Before he opened his eyes, he tried to remember where he was and what had happened. Something felt terribly wrong, like his body was shaking. Not only his body, but the bed and the room it was in. The whole planet seemed violently unstable. He didn't know if it was a lingering dream of his upturned world or if it was real. Nausea and painful hunger assaulted him. Those felt real enough. He roused and blinked his way back to full consciousness. The first thing he saw was a wood panel wall across from him. Its rustic veins ran perpendicular to soft grey shadows and told him that he'd been given a room to sleep off the forced crash of his nervous system. Spittle had dried on his lips and his stomach cramped. Head pressure had him turning slowly to sit up. Somehow, what he remembered about the syringes and the journey, didn't add up to why he felt so bad. He tried to ignore it and focus on the room, on Iece, but he spent a full minute with his head in his hands, trying to still an unsteadiness inside of him. There was a picture of water beside the bed, but he distrusted it. He kept swallowing to wet his throat.
Light appeared to intensify. He tried his magic by attempting to accio his glasses. He couldn't see them. It didn't work. Turning, taking in the huge bed on which he lay, he saw that the glasses had been placed on a night stand. The room looked dated, like a luxurious hotel suite from the seventies. Colors of orange and green dominated the color pallet. He lay on top of a burnt orange bedspread. The carpet was a matching high-pile that felt strangely well preserved when he stood on it. His shoes were gone and he stared at what appeared to be a small kitchenette, with plastic molded chairs at one end of the room and a den of striped, plush furniture at the other. A muggle television's empty face stared back at him. Next to it, stood a cabinet of ancient VHS video tapes. He moved carefully, as if the place were booby trapped. In reality, he thought he might fall, his body felt so off balance. He passed a stone fireplace on his way to the single window peeking behind curtains. It too was retro in design, with a huge platform that one had to step onto before getting to the hearth.
At the window, the curtains ran from the ceiling to the floor. He could feel a draft moving them before he touched their thick fabric. He dared to peek outside. His mouth fell open.
On the other side of the glass, a white, snowy abyss stared back at him. Blankness and light engulfed any sign of life. He couldn't even see the sides of the building. Not at first. It took minutes of getting accustomed to the brightness, before he realized that the pale rock cliffs he could just make out through snow, which blew sideways, were the walls of the very building he was in. He was in a very large room built into the side of a cliff. It looked high up, a mountain, on an island of bleak ice opaqueness and no where to run to.
Then it hit him. He'd been out for days. Probably as soon as he'd gotten into the car. There'd been no food and he'd been basically treated like luggage and left to recover here. His bladder didn't feel as though it had suffered, so somethings had to have been tended to. He just couldn't remember.
He tried not to let the emptiness of outside overwhelm him. He couldn't stop staring. This could've been Antarctica. What kind of resources did these people have? Even if he knew how to get his hands on his daughter, he couldn't just take her and run. Not without magic.
Outside, the complete absence of life, the indistinctness between sky and landscape, and the penetration of death-threatening temperatures, told him he would need to listen to these assholes. Obey them. What choice did he have?
Then he remembered Snape. Maybe he wasn't really alone. He thought of the tiny red crystal ball. He burned it into Snape's mind.
"I'm here," he said aloud. "I don't know where I am. This is what I'm seeing." Remembering that Snape couldn't see through his eyes, he tried to "think" the details of his surroundings to him. Just then, someone grabbed his arm and pulled aggressively. He felt himself stumble, falling against the one who did it. "What the f-."
"Harry, it's me."
He righted himself and looked at the person talking to him. "Snape?"
A weird kind of dark light emanated from him, as if he were a projection of shadow. This was very different from the way he had appeared in the bathroom.
"What's going on?" He looked around. They were back at Hogwarts, in the same room where Snape had taught him occlumency. Only, the room looked dimmer, as if it too were a projection of shadow instead of light.
"Remain calm. It's an effect of our connection. You've roamed around in that portrait so much, that my mind has granted you access via the symbols that you're used to. And yours has accepted. This room is an illusion representing very real communication between us. You must take care not to allow it to dominate your true physical reality. Especially when you are in the presence of others."
"Holy shit. Like a psychological bridge?"
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Uh, I'm in a room, in the middle of nowhere."
"Show me."
This confused Harry. If he was already seeing it and knew how it looked, why couldn't he relay that to Snape automatically?
Snape asked, "If you were miles away from that place and your daughter was rescued, how would you remember what you're seeing now?"
Harry's mind reacted to the stimulus by instantly creating the room around himself and Snape, as if he were there with him. He stared at objects wanting Snape to see them too. It was a matter of shifting his perspective. He got it. This wasn't a direct connection. This was an empathetic connection, made possible by their knowledge of each other and his imagination. He wanted him to see how large and retro the room was. How ugly the carpet was, and how mysteriously arctic everything appeared out the window.
"I feel like I'm on a mountain. Their hideout is inside a mountain."
"Focus on the landscape. Find me a detail to anchor to."
Just then, there was a tremor. The floor and walls shook.
"What's that?"
"What is it?"
"Everything shook." It lasted only a second, but was strong enough to make him remember, "That's what woke me. The place was shaking."
He tried to see any cause for it out the window. He scanned the horizon through blustery precipitation.
"Everything blends in. I can barely