The Escape

Harry was regaining consciousness after having, thankfully, passed out during the excruciating interrogation. Voldemort had alternated between the combined use of painful curses, psychological torture and Legilimency in his attempt to discover who had been helping Harry and what exactly he and any others knew about the Horcruxes. Of the three, the continued bombarding of his mind was the hardest to endure. Even with the spell that Ron and Hermione had performed to aid him in blocking unwanted entry to his mind, it had taken most of Harry's strength and concentration to fight the intrusion. The strain had eventually become too much and Harry had finally fallen into a blissful oblivion.

As his mind and body were reawakening, Harry wondered how much more he would be able to endure. His arm, chest and head were throbbing mercilessly but he had managed to get himself into a sitting position again with his back against the wall. He noticed most of his blood had been cleaned away and the wound in his side had been haphazardly bandaged but he could see more blood starting to soak through.

So far he had been able to keep from revealing anything that would put his friends in jeopardy. Harry was also thankful he had maintained some semblance of composure, even in the face of the thought that he would soon be dead; but death had not come although there had been moments when he wished it would.

He was defenseless, so why had Voldemort not killed him? Voldemort had made some mention that he was of use, but for what? Maybe it was a sick game he was enjoying and he was getting some kind of perverse satisfaction from Harry's pain and suffering. Harry knew both Voldemort and his followers had often enjoyed doing just that. But only two years ago in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort himself said Harry had irked him too often and for too long, and had attempted to kill him then and there. He would have been dead had Dumbledore not intervened. What had changed? No matter the motive, if Voldemort continued this torment Harry was certain he was going to end up sharing a ward with Neville's parents at Saint Mungo's.

xxx

In a much larger room down a long corridor from where Harry was being held the tension was growing. Lord Voldemort was pacing in the center of the room while extremely nervous Death Eaters were standing in a semicircle around him, awaiting their master's next orders. Only Snape and Wormtail were permitted beyond this room and therefore, none of them had been present while their master interrogated the Potter boy. Judging by the Dark Lord's temper it had not gone as he had wished. Their master was extremely agitated, a state which most of them had been lucky enough never to have seen before. One of their number had the misfortune to answer a simple inquiry posed by the Dark Lord in a "less than timely manner" and had paid dearly.

As Voldemort continued to pace deep in thought, a lone Death Eater entered the room. He walked through the arc of his comrades, approached his master and bowed low.

Voldemort turned to face the new arrival, "Severus, you have good news to report?"

Snape bowed again before replying, "I am sorry, my lord, but the last party just arrived and report their search has turned up nothing."

A nervous murmur ran through the others as they awaited a display of temper from their master but none came. Voldemort had gone completely still and stood much like a sea captain on the deck of his ship, with his legs braced and his arms behind his back, watching Snape closely.

"I see. Potter's accomplices have escaped then," finally came his cold reply.

"Perhaps Potter is telling the truth, my lord?" Snape tentatively posed the question.

"I think not," Voldemort countered. Breaching the defenses that had been set in place would have required multiple wizards working together.

Several moments passed before Voldemort addressed another question to Snape. "Tell me, Severus, how long have you been lying to your Master?"

More murmurs from the gathered Death Eaters could be heard before Snape replied nervously, "My lord, to my knowledge I have never lied to you."

"Follow me," Voldemort commanded, turning to walk back down the corridor. Snape had no choice but to obey.

Once out of sight of the others, Voldemort turned angrily on Snape. "You informed me the boy had not been successful at mastering Occlumency. Yet he has been able to withstand my attempts to break into his mind and gain the knowledge that I seek. How do you explain this?"

"My lord, I assure you! The last I knew, Potter had not acquired such skill. Please recall the night I rid the world of that fool, Dumbledore, I was able to read his thoughts as easily as a piece of parchment—" came Snape's reply but he realized his mistake too late.

Voldemort had raised his wand to strike. "Crucio!"

Snape dropped to the ground in agony.
Upon releasing him from the curse, Voldemort continued in a dangerously quiet voice, "Are you implying that you are, perhaps, more skilled in the use of Legilimency than I?"

Breathing hard, Snape looked up and hastily replied, "No, my lord, of course not! No one exceeds your skill and power. I- I just meant to say, that Potter must have been training or- or he must be carrying some kind of protective charm."

"He carries no such charm. Nevertheless, he was weakening before he lost consciousness. Perhaps—" Voldemort said as a thought came to him. It would be a risk, for he could not afford to have anyone, especially Snape, discover what he was certain the boy knew.

"You, Severus, are an adequate Legilimense. Perhaps if we both attempt to break into his mind that would be enough to enable me to obtain the information I need. I wish you to assist me but only to the point where his mind is opened. I will proceed from there. Come; let us see if our guest has awakened from his nap."

xxx

In addition to his aching body, Harry's scar had continued to throb. Voldemort was extremely angry, which of course, did not bode well for him. His wrists were still bound behind him, and his broken arm was causing him severe pain, but he knew he had to figure out a way to escape. If he could only get to his wand and the bag beyond his cell, perhaps he could find a way out.

