Now, let's hear from Harry down at Malfoy Manor. Harry? How're things?

Harry: "Stupid-fry!"

Chapter 8

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled, hitting Greyback point blank, freezing the man, but not releasing the teen from his grasp. Greyback toppled backwards, the teen coming as well, but falling forwards, the knife still sticking out of his back. Harry dove forward, thinking he had moments, moments before Voldemort would show up, his scar splitting with the pain.

"Ron — grab Griphook and GO!" Harry yelled, throwing a wand to his best friend. With his other hand, he grabbed the wrist of the teen, the knife in his back —so pale—the blood, and sought out Hermione, who Harry knew was around here. She laid a few feet away, a fallen lump surrounded by the glass of the chandelier, and Harry hooked his other arm around hers. He spun on the spot to Disapparate, taking the two injured with him, hoping Dobby would follow along by his own power.

As the darkness started to surround him, Harry caught a last look at the drawing room. Draco and Narcissa, starkly pale. The flash of red, Ron, a small figure thrown over his back, Bellatrix's angry face, Dobby gone with a crack—

Bill and Fleur's… Shell Cottage… Bill and Fleur's…

The pain in Harry's scar grew to new heights, the two dead weights of the teen and Hermione threatening to be lost in the swirling black, but Harry held on, stronger than he had ever held before, repeating the destination over and over.

When they hit solid earth and smelled the salty sea air, Harry nearly collapsed in exhaustion, too weak to breathe. Harry's hand was slick with the blood of the teen, and Harry realized there was no time to breathe, so it didn't matter either way. Under the distant sheet of stars, there seemed to be a cottage a short distance away, a hint of movement.

"HELP!" he screamed, desperate for anyone, he didn't matter who. "HELP, PLEASE!" His breath had gone ragged, his chest heaving, dark spots dancing in his vision.

Five figures came running, one faster than the others. "HARRY!" he bellowed, and Harry knew it was Ron; instant relief spread through him. But not for long. Ron slid to halt next to Hermione, carefully cradling her in his arms, while the sea broke against rock, and the blood soaked the sand.

The other figures came into view: Luna, Dean, Bill and Fleur.

Luna gasped, "Oh no!" and her already pale face went to parchment, her hands over her mouth.

"We have to get him a healer!" Harry begged.

Bill came forward. "Hurry, let's move him inside. Don't take the knife out, it's stopping the bleeding." Harry staggered to his feet, finding much of his strength had returned.

Bill took the job of levitating the teen inside, though Harry had said he would do it himself. Bill had said Harry didn't know what wands he was using, so it was safer to let Bill do it. Harry knew that was an excuse so Harry could rest, but Harry wasn't tired. Hermione was also levitated inside, this time by Fleur, though it had taken a while for Ron to let her go.

Once inside, Harry felt the splitting pain of Voldemorts wrath.

"... where did he go!" Voldemort hissed.

"My lord, the God of Death— AHHH!"

Harry tried to block it out, and the screams faded to a distant itch, still present. Fleur hurried past him in the corridor, Hermione floating limp in the air, and Harry followed her into what must have been the living room, only now it served as an infirmary.

Bill was already inside placing the teen on a newly transfigured cot. The teen laid on his stomach, blood sticking his shirt to his back. The bloody handle stood like a death flag.

Hermione was laid by his side in a second cot. Harry stopped in the doorway. "Where's Griphook?" Harry asked, confused.

"Guest room," Ron answered from behind him. Harry glanced back, seeing a haunted look in his best friend's eyes.

Harry unwillingly glanced at Hermione, but found she was looking much better, color had returned to her cheeks, though they were still pale.

In comparison to the teen, she looked perfectly fine.

"What are you doing— standing in zee doorway! Move!" Fleur sent them a shooing motion and Harry responded by entering the room, going to lean against the fireplace, Ron behind him. Fleur sniffed.

"I know a healing spell for deep gashes, but I don't know if it'll work on this scale," Bill muttered, hovering by the teen. "We'll have to try," he exclaimed. He looked up at everyone in the room, ending with a long look with Fleur. "Ron, there's a blood replenishing potion in the kitchen, third cabinet on the right, bottom shelf. Harry," Bill took a deep breath, "When Ron gets back, I need you to pull the knife out. Fleur and I will heal him, Ron'll give him the potion. Go!" Ron dashed out of the room. Bill went over to the teen and started to rip the teen's shirt off, exposing two knife wounds on his back and a huge shredded gash on his shoulder. Bill winced, his heavily scarred face twisting. Harry noticed strange black tribal tattoos winding down the teen's spine.

It felt like Ron was gone a lot longer than he actually was. Like a small lifetime. Harry felt every second like an anvil, beating at his heart. When Ron came back in, Harry knew his heart should've been beaten to a pulp.

Bill started immediately, "On the count of three! One!" Harry grasped the handle of Bellatrix's knife. "Two!" Ron uncapped the potion and then realized how very hard it's going to be to get someone to drink it when he's lying on his stomach, "Three!" Harry pulled out the knife, meeting unexpected resistance. The knife came free and blood gushed out, only to be stopped by the duel call of "Vulnera Sanentur!" by Bill and Fleur. The flesh started to knit itself together, new flesh covering the holes in his back. Ron spelled the potion to go down the teen's throat, and all was still.

Bill sank into a wooden chair with a sigh, hands on his knees. Fleur finished up with two spells in quick succession. "Tergeo!" The blood vanished from the teen's back, revealing clean skin marred by angry red welts, the shoulder wound already forming scar tissue. The black tattoos were stark against pale skin. "Fasceis!" Clean white bandages sprouted out of the tip of her wand, winding themselves around the teen's torso and looping around his shoulder. Fleur sighed with a look at Bill, then left. Harry could distinctly hear the clomping of a person walking upstairs.

