Chapter 23: Kidnapped!
For disclaimer and author notes please see chapter 1. (And apologies for missing my informal weekend update time by a day or so!)
1988-06-22 14:30 UTC, Kithurst Close, Crawley
The dark wizard had been waiting in the bushes since 10am. He had been watching them for the last few days, trying to find a chance to grab the bastard-who-lived. But, invariably, the blood traitor Black or - less often - his werewolf friend, were with him.
Today, however, he had seen both of them leave the house shortly after he had started his vigil, so this was his chance.
Yet, now, four hours later, there had been no sign of the boy. Cursing his luck, he prepared to leave quietly, and try again the next day.
It had been well over a year since anything significant had happened in the wizarding world. The fortunes of his people had taken a very distinct down-turn, and it had all started when Black had escaped Azkaban and taken charge of the Potter brat. Of course, it was just as true that the real problems had started with the Potter boy himself, back on Halloween 1981. Regardless of what was the bigger factor, kidnapping and getting rid of the boy-who-lived would satisfy his lust for revenge on both counts. Black could be handled later, after Potter was dead. And who knows - in his grief, he may do himself harm!
He had waited a long, long, time for their notional leader to do something, but having had his lower arm removed - as a consequence of his own stupidity, no less - appeared to have turned him into a wimp. Not to mention the threats from this 'Phantom'.
Finally, he had given up on Malfoy doing anything, and decided to take matters into his own hands. An overheard conversation between two weres in the Leaky had given him the current idea. Apparently, Black had taken up residence in some muggle locality, and of course the Potter brat was with him. Why on earth they would do something so foolish he had no clue, but Black had always been a blood-traitor, and this was just the next step from that. He would pay. Indirectly, today, and later, perhaps, more directly.
It had taken him a lot of trouble to find the location. He couldn't land a tracking charm on them - it seemed to just fizzle out. At one point the were had turned and looked in his direction, though he was sure he was not seen.
But one day the brat-who-lived himself had been brought in to the Leaky. A crowd had formed, and people were all over the three - two men and a boy - pawing them, trying to shake hands, pat the boy.
And this time the tracking charm stayed on. Better still, he managed to hit the boy-who-lived himself.
The only question now was the neighbours daughter - a muggle (he sneered to himself) - who almost always accompanied him. Well, if he had to kill her, he would, but if it were possible to simply obliviate her that would be OK too. After all, Harry Potter's death was a day to celebrate, and he would not grudge even muggles some celebration - being allowed to live would be her reward for being a part of this momentous occasion.
A bit cheered by his grandiose schemes and dreams, he decided to wait an hour more. If nothing happened even then, he would leave.
His luck held; in about twenty minutes, the Potter brat and a very energetic, bushy-haired, girl appeared in the pool area. They were holding hands and literally skipping along. He sneered, though no one could see him.
Spying a slightly dirty towel lying in their path, about half-way between the entrance and the pool proper, Harry bent to pick it up, intending to take it to the laundry.
Having never used a portkey, Harry did not immediately recognise what had happened. He was shocked to find himself in a dark, smelly, dungeon all of a sudden, and his shock doubled when he found Hermione on top of him.
"Harry", Hermione began in a scared voice. "What happened? Where are we?" The poor girl was brave, but, while bravery in the face of known dangers - like schoolyard bullies - was one thing, it was quite another to be brave when, in the space of a few seconds, you find yourself whisked away from your neighbour's swimming pool to something that looked like it belonged in a medieval prison.
"I have no idea, Hermione!", said Harry, in just as shocked and worried a tone. He had just started to realise that they may be in serious trouble. Months ago, his guardians had given him an abridged version of the events around his parents' death, the death-eaters, etc., but nothing too graphic or detailed. He had been told to be suspicious of strangers - more than normal for kids his age - and to report to his Uncles Padfoot and Mooney if he noticed something odd.
