A/N: I haven't updated in weeks and I am truly apologetic about it. Life has been way too busy and exhausting and I am only starting on this today (14th Aug) and it's almost midnight now.

All Characters are sole property of JKR, no profit is made from this story.

Chapter 51: Rescue part I: Stealth

Harry wasn't sure if it would work but the strange blue light that glowed like a wispy ball was still right there, in the middle of the room, and pulling him to itself like a powerful enchantment.

He looked once more at the Deluminator that lay peacefully in his palm while his half-packed belongings lay forgotten on the table. The light reminded him of something, but his sleep-deprived and fatigued brain struggled to place a finger on it.

"Is that a Portkey, Master?" inquired the elf from somewhere behind him, and he looked around at the curious elf, having momentarily forgotten about Kreacher's presence.

"Yeah, I think it is, Kreacher," he replied slowly.

His voice sounded determined and focused, and he closed his fingers over the small object that belonged to Ron with a newfound strength pulsing in his heart. The foggy images in his head were slowly getting sharper, crystal clear in fact. Glancing once at the blue light just to ensure it was still present, he turned around to face Kreacher.

"Stay here, I might need your help again," he instructed.

Driven by instinct and head that was working more frantically than ever,he pulled out the silvery cloak he had inherited from his father; one flush, and he was invisible to even his own eyes. Carrying nothing more apart from the moleskin pouch that contained a few of his prized articles and Hermione's wand, he walked purposefully towards the ball of light. His thoughts were on two of his best friends as the glowing blue orb floated towards him and entered his heart; his immediate thought was how it was pleasantly cool, and had a calming effect clearing his head further.

He concentrated on Ron's voice that had long faded and turned on the spot.

...

The place he had Apparated to was dark, cold and stinky. The pleasant and soothing sensation in his chest had given way to dread and he hoped that somehow was an indication that the Portkey had delivered him exactly where he was supposed to be. All his senses more alert than he had been in the past couple of days, he stepped cautiously ahead. There was absolutely no doubt that it was some sort of a dungeon and the fear for his friends increased manifolds. There was nothing here but silence and darkness. But if Ron had called him here, they had to be somewhere around.

A very deep and dark image formed in his heart, and he gripped the wand harder.

He wasn't late, was he?

Harry swallowed hard and forced the thought aside. He debated about lighting his wand, but that would give away his position to anyone who might be present on guard duty. After all, he had only his invisibility cloak that gave him an element of surprise against the enemy which quite possibly was stronger in both number and strength. He had a half-formed notion that he was currently inside one of Voldemort's dark dens, and if that was indeed true, finding Ron and Hermione was only half the problem.

With his ears trained for the smallest of sounds, he carefully extended his arm to gauge the size of the room. All he met was air, so he shifted to his left as noiselessly as he could, keeping one arm stretched for any intrusion, another gripping Hermione's wand tightly.

Long minutes passed, and he had crossed several feet from where he had started. Keeping his palm pressed on the wall which he had finally found, and using it as a guide he walked ahead slowly, prepared any minute for some attack, some lurking danger, or some sign of his friends.

Their names were on his lips struggling for an escape but he kept the urge in check only because he would be of no help if he got caught.

The silence was deafening, and he forcefully pushed away the fear that increased with more of empty space he found. Perhaps they had been shifted elsewhere, he hoped desperately; the other alternative was excruciatingly painful even to think about.

Both his body and thoughts seized as he heard the distinct sound of approaching footsteps. Pressing himself flat against the wall he trained his ears to gauge the source of the sound. But that was not necessary.

Soon a very thin stream of light penetrated below what could only be the cell door, and before long, the heavy metal was pushed on its hinges to expose a tall thin figure; he paused with one arm on the door and another gripping his wand tightly.

Even with the light source behind the new arrival, and being able to see nothing more than a silhouette that cast a long shadow on the cell floor- Harry knew that figure well enough.

...

Draco scrunched his nose in distaste as the hint of sweat, bile and blood hit his nostrils. His hand at the cold heavy door shook a little and for once, he even considered turning around. But Hermione had struck something inside him with her words. He still had no intentions of helping her escape or aid Weasley in any way. That would be impossibly stupid. Granger could keep her Gryffindorish speeches to herself; he knew better than to do anything that would make the Dark Lord or even Bellatrix pay him more attention than the next insignificant new recruit. For once, he was better off being as invisible as he could and he intended to nothing that would put the limelight on him. But that was not all. While he had no plans of risking his head by assisting Hermione in her grand plans, he did wish for her to succeed. He wanted this to end. And that was what had drawn him to this cell: he had to see for himself if Ronald was still alive.

