneath him, being the second in command. They went not to the bonfire this time, but to the other, less busy, side of the camp. Here Harry saw parked an array of muggle vehicles, United States military issue and durable, ideal for jungle navigation. He didn't like the prospect on bit.

Another Death Eater appeared, pulling with him a struggling figure. "James," Harry exclaimed. Actually, between the skull, and Neville, and everything else, he had nearly forgotten his son had been captured as well. James didn't look any more harmed than he had upon their capture in the graveyard, but Harry could tell that, despite his struggles, he was afraid.

"Dad," James face lit up momentarily. Then fell again as he realized his father was in much the same position as he.

"Don't worry," Harry answered, reassuring himself as much as his son. "It's going to be all right."

"No," said Natasha, "events will most certainly not fit your definition of alright."

"Who are you?" James exclaimed, scrutinizing the girl before him. He did this, Harry noticed, with more interest than he would have a few years previously.

"I am your father's godfather's cousin's daughter," she replied, with slightly more enthusiasm than in the tent. "But, more importantly, I'm going to kill you."

The Death Eater behind James shoved him foreward, forcing him to his knees. With a single elegant movement, Natasha drew the rapier from her belt, and, balancing the blade in a single hand, leveled it, a few inches from his throat.

"Where to begin," she said, not at all cruel, or sympathetic, simply calm and indifferent, which Harry found far worse, he could feel his stomach turning.

"Perhaps the ears," Natasha said, flippantly. "No, I forget, the ears must stay." She touched the tip of the blade lightly to James skin, following the curve of his jaw; a thin line of blood appeared where she had broken the skin. "The fingers, individually, that should be amusing."

James had his eyes screwed shut, holding completely still, barely breathing. "Don't stop her dad," he whispered. "Don't give these bastards a thing."

But Harry couldn't stand it anymore, "Okay, stop" he exclaimed, his voice far more confident than he felt. "Stop, I'll do what you want. And James, watch your language."

"No," replied Natasha, taking the sword away. "I haven't finished yet. But, perhaps a family should be all together at such a time."

Harry felt an even deeper sinking feeling, as he remembered why they had traveled to Peru in the first place. There was movement in a nearby tent, the sound of a struggle. He heard a woman swearing, and his heart managed to both leap and stop simultaneously.

Two Death Eater's excited the tent, pulling between them a bedraggled figure. She was tall and slim, made more so by the jungle. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders, but was snarled and matted, unkempt. Her clothing was in equal condition, worn trainers, jeans ragged and torn, a plain t-shirt stained with blood and soaked with dried sweat. There were bruises and scratches all over her exposed skin, but her brown eyes, the same as James', where bright and alive.

Ginny Weasley slipped away from the Death Eater's grip, and walked calmly up to Harry. Ignoring the two men flanking him, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him heavily on the mouth. Harry could do nothing but return her embrace. When, at last, she pulled away, she was smiling.

"I knew you'd come," she said, quietly.

"I always turn up," Harry replied.

"Like a bad penny."

"Hopefully not too bad."

"And worth more than a penny." Ginny's face lost its happiness as she noticed James, still kneeling on the ground, slightly repulsed by their exchange.

"What the hell is he doing here?" she exclaimed.

"Well," Harry began, trying to ignore James, who was sending him a look that read: 'you aren't going to tell her not to swear, are you?'

"Why'd you bring him into this."

"He already was in."

"Well, why'd you bring him along?"

"He's out of school."

"Oh, of course, it must be alright then," her answer was sarcastic.

"It does not matter," said Natasha. Dovchenko seized Ginny from behind. Holding her wrists in one hand, the other arm around her neck, forcing her head back against his chest. Harry had no doubt the man could snap her neck like a twig.

Doubling his unrest, Natasha stepped foreward. Her sword, the tip still red with James blood, stopped a few centimeters from Ginny's eye.

"Should I blind her first, or wait, so she can watch her son die."