Harry looked at Ron, but Ron was still hovering by Hermione. He had taken one of her hands and he held it between two of his own.

"This wound," Bill pointed at the teen's shoulder, "was it done by Greyback?" His throat was raw.

Harry nodded, suddenly too tired to speak.

Bill nodded, looking down.

Harry looked back at the teen, knife still in his hand, and was struck by the extreme absurdity of this situation. This person nearly killed himself trying to save Hermione— Hermione, a person he had never met before— and Harry couldn't even remember his name. The teen should've ran the instant he escaped the cellar, but he didn't. He stayed. He fought a room full of highly skilled wizards with nothing but his hands, and he was never hit by a spell. Not once. Hell, he wielded the Sword of Gryffindor like he knew what he was doing!

How many people would have died if the teen hadn't been there?

Dobby wobbled into the room, a tray piled high with food stacked over his head, and Harry smiled.

"Harry Potter!" he squeaked.

"Dobby." The house elf settled the dish onto a table in-between the two injured, carefully balancing it. "What're you doing?"

"Dobby brings food for the death one!"

Harry furrowed his brow. "Dobby, he's not dead yet. He's just injured."

"Dobby knows the death one is not dead!"

"Why don't you call him Ichigo instead? That's his name," said Luna in the doorway, unwilling to enter the already crowded room.

Ichigo! That was his name! Where is he from? Harry thought. He definitely looked Asian, but he spoke English with an American accent. Maybe he was from America? Lots of strange people lived there. "Luna, you were locked up with him, weren't you? Do you know anything about him?"

Luna shook her head. "All I remember is getting moved to a different place. We were there for a little while, blindfolded, and then they brought Mr. Ollivander and me back. Ichigo was already there, tied up. He didn't wake for a long time…" She trailed off.

"He had to have done something against You Know Who, right? Why else would he be locked up?" Ron supplied.

Harry felt a sudden pang for Hermione. These sorts of conversations didn't feel right without her. He came to a sudden conviction. "If he was You Know Who's enemy, then he's our friend. Doesn't matter where he came from."

A weak voice drew Harry's attention like a magnet. "... well, of course it still matters, Harry… it always matters…"

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron yelled at the same time, Harry rushing over to her bedside. She gave them a weak smile, a mere twitch of the lips.

"Who's this new friend of ours?" she asked, tone still quiet.

Ron scooted an inch to the left, not letting go of her hand, Harry twitching to the right, creating a big enough space for Hermione to see Ichigo. She turned her head, blinked once, and returned to her original position. "Okay. What'd I miss?"

Harry related the events of the breakout.

Hermione immediately began to process the new information. "And you know absolutely nothing about this person? Not even his last name?" She clarified.

"His name is Ichigo Kurosaki," said Luna.

"Probably Japanese, but raised in America, since you said he didn't have an accent. Though why is he in England…? There's nothing for it. We'll have to question him when he wakes up," Hermione concluded.

"And while you wait for that, I have some questions for you," Bill said. "You turn up here with a half-conscious goblin, a person with a knife in his back, a tortured Hermione, and none of you have told me anything! What were you doing in Malfoy Manor in the first place!?"

"Bill, I'm sorry, but we can't tell you what we're doing," Harry apologized. "You know Dumbledore has left us a mission. We're not supposed to tell anyone else about it."

Bill was quiet again. Harry looked back at Ron. He shrugged. Silence lapsed again. Harry was unwilling to discuss anything with Bill in the room, but what was there to discuss? Without any new leads for the Horcruxes or the Hallows, they were stuck in a standstill. Where would they go next? Would they continue to run, no purpose but to survive, to live another day? Was it even worth it? Those were dark times for Harry. He could think of nothing to do. The only solace was the fact that Dumbledore will never know how badly Harry failed.

"Ron, I'm moving the family out of the Burrow. Now that the Death Eaters know you're with Harry, the family will be targeted." Harry felt wretched, forcing his friend's family out of their home. Just another thing he failed at. "I'll move them to Muriel's. It's protected by the Fidelius Charm, they'll be safe. In fact, we'll take Ichigo, Griphook and Ollivander as well. As soon as Ichigo wakes up, we'll go."

There was really no debating it, Bill's decision was final. Except someone did.

"No."

Harry twisted around. The mysterious Ichigo was awake, and he levered himself up into a sitting position, bandaged chest.

His eyes stared directly into Harry's. They were strangely dull with a silvery sheen, and Harry couldn't help thinking something more was speaking. "No. They come with us." His voice had gravity.

"Us?" Harry whispered. "Who are you talking about?"

"I am talking about you, Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley. Hermione Granger."

Harry flinched. Hermione's eyes were wide.

"The time is short. You will find what you search in the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange. Heed it and go, humans." Ichigo closed his eyes and slumped.

When they opened they were burning with rage, his posture instantly ramrod straight. His previously emotionless face settled into a scowl like an old glove. He whipped his head around, glaring at everyone who was gaping at him, unaware of his missing shirt (or aware of it but not caring too much) and finally ended up looking at the plate of food Dobby had left. On it were those tiny finger sandwiches piled several tiers high. Ichigo pointed at it. "Can I eat this?"

No one answered him. They were too busy gaping.

The importance of Dobby's death - basically, it was only because Dobby died that Harry realizes Hufflepuff's cup is in Bellatrix's vault. While Harry was depressedly digging Dobby's grave he comes to this realization and stuff happens. Another thing Harry learns because of Dobby's death is Occlumency. Obviously, Rowling had a purpose for killing off a house elf and since I saved Dobby, NONE OF THESE THINGS HAPPEN! So it's up to Ichigo to progress the plot. ~(Deathly Hallows chapter 24)

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