He should have been used to this by now; after all, this wasn't the first time he was going to witness the effect of his Aunt Bella's passion for dark curses, and this certainly wasn't going to be the last. But no matter how vehemently he denied it, this was different. He had seen people being killed, sometimes in one clean stroke where the shock of it still lingered in the eyes of the dying, while at others it was downright ugly- like when Nagini, Greyback or Bellatrix were involved. But more often than not, they were strange unknown faces- not this time, however. Ronald Weasley was more than familiar. Yes, he was a constant nuisance, he and his best mate- the Saint Harry Potter. A bleak part of him could not help whoop in exhilaration at the thought of the ginger having received a fitting payback for those long school years. But that was a smaller part. The larger one was queasy. From what he had heard from his father and Hermione, Weasley was putting up a tough fight despite Aunt Bella's numerous efforts. He hated to admit that no matter how bad shape the boy might be in physically, Hermione was right. Draco had no intention, strength or wish to be at the receiving end of Bellatrix's curses, not for anything, not for anyone: he'd rather do her bidding. It was stupid to allow her to get into her favourite pastime but honestly, would she relent even if Ronald gave away all the secrets of his best mate? He was still marked for death but this was just making it worse. An utter stupid Olaf if he ever saw one. But he wasn't complaining. If Weasley's stupid bravery helped in getting them all out of this mess, why complain? Better him than Draco...

Once again he contemplated turning away, but there was some deep unhealthy attraction drawing him inside the cell. He wanted to see the scarred and broken form of Ronald as much as he wished to escape. It was like the lure of a rotting wound that drew your eyes towards it no matter how ghastly the sight.

He gripped the wand harder once more, and pointing it towards one of the torches, lit it with a soft incantation. The darkness of the room subsided marginally, and he looked around the claustrophobia-inducing room before his eyes fell on the figure that lay a few spaces ahead on his left.

Ron Weasley was lying on his stomach, and Draco continued to watch, sickeningly mesmerised at the ginger's bloodied form, concentrating on his back to make out even the tiniest amount of rising and fall. He had no desire to get closer to the man who seemed to be lying in a dried up patch of his own blood and bile, but he had to know if Ron was alive. So he took a few hesitant steps ahead.

Before he even knew what happened, a blast caused his wand to go flying out of his hand and his back collided painfully with the stones at the far corner of the room. As he pushed himself up, his terrified heart thundering away, throat choked and unable to find his voice, he looked around for the source but found nothing more than a half-dead body. The next instant a red light flashed from somewhere close to the lying form of Ronald and then there was nothing but darkness.

...

Harry looked away from the unconscious form of Draco Malfoy, fury and hate pumping in equal measure in his veins. The cell, now visible in the light from the torch high up in the bracket, was solid stone without even a tiny gap for ventilation. He was sure it was magically sealed as well. The door was slightly ajar, and while no noise came in from outside, he was sure he could not possibly walk out with Ron and just walk out through the main hall.

Taking a few precious moments to chalk out a basic Modulus Operandi, he moved to the door while still hidden under the cloak. The long narrow corridor was lined on either side by closed doors, and on the far right part of it, a spiral staircase was visible. On the left, there was nothing more than two more doors and then a flat space of the wall.

He hurried back quickly and denying his natural instinct to rush to Ron, moved towards the unconscious form of Draco instead. Fury raged at the sight of the blonde, and barely restricting the urge to physically harm the unresponsive man, he levitated the limp body and moved him over to the far end corner of the room and out of sight. Nothing would raise the alarm more than seeing the stunned self of the Malfoy heir in what he was now sure a part of his own Manor.

Once the blonde was shifted away, he moved quickly over to his best mate. He had been next to Ron ever since the ginger's inert form had been visible in the light from the torch, and now, as he bent down closer to place a hand on his best mate's bloodied chest, fury mixed in with pain and dread. It was not difficult to guess what they had been using Ron for, his body had ample signs to show for it. The face was almost unrecognisable with a bruised eye and blacked jaw being just the tip of the iceberg. The worse parts were the gashes that ran down his cheeks; they looked like someone had pushed something sharp into the skin and intentionally ripped it apart.

"Ron..." Harry called heavily, and placed a hand delicately on his head, hoping he wasn't touching a sore spot. Ron did not seem to have heard him at all. Removing his cloak aside he moved closer and sat on his knees. Carefully pushing Ron up, Harry positioned himself such that Ron's head lay on his lap before calling out once more.