He was feeling incredibly weak and tired from the interrogation, plus he had had no food or water for heaven knew how long. Wormtail had appeared once to offer him water while Voldemort was questioning, him but he had refused, not trusting what they might have put in it. To make matters worse, he had already lost a good amount of blood from the wound in his side. Just as he had begun the painful struggle with the ropes that bound him, he heard someone returning.

Voldemort hissed almost pleasantly as he and Snape entered the cell, "I've brought an old acquaintance to see you, Harry. You remember your Professor Snape? He has agreed to assist me in persuading you to cooperate."

Upon seeing Snape, anger flared from deep within Harry. "What makes you think that greasy coward will be any more successful than you?"

Then he glared at Snape, and yelled, "Traitor! He trusted you, gave you a chance, and you murdered him in cold blood!"

Snape said nothing, but bestowed upon Harry an expression of deep hatred and loathing.

"Manners, Harry, manners," Voldemort admonished. "Surely Dumbledore taught you to respect your elders better than that. But what am I saying? We do need to make our guest comfortable, do we not? Escape is impossible so I see no need for those any longer."

He waved his wand so the ropes disappeared from Harry's wrists. Harry flexed his right hand and arm but his left one continued to hang limply at his side.

"I do hope you plan to be more cooperative this time. Are you prepared to tell me all that you have been doing and who has been helping you? Who else knows?" Voldemort demanded.

Harry remained defiant. "I've already answered you! No one has been helping me! Before he was murdered," Harry spat the last word and glared at Snape again, "Dumbledore told me, and only me, where to find an object that needed to be destroyed. I found it in the cave where he said it would be and I destroyed it."

"You are lying, Potter. Do you take the Dark Lord for a fool?" Snape asked stepping forward. "Tell him what he wants to know!"

"Go to Hell!" Harry yelled back.

"You are as foolish as your mother was in the face of defeat, boy. Severus, if you will," Voldemort addressed first Harry then Snape and raised his wand.

"Crucio!" Voldemort shot the curse at Harry again while at the same time, both he and Snape commenced their merciless attempt to mentally pry into his mind.

Harry screamed for what seemed to him like the hundredth time since his capture. Never before had he felt the likes of this assault on his body and mind. The Cruciatus Curse along with their combined mental attack was excruciating pain beyond reason. In addition to the hot knives of the curse he could feel them probing, burrowing painfully into his brain as he fought to keep them out for all he was worth. Then without his permission he felt the doors to his mind open a crack.

Voldemort felt it too, and he physically moved closer to Harry, pushing harder to gain what he sought.

Harry could now hear Voldemort's voice inside his head, "What did Dumbledore tell you? Who else knows, boy? Open your mind to me!"

Darkness was starting to envelop Harry's consciousness. He knew he had to stop them but he felt himself losing control and his mind opening ever wider. As it did, the pain became less severe. Is this what it is like to lose your mind, he thought. Was this how Neville's parents felt before their minds crossed that point from which they would never return?

As his mind opened, images began to swim before him. He saw several of the Horcruxes which had been destroyed but he continued to try desperately to push Voldemort out and to close off his mind from further intrusion.

Again he heard Voldemort in his head, "Open your thoughts wider to me! Who else knows? Who has been helping you?" and the pain slammed back into him with full force. Unable to stop it, Ginny's face flashed in front of him.

No! He could not give in and let them see more, putting her life or any of his other friends' lives in jeopardy. In a final attempt to end the violation of his mind, Harry gathered his remaining strength and determination.

"GET OUT!" He yelled and then screamed in agony again, clutching his head with his good hand, as he felt his mind ripping away from their mental grasp. Voldemort and Snape fell back abruptly, breaking both the curse and the mental assault.

When Harry's echoing screams died, the only sounds in the room were Harry's moans of pain mixed with the heavy breathing from his two attackers. Snape stood back, eyes closed, panting hard. Harry's entire body was shaking uncontrollably as he continued to clutch his head, rocking slightly from side to side.

Voldemort continued to gaze down upon Harry, hatred coursing through him. While he had enjoyed watching the boy suffer he was now having difficulty controlling is anger and keeping from striking him dead. Nothing would please him more than finally watching him die. Never before had anyone succeeded in resisting him for so long. There truly was a power within him which Voldemort knew made his plans all the more crucial. He must remain patient and wait until he was better prepared. He must also proceed carefully as he was uncertain how much more Potter could withstand. His mind had to remain intact for him to be of use.

Voldemort turned to Snape, "Severus, prepare a vile of Veritaserum. Tell Wormtail to see about his wounds and to feed him. Unfortunately, he is no good to me dead."
Voldemort strode out of the cell without looking back.

The shaking in Harry's body had begun to subside and he lifted his head slightly to see Snape had stopped to watch him from the other side of the locked cell. Harry wished he had the energy to call him every vile name that was currently running through his mind.

"Not so arrogant now, eh, Potter?" Snape sneered. "Even I must admit that I'm impressed by your sudden skill at Occlumency. Count yourself lucky the Dark Lord needs you alive for the moment." He turned and walked away.