(Unknown to him, there had been a huge debate about whether or not to ward the Kithurst Close property. Remus - more used to the muggle word as well as to the wizards' blindness to it - advocated leaving things alone, arguing that the presence of powerful wards in a muggle locality would attract attention, and their location would become known. Sirius was in favour of setting up wards closer in spirit to the ones on number 12. Remus won, but he would not be feeling victorious soon, sadly.)
A few seconds later someone unlocked a door that the two kids had hitherto not noticed. The man was dark-haired, and may have looked handsome if his attitude were more pleasing. He pulled up a chair, and sat down, close enough to the two kids that he could hit either, should the need arise and he chose to.
"So, the great Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, who defeated the greatest dark Lord our world has ever known... here you are, at my mercy, caught by a simple portkey from a completely unwarded home. How arrogant - and foolish - of your godfather!"
"Who are you?", asked Harry.
"That does not matter. Let's just say, when you defeated our master, a lot of us swore we would kill you one day. Looks like that day has come, but before you die, I plan to have some fun".
"You won't get away with this, whatever it is", said Hermione. "My parents will be looking for me. They know where I go, and even if you knocked us out and carried us somewhere, there are bound to be people who would have noticed. I mean, all the exits from Harry's swimming pool go through-"
The wizard hit her with a silencing spell, and Harry heard no more. She continued to say something, without realising they could not hear her. The man looked at her with a strange look - part loathing, part gloating. He levitated her from one corner of the room to the other, and her mouth stopped moving, hanging open in shock instead.
"I suggest you sit quietly and not say a word, you stupid muggle. I don't have any particular reason to kill you, but I may change my mind if you bother me".
He then turned his attention again to Harry.
"Well, Potter, shall we see how long it takes your godfather and his pet werewolf to realise you're gone?"
"Look, whatever you want to do, it's with me. Let her go. I know you guys can do some spell to make her forget; just make her forget today happened and send her away", said Harry.
Hermione started waving her hands in an attempt to be noticed. When neither of them noticed, she stood from her place, and half-ran, half-stumbled, to where Harry was. It was clear that she wanted to dissuade him from that course, and she considered that she was in this with him.
The wizard did not give her a chance. He backhanded her viciously, hard enough to cut the inside of her cheek on her own teeth, and send her sprawling half-way across the room. Harry was not sure if she hit her head on something, or the blow was just that strong, but she fell unconscious, a small trickle of blood dribbling out of her half-open mouth.
"NO" roared Harry, and rushed the wizard, hands stretched in front of him. He had been told there would be episodes of "accidental" magic, when he was under any emotional stress, and he was hoping this would happen.
The man looked at him contemptuously. He then muttered a banishing spell that pushed Harry back to the wall behind him, winded. It was then that Harry noticed the bracelets on both his wrists.
"Magic suppressors, Mr Potter", gloated the man, with a cold smirk on his face. "You will not be able to do anything at all. You see, I wasn't sure if your godfather had taught you any tricks, and even if he hadn't, we all know there was a distinct possibility it was your accidental magic that killed our master. You think I'd take such a chance?"
Harry slumped to the ground, defeated. He hadn't quite given up hope, but it certainly appeared hopeless.
"Where exactly are we, and what is your name?", he asked.
"It does not matter, Potter. You will not leave this place alive. And now that your muggle friend was foolish enough to not listen to what I told her the first time, she will not either."
"Look, she really has no clue about magic, so that was expected. Please don't harm her - she really is completely innocent in all this. I don't know what you want from me, but I'll do whatever you want if you let her go unharmed except removing her memories of today".
"Very noble of you. I'm sure Gryffindor will have lost a fine member by the end of today. Now shut up, I have other things to do". With that, he silenced Harry also, and left the room.
Sirius was frantic. While Remus had won the argument about warding, they still monitored Harry continually, even if he did not know it, by some means or other. Kreacher would silently be watching, or Hobby, the weird elf that hung around at the Flamels.
Kreacher had come rushing in a few minutes ago saying someone had kidnapped Harry and his friend Hermione using a portkey.
"What? How in blazes did a portkey get inside our home? I thought we had protection from malicious visitors at least!", shouted Sirius.
"They spelled a towel to be a portkey and then threw it in, over the pool wall. Master Harry saw what looked like a fallen towel and picked it up."