He had to forcefully stop himself from shaking his best mate hard because, Merlin knew, Ron's predicament was making him very worried. Ron was burning up and almost scorching his skin through his jeans. He had to call a couple of more times before the ginger stirred and Harry released a breath he didn't even realise he had been holding.

Ron opened his eyes marginally, but even that seemed to take immense effort, and for a minute, Harry was petrified that Ron might not recognise him at all.

But that moment passed as Ron took several breaths through his mouth before his lips moved and eyes lit up with recognition.

"Ha- Harry?" he exhaled with immense effort.

He was so relieved he could scream, instead, he conjured a goblet of water and brought it to Ron's lips. Looking towards the door and training his ears hard for any sound of threat, he helped Ron lift himself up and take a sip. Ron choked and spluttered, and water dribbled down the sides of his mouth. Finally, he lay back, tired with the simplest exercise.

"We have to get you out," Harry added quickly. It was hard to tell how long Ron would remain conscious.

Ron opened his mouth to speak but exhaled with difficulty a few times, his chest heaving before he closed his mouth and shut his eyes. He licked his dry lips and forced open his eyes once more.

"Her... Mione," he breathed with difficulty while forcing himself up, and Harry held him on without interrupting because he could see in Ron's eyes that he needed to give this information.

"She... sa-safe... p-pretending," he stopped once more to draw in more air, "pretend-ing... t-to be on their s-side," he added with difficulty, "we... we pla-planned before," he coughed. "F-find h-her," he pleaded before collapsing back.

"Yes, Ron, I'll find her," he promised, wondering how he had doubted Ron at all. At least, this meant Hermione was safe. He glanced at the partly opened door and the light in the bracket making a quick decision.

"Hold on Ron," he said and gently placed Ron back on the floor, ignoring with all his might the large dried up dark spot around his best mate. Moving quickly, he pulled on the cloak and extinguished the light, shutting the door softly and cast a silencing charm.

There was no way he could take Ron along in his search for Hermione. The only option was to send Ron to safety first and keep Ron's disappearance hidden to avoid raising an alarm. And it was not just Hermione, if his visions had told him anything Olivander was here too and perhaps even Luna. There could be more. He turned to his best mate once more, hating Voldemort even more with every passing second. He and his Death Eaters had taken enough from him already; he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of snatching away his best mate, his brother.

Ron needed immediate medical attention and for that, he needed to find Hermione and fast.

He had almost called out for Kreacher when a heavy set of footsteps sounded in the corridor and Harry was once again forced to stand back. His heart drummed so hard that he could almost hear it.

What if they were coming to torture Ron again?

Ron would not survive another spell in the condition he was in, and Harry was sure he wasn't going to stand and watch, to hell with keeping his cover.

There was the sound of some other door opening, and someone whimpered before the door was slammed back, someone old by the sound of it. And this time, the footsteps came closer and he gripped his wand hard enough to render his knuckles white, ready to curse at the slightest sign of any danger to Ron.

Once more the light cast a shadow, a shorter, wider one this time, and a familiar man moved in.

...

Pettigrew flicked pieces of meat from his teeth using his fingernails and moved in casually. Years of living as a rat had made him immune to stenches and filth in general, and that served to his benefit now that he had been assigned the lowly job of guarding and feeding the filthy prisoners, most of who were either half dead or severely bruised and smelly. The boy was worse than many he had seen. It bothered him little that once he had been cared for by the same person; cared for well if he cared to admit in fact.

With his wand stuffed inside his cloak, and holding an old, grimy plate that had a stale piece of bread and some even more smelly cheese, he made his way inside with the practised ease of someone who had been doing this for a while. He did not care to light the torch; there was nothing in here to see, no one could possibly break through the enchantments and enter without permission. Moreover, the cell doors were spelled and could be locked just by shutting them close, post which, the only way of opening them would be from outside. And the cell itself was an airtight prison, magiked to allow enough air circulation to keep the one inside breathing, that and nothing more. There was no scope of escape as the Manor boundary itself was sealed to allow automatic access and exit only to the ones with the Dark Mark. Needless to say, anti-apparition wards were set all over the property. It made his monotonous task of guarding a mere formality, to him at least.

He scratched his stubbled cheeks roughly as he walked to where the boy lay. All he had to do was shake him awake, throw the plate in front of him and walk away. And then, he could go back to sitting on the steps leading to the dungeons and have his smoke in peace. Perhaps he could even take a few sips from the bottle of the high label mead he had stolen from Lucius and stashed away behind a particular tapestry.