Harry lay his head back down on the floor and closed his eyes again, feeling extremely sick and cold. Why wouldn't they just kill him and end his suffering? Surly death would be better than having to go through what he had just endured again.

His thoughts had flashed momentarily on Ginny and he prayed that it had happened too quickly for them to recognize her; he was prepared to die rather than betray her or any of his friends to them.

He opened his eyes to look out of his cell and into the next room where he saw his wand and the bag still by the stone table. They had probably left his things there to taunt him but if he could reach them, maybe he could find a way out. Harry gathered all his strength and using his good arm, he pulled himself up into a sitting position again, his ribs screaming in protest and his head continuing to pound.

Then an idea struck him- why had he not thought of it before? Even though the slightest motion racked him with pain, he moved his good hand to his jeans pocket. They were still there. He had two of Fred and George's special Bertie Botts beans left. Maybe he could use one to get to his wand and the bag, and hopefully the other would get him out of this dungeon and far enough away so they would not find him.

With great effort, Harry grasped the bars of his cell for support with his good hand, and pulled himself shakily to his feet. He had to hurry before Wormtail came back. He put one bean into his mouth, concentrated on the spot next to the stone table and bit down.

The sensation of being transported from his cell to just a few meters into the next room almost made him sick. His vision went out of focus and his knees nearly buckled and he grabbed the table to steady himself. When he did, he touched an object lying there. Looking down he saw a stone tablet that had been pieced together so it resembled a large jigsaw puzzle with a quarter or more still missing. There was a depression in the middle of it, nearly the diameter of a small orange and it was covered in writing and symbols that he did not recognize. The largest symbol centered at the top of the tablet reminded him of a modified version of the Dark Mark, with an open-mouthed skull encircled by a flying dragon or serpent all surrounded by flames.

Harry had no idea what the tablet was, nor did he care at the moment. His head was beginning to swim with the effort of standing and he was far more concerned with retrieving his things and getting away before he passed out again.

He grabbed the bag and chanced a quick look inside. If his ribs had not ached so much, he would have sighed in relief. Everything was still there. Apparently neither Voldemort nor the Death Eaters had realized the treasure the bag contained, including Dumbledore's journal. They had been wise to charm the journal to appear empty to anyone but the three of them and the old books to resemble seventh-year spell books. Harry carefully placed the handles of the bag across his shoulder and grabbed his wand. He put the remaining bean into his mouth and concentrating on being as far away from his current location as he could get, bit down.

Harry landed hard, sprawled on the grass-covered ground and the jolting of his broken bones caused him to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. Until he determined where he was he had to remain quiet. With his broken arm dangling uselessly, he used his good arm to pull himself unsteadily to his knees.

It was either early morning or late evening because the sun was very low in the sky. He could see he was in a grassy meadow dotted with trees and there was a narrow dirt road leading off over a hill. He had no idea where he was but somehow he had to find a way to contact Ron, Hermione or anyone in the Order.

Very slowly he stood up; his body trembled as he unsteadily made his way toward a row of trees lining the road. Considering the beans only allowed you to go several kilometers from your original location, he knew he had not put enough distance between himself and Voldemort to be safe and he was still too out in the open.

He walked slowly and painfully to the brow of the hill and saw what looked to be a small cottage very far in the distance. It was hard to tell since his vision continued to go in and out of focus. Figuring that would be as good a destination as any, he headed toward it, praying he was at least heading away from where Voldemort and his Death Eaters were.

It turned out to be morning because the sun continued to rise in the sky but it was doing very little to warm him. He still felt extremely cold and he continued to shiver, making it even more difficult to walk. With each torturous step, it felt like the distance between him and the cottage was not getting any less. He considered Apparating to the cottage but then thought better of it; in his current condition, the last thing he needed was to splinch himself in the middle of a meadow, with no one near by to put him right again. So he kept walking.

Harry had come to the end of the line of trees and had been walking in the open for some time when he heard a sound coming up from behind him. He turned to see something or someone coming over the crest of the hill. Panic started to set in as he gathered his remaining strength to move as quickly as he could behind the next line of trees but the increased effort took its toll. With every breath it felt like a knife was piercing his chest and the world around him had started a sickening spinning motion. He was only ten meters from the next line of trees when his sight began to dim alarmingly; he felt himself losing his balance and he crumbled to the ground, face down. He was not going to make it.

He heard footsteps and a voice as if from a distance. "Well what 'ave we 'ere? Someone takin' an early mornin' snooze?"

Harry felt a poke on his shoulder. He tried to move, but his entire body felt as if it was made of lead.

"Oy, you wake up!" Came the distant voice again.

Harry tried to open his eyes but he couldn't. He felt his body being turned over and then he heard a sharp intake of breath and the voice said, "Potter! They are sure going to be pleased I found you!"

They had found him; but strangely he no longer cared because it didn't matter any more. Darkness was surrounded him and his entire body was going numb; it was such relief. He decided it was now time to sleep, for if he did, he would not be forced to reveal more to them against his will. If he were lucky, he would never wake to the pain again.