"Neither," Harry protested. "Just let them go, they aren't a part of this. I already told you, I'll talk to Neville, I'll do what you want. Please." He stretched the last word.

Natasha reacted instantly. She flicked the blade downward, slicing a thin gash along Ginny's cheek. Spinning, she flung the blade toward Harry. It whistled past his ear to embed itself in a tree, quivering.

"Very well," she said, and turned on her heel, striding back toward the bonfire. Leaving a Death Eater to retrieve her sword.

Dovchenko released Ginny, and she immediately dropped to her knees, massaging her throat, ignoring the trickle of blood now dripping down her face.

Harry helped her to her feet. She leaned on him momentarily, now conscious enough of her cut to hold a hand to it, trying to staunch the bleeding. Together, they walked after Natasha. James got up and followed them, eyeing the Death Eaters around them, including Dovchenko, ambling along at the rear. Escape was a daunting task, but one he would act toward given the slightest possibility. Despite Harry's new willingness to help, he had no intention of staying anywhere near any of the Death Eater's, especially the girl, the one who felt so wrong.

Neville Longbottom was sitting, unmoving, by the fire, away from the other men and women, who eyed him with a mixture of disgust and fear. He took no notice of them, opting instead to stare deeply into the flames.

Harry glanced back at Natasha, who watched intently. He laid his hand of Neville's shoulder. The man turned and looked up on him, "Harry James Potter!" he exclaimed brightly, getting to his feet.

"That's my name," said Harry. "Now, you have too-"

"Harry James Potter," Neville chuckled, clapping Harry on the back. And then, instantaneously, he was deathly serious. "To lay their just hands on that golden key, that opes the palace of eternity."

"Come again?"

"It's a line from Milton," said Natasha, in answer. "He's said it before."

"Who's Milton," Harry grumbled, before focusing again on Neville. "Neville, you've been to Akator. You've got to tell me how to get there."

"Through eyes that last I saw in tears," Neville continued, recounting what he had told Harry earlier. He was becoming increasingly agitated, waving his hands in short concise movements. "Here in death's dream kingdom."

"Neville, I don't need that right now. I need directions. You know Ginny, my wife? They're going to kill her. Ron's little sister. They'll kill her, and my son, and me, unless you give me something to go on."

"Eyes! Through eyes that last I saw…" Neville seemed to have some recognition about him, was unable to find the words, trapped in the same twisted verse. Harry noticed that his right hand was moving far more directly than his left, and that his fingers were pressed together, as if holding a…

"Get me a quill and parchment," said Harry, astonished at his own breakthrough. Dovchenko obliged, conjuring not only a bottle of red ink, a plain, serviceable quill, and a three pieces of parchment, but a wooden table to hold them up.

Harry gently guided Neville's hand down to the paper, inked the quill, and placed it in his grip. Neville continued his rapid hand movement as before, but now he was drawing a pattern on the paper, lines and squiggles, rather than the words Harry had hoped for. Neville himself was oblivious, still gazing straight ahead at Harry's face.

"Harry James Potter," he warned seriously. "Three times it drops."

"I'm sure it does," said Harry, grinning, "I'm sure it does."

After Neville had covered all three pieces of parchment identically, he dropped the quill, and drifted away, settling himself once more before the fire.

As if on cue, Natasha came forward, taking Harry's place at the table. She picked up one of the pieces of parchment, and held it up to the light of the flames. "These are just scribbles," she exclaimed accusatorily. Then, after a moment, "Or perhaps…

"Map," she ordered, and Dovchenko came up beside he, handing her a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it out on the table, comparing it to Neville's drawing. The map was far more detailed, yet in major lines and landmarks, they were identical.

"Yes," said Natasha, purely to herself, as she seized the quill and began scribbling notations onto both of the maps. "These are directions. Along the river, and across…" As the two Death Eaters leaned farther over the table, James made his move.

James darted foreward and flipped the table over, with all his strength he rammed it into the two Death Eaters. With a shout of "Run!" he darted past them and sprinted off into the darkness, his parents close behind.