"Kreacher, can you call that strange elf belonging to the 'Phantom'?"
"Yes master", and Kreacher did whatever elves did. In a couple of seconds, Hobby was there. He took one look at Sirius's face and knew something was wrong.
"Harry has been kidnapped by someone, we don't know who, or why. His friend Hermione was with him, and she is gone too", said Sirius.
Hobby went weak in the knees and fell to the ground. All his planning, his second chance at life, all the precautions to make sure the really bad ones were taken care of, and someone who was not on his list - or maybe was, but was not high enough - captures him.
He had warded the Granger's house long ago, when he did Emily's, but that was only for offensive magic within the boundary. But for Sirius's house, he had not. Firstly, Sirius or Mooney were always there, and would have felt the wards settle, and would have been suspicious. Then, Mooney had argued against it anyway and he didn't want to get into an argument.
He had a monitoring spell on Hermione, but it had either worn off, or something else had happened to prevent him from getting a warning. And even if it were working, there was no locator. He'd have to up his game, and use permanent tracking charms now.
He shook himself to get rid of the deep worry he was in; he needed to think this through, and he needed a clear head for that. For the first time he truly regretted not telling at least Harry about his ability to go anywhere, as well as to bring back anything or anyone. Harry would have called him by now if he had done that. What was I trying to protect by not telling even Harry?, he cursed himself.
He went to the pool area to see if he could trace the portkey, or who made it, after telling Kreacher to ask Nick and Penny to come here.
He didn't have much luck, but in a few minutes, Nick and Penny were there. Sirius looked at them like the saviours they could be; after all, if they could not fix the problem, then who could? Wait, there was someone else who could, too! "Hobby, please ask your master to come here!"
Hobby popped off, and a few seconds later the 'Phantom' arrived. Sirius still could not see his face, but he didn't care. "Where's your elf?"
"Taking care of something back home. Let's just say there is something at my home that requires either him or me to be tending it every second, or at least be right next to it even if we fall asleep. Now, forget that, what happened here? Nick, Penny, any traces?"
"We've found the magical signature, but we don't know whose it is. Kreacher, could you call Madam Bones and ask her to bring her best aurors? Actually, wait, I'll write a note".
He quickly dashed off a note with the salient details and asked her to come quickly. Meanwhile, Hobby, as the Phantom, was getting more and more worried. No one had really seen the Phantom, but what little people knew of him was as a very controlled, focused, person. Seeing him worried was... disconcerting, to say the least.
By this time Remus had also arrived, but a sense of smell doesn't do much for portkeys unless you know a probable destination; then you could go there and confirm or reject the idea that the portkey went there.
Madam Bones came in, along with Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt tried his best, but the signature had faded too much for him to be able to figure it out.
Meanwhile, Hobby was feeling very guilty. And he has taken Hermione also. My fault. My fault entirely. I swore I would not give them even a first chance, but I allowed my fear of being investigated deeply - and competently - to override that decision, and this is the end result. I am still going to have to be careful, but I can't leave them alone. All I have to do is be more circumspect, create very plausible situations, cursed Hobby again.
"We have to make an exhaustive list of all death-eaters and start interrogating them one by one; there is no help for it", said Bones.
"Amelia, please split up that list and send teams around. But Malfoy, Nott, and Parkinson are ours. They're the only three who may have heard of our muggle hideaway, from the kids of other mutual friends who may have let something slip unintentionally", said Sirius.
Sirius walked into Malfoy Manor as if he owned it. (Maybe I do; I need to check, he made a note to himself). The 'Phantom' was with him, and they made an imposing pair - tall men, walking with a purposeful stride, and most importantly, a thunderous expression on their faces.
They walked right up to the Malfoys. The Phantom grabbed Lucius by the throat, and physically lifted him off the chair and onto the table itself. He sat him down - right on top of a plate of omelettes.
Narcissa, meanwhile, was being held at wandpoint by Sirius. He quietly told her, "I am ordering you, as Lord Black, to shut up and stay put. At the moment we are only looking for answers. And by the way, your turn will come."