The boy was lying awkwardly on his side. From the smell, he could sense that the wounds were beginning to get nasty. This one was strong, he had heard Bellatrix say that herself. She was all too eager to break him but if experience told him anything, with the kind of injuries he had, the boy would not last very long unless treated. But that wasn't his headache, was it?

"Oi! Get up," he barked in a bored voice, and when there was no response, kicked him on the leg to wake him up.

However, something absolutely unexpected happened the moment his foot touched the unconscious figure.

Sharp, prickly pain erupted in his leg, and he fell flat on his face, realising a minute too late that the Stinging Jinx was rapidly disfiguring his legs and causing considerable pain in its wake. The plate had fallen out of his hand at some point during his fall, and the crash of it died along with his shriek to disappear into the silence of the room. His silvery hand fumbled inside his robes but another curse, an Affligo this time, hit him hard into his bowels and he doubled up in pain, trying unsuccessfully to get a hold of his weapon. He needed to transform and he needed his wood for it. He had only a minute of exhilaration when his silvery had found the needed object before a rough, and slightly weak hand wrestled it out of his grip. He could have overpowered the boy easily, but a barge of Affligo cast mercilessly on him was making the not too difficult task almost impossible. Soon, the wood was snatched away, and he made a futile affect to scream before a stunning spell hit him right at his heart and his muscles seized with the shock. Then, there was nothing...

...

Harry took off the cloak, staring with the deepest loathing at the dirty, bulky figure that lay next to Ron. He had planned to physically overtake and torture the information about Hermione out of him. But he lost it the moment Wormtail kicked Ron, and pure, unadulterated rage took over. He wanted to hurt and hurt the man hard- this very same filthy bastard who had lost him his parents and was now daring to touch Ron.

Uncontrolled coughing from Ron pulled him out of his rumination, and he collapsed next his friend once more, and touched him gently on the back, worried about hurting him by accidently touching a raw wound.

"We have to get you out," he said urgently, noticing that Ron had at least managed to grab Pettigrew's wand during the struggle.

"H-How?" Ron heaved.

"Kreacher?" called Harry softly, furiously hopeful for his plan to work. If the elf could not break through the anti-apparition wards here, they would be doomed. However, the elf materialised with a sharp crack, making Harry heave a sigh, glad that he had silenced the cell before.

"Take Ron back to the Chateau," he instructed quickly. "You can do that right?"

Kreacher nodded solemnly.

"And, can you heal him?" he asked hopefully while the elf looked at Ron's form, horror reflecting in his large orbs.

"Kreacher can heal little things, not much help," he muttered softly and Harry's heart fell.

"It's okay, do whatever you can to heal him, and wait for me to call you again," he instructed carefully as the elf nodded in comprehension.

Together, they carefully lifted Ron up. In the feeble light that entered the cell, Ron looked pale as a ghost and swayed ominously even with Harry and Kreacher holding him on, Harry supporting his back and Kreacher barely reaching till his knees but holding him tight none the less. They balanced him against the wall and the elf took a better hold of his arm.

"W-Wait," called Ron and handed Harry the wand he had taken from Wormtail.

"K-Keep this... Mione ... will n-need," he struggled, and Harry took it and shoved it in his pocket.

"Get going, Ron... I'll bring Hermione back, I promise..." he said looking at his friend's eyes as Ron's eyes drooped shut. He removed his hand from his best mate, nodding at his elf. Ron had already begun to slide down the wall without Harry's support but the elf clicked his fingers and they disappeared in a flash.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Harry pulled the cloak over him once more, and walked out of the cell with purpose, closing the door shut behind him.

Now, he had to find Hermione and fast.

A/N:

Thanks to all of you, my dearest readers. Please let me know what you think of this chapter.

Affligo(ah-FLIG-oh) Strikes a person, as if a blow were made (Source: harrypotterfanon(/dot)wikia(/dot)com)

Heartfelt thanks to all of you for appreciating the dialogue between Draco and Hermione and liking the character sketch of Draco in general. I did start replying but could not answer back to all of you, (no)thanks to a bought of viral that affected all of us at home.

Thanks to all of you for your reviews, can't tell you how much I love the reviews, favourites and follows.

I won't rush to finish this story, so there will be more than three chapters for sure. We have a while to go before this ends. And then, there will be a sequel, of course.

This is a response to RoseLc whom I could not answer back.

RoseLc:First, thank you for your kind words, I am so honoured!

About you translating this into French, I feel flattered that you find it good enough to be shared, and of course, you can go ahead with it. However, please keep the credit. I might not own the characters, but I wish to retain the rights on the plot. I know you'll do a great job with translating it, All the best!