The Phantom had pried open Lucy's jaws by the simple expedient of hitting him on the side of his head, and when he had cried out, he had thrown close to a vial of veritaserum down Lucy's throat.
"Yes, I know the medically safe limit is 3 drops, and I gave you a teaspoon full; almost 30 times the safe limit. Thing is, I don't know what your potions regimen is, what kind of immunity you have been working on. And honestly, I don't care too much if you live or die.
Now, what do you know about Harry Potter's kidnapping?", he growled.
"Nothing", came the dull reply in the expected dull monotone.
"Who would know?"
"I do not know".
"Have you heard any rumours?"
"No".
"Have you heard anything that might indicate a plot to kidnap anyone?"
"No".
We are at an impasse, thought Hobby.
Sirius held up the vial to Narcissa. The implied choice was clear: take it voluntarily or be forced to.
Unfortunately, that too did not get them anywhere; she knew nothing either. Then Sirius had an idea.
"If you were to name three people who may have managed to kidnap Harry, who would they be?"
"Nott, Parkinson, Rowle", said Lucius. Simultaneously, Narcissa said "Nott, Rowle, and Yaxley".
Unfrortunately, when they got to the Notts and the Parkinsons, they got similar answers, except with Malfoy's name instead of their own, and it was clear that these three families had not even known about this.
They'd have to cast a wider net.
Hermione woke up groggily, to find that she was lying next to Harry, partly cradled in his left arm. Harry himself seemed to be in some pain, but she was not really sure what had hit him; she hadn't seen.
"Harry, are you alright?", she asked.
Harry hugged her gingerly, not sure where she was hurt. The silencing spell had worn off long ago, and he had been trying to get Hermione to wake up.
"Hermione, oh thank God you're awake! I was so worried, because you took a much worse hit than I did. How are you feeling? You hit your head against something, right? Does it hurt?"
"I think I'm OK Harry. I don't know what I hit but it wasn't too hard - just hard enough to knock me out for a bit I suppose. Did he hit you too?"
"No. I tried to attack him and he pushed me back to the other wall. After that he left".
They were silent for a few minutes, neither sure what to say or ask. Finally Hermione could not keep quiet.
"Harry, this does not seem to be just a 'for ransom' kidnapping. What's going on? Who's this 'master' you defeated?"
Harry was silent for a bit. He had been told that the statute of secrecy was paramount, and only a life-and-death situation would be an acceptable excuse. But, while this was indeed a life-and-death situation, telling Hermione about magic would not affect things one way or another, so he wasn't sure if he was allowed to.
"Hermione, I promise, when we get home, I'll have Sirius explain it all. I don't even know where to begin", he tried to evade.
"Harry, you know me better than that. If you don't know where to begin, I'll ask you specific questions, and I know you won't lie to me. So, to start with, who's this 'master' and how did you defeat him?"
Harry was in a bind. If he lived through this kidnap, he was sure he would be hauled up before some wizard court, for the grave and unpardonable sin of revealing the existence of magic to a muggle.
At the same time, he could not lie to Hermione. She'd become a great friend over the last couple of years or so, and really, they were each others' best friend, with anyone else in school being a very distant second, if that.
"Hermione, the other reason I don't want to tell you is that you won't believe me, and you will think I am lying anyway. I don't want you to think that of me, Hermione, I'd hate to lose you as a friend because you thought I lied to you."
She knew Harry would not lie to her, but how to convince him that she would believe him?
"Harry, I already know you will not lie. But if you're not sure, then just look at me. Look at me and tell me, and I will know you are not lying."
Harry could see no more escape clauses! He decided to throw caution to the winds.
"Hermione, I am a wizard. So are Sirius and Remus, as well as this man who kidnapped us. Which of course tells you there are good wizards and bad wizards, just like non-wizard people".
"Is that what 'muggle' means, because that's what he called me?"
"Yes. I'm surprised you caught that actually; I would have been too shocked at being levitated across the room". And suddenly Harry realised that he was not guilty of anything. The wizard had already broken the statute. He mentally breathed a sigh of relief.
"So... levitating me is a magic thing?"
"Yes".
"What else can you do?"
"Me? I can't do anything. I haven't been trained - we go to wizard school when we are eleven". He stopped talking, struck with a realisation that, somehow, had not manifested itself till now. His expression changed to one of extreme unhappiness; he looked downright depressed.
"Oh Harry, don't worry, someone will find us", said Hermione.
"It's... it's not that, Hermione. Well that too, but...", he tailed off.
Then he resumed what he was saying earlier. "Anyway, until then, magical children can't do magic, although sometimes accidents happen".
"Accidents?"
"Yeah, like you really really wish for something and it just happens".
"Oh! Has that happened to you?"
"A couple of times. Once I wanted a drink which Sirius was keeping away from me, and I was really upset and cranky, and suddenly the glass was in front of me. Things like that".
Hermione fell silent. Oh no, I hope she does not think I am lying!, worried Harry.
Hermione, of course, was realising that she had had one or two such incidents too, but how could she be a-
"Harry, what's the female equivalent of wizard?"
"Witch. And it does not mean anything bad like it does in normal English".
Hermione nodded and fell silent again, this time for a longer duration.
When Sirius and Remus got back from interrogating their three main suspects, a post-office owl was waiting for Sirius. When it saw him, it went up to him and stretched its leg out. As soon as he untied the letter, it flew away. Clearly no reply was expected.
The note was simple, and struck terror - and not a small amount of anger - into everyone's hearts.
Black,
I don't want any ransom. If the 'Phantom' identifies himself and gives himself up in the Wizengamot, I may decide to free Potter. If the Phantom chooses to hide, Potter will die a very, very, painful death. Don't worry, I will send you a pensieve memory of his torture and death, in the hope that you and your useless werewolf will kill yourselves in despair.
Call for an emergency meeting tomorrow, and I expect to see the Phantom unveiled. Oh and there need to be veritaserum statements to prove that he is indeed the Phantom; no palming off someone else!
Hobby nearly went into shock on reading this. How had his plans backfired to badly? How could one miscalculation - the amount of protection that Harry needed while in the muggle world - have caused such a reversal of fortunes?
He could easily escape even after the court session, if it came to that - no one would think of asking him "are you a house-elf?" - but the question was, how to get Harry and Hermione out?
There seemed to be no easy answers. It certainly looked as if the whole thing was going to hell in a handbasket, and things could become much, much, worse than they had been in his past life if the wrong people came to power.
There was only one thing to do. Well two, actually.
"Sirius, call for a Wizengamot meeting, and announce it in the press right away. Make sure you include the reason - Harry has been kidnapped and that is what the kidnapper wants. I want it to make the evening edition. I'm going to give myself up if it has to be that way. Meanwhile, I have things to do".
Harry was consumed by guilt - Hermione was in trouble because of her association with him. Hermione's silence was also weighing on him - for a girl who had more questions than the rest of the class put together, the fact that she stopped asking questions after the first one, was ominous.
He gathered up his courage, and said, "Hermione, I am sorry for getting you mixed up in this. I am really really sorry, and I think after we get out, you should not be friends with me anymore. My life is always going to be like this, because of something that happened when I was just past a year old. I'll completely understand if-"
"Harry James Potter!", Hermione's voice was pitched low, but for all that, it was as if she were shouting, so intense was her tone.
"Until I met you, I had no friends. None. Not even one. I wasn't always picked on, so much as... ignored. You are my first, best, and only friend all rolled into one, and I am not going to let you go for whatever stupid reason you come up with". If it weren't for the fact that she was sitting on the floor next to him, he could imagine her hands on her hips.
"Hermione, I didn't mean it like that, but I'll admit I was worried. Now that you put it like that, I promise I won't try and push you away. To be honest, I probably couldn't - you're my first, best, and only friend too you know!"
And the two kids just sat there, holding each other, not able to truly comfort each other in terms of the danger they were in, but trying anyway, without words.
A child who grows up with only adults for company, is often a lot more mature than other kids their age. And that does not change when there are two such kids who are friends - neither of them has an influence that's truly childlike, and in fact, their relative maturity is dominant, and reinforces the same quality in the other child.
For all of Hobby's efforts to let Harry have a childhood, and get him to meet his future love early on, Harry wouldn't have a truly child-like childhood.
But neither Hobby, nor Harry, nor anyone else, would realise this. Ever.
The war has started a heck of a lot sooner than I realised it would, except that no one has else realised it, thought Hobby. He made a list of death-eaters who were still alive and at large; from Avery to Yaxley, there were about fifteen of them, although some had families, and some even had extended families.
He popped to the ministry and got residence records for every single one of them. It was now past 8pm, so he had about 12 hours before the Wizengamot session.
He went to Grimmauld, knowing that Sirius no longer went there much, if at all. He told Kreacher to ready the dungeons, and not to tell anyone, even Master Sirius. He told Kreacher to fill the dungeon with thirty or so rat cages.
His game plan was simple. There was a slight chance that Harry and Hermione would die today. He would do his best to prevent that, including - if necessary - sacrificing himself, or committing crimes that would not let him sleep ever again. But at the moment the deck appeared to be too stacked.
The death-eater who had kidnapped Harry could be absolutely anyone. He may not even have the mark, or be one of those he knew from his previous life. But he had to try.
So he basically repeated what he had done in early 1986. He went to every single death-eater's house, stunned the elves, and kidnapped the entire family. Except this time he turned them into rats and chucked them into the cages. He made sure to have Kreacher mark each cage with who was in it - he would be releasing the kids and probably some of the mothers soon enough, and he didn't want to figure out which of the rats were kids.
The kidnapper had not left any way for him to be tracked. Guilty until proven innocent, or until Harry is found, muttered Hobby to himself. I will not allow myself to labour under the single biggest handicap that the good guys always seem to.
The wizard who had kidnapped Harry and Hermione saw the announcement in the paper, and gloated. He walked back into the dungeon and showed Harry the newspaper.
"Do you know who this Phantom is, boy?"
Harry looked at him without expression. "No. But then again, even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. I don't think you understand what you're playing with here - Sirius and Remus will come after you, and they'll make you pay a hundred times for everything you're doing to me", he said defiantly.
"Oh really? And how do you think they're going to know it's me? I may not let you and your little friend live, and even if I do, I'm certainly going to wipe out your memories".
"In fact, let me show you the price you have to pay for your little act of defiance, so that next time I ask you a question, you'll be more inclined to answer me properly".
With a cruel smile, he pushed the girl again to the far wall with a spell, then sent the torture curse at Harry, holding it for a long time.
Each second felt like a year for Harry. The kind of pain that the torture curse can inflict on adults was bad enough, but on a seven year old child, it was well beyond inhuman.
Hermione woke up to the sound of Harry screaming in agony, while the bad wizard held a stick (she wondered if this was a wand) pointed at him. She was several feet away, and was unable to even move her head. She wanted to run to Harry, protect him, somehow get him away from this pain. She could not bear to hear him scream like that.
She lunged for the wizard, but found herself restrained, probably magically, since she could not see any ropes or such.
Her frustration, anger, and most of all, fear for her friend, intensified every time Harry screamed and every time Harry's head tossed violently in pain, every time Harry's limbs thrashed and every time his spine bent in agony.
It seemed - to her, anyway - as if Harry's bones were being broken, and she hated this wizard with all her heart and mind and soul, and she wished he would suffer the same kind of pain, and stop torturing her friend.
She screamed out her pain and anger and her fear in one long wail of agony.
And Dolohov found himself literally rammed, pushed away from Harry, away from Hermione, away from the dungeon cell they were in. He was driven into the concrete wall on the far side, most of his limbs crushed from the sheer speed at which his body ploughed, back first, into the wall. His ribcage shattered, and the back of his head nearly - but not quite - fractured.
And it all happened so suddenly that he did not even have that single millisecond of realisation, that the girl was not a muggle, and he should have slapped magic suppressors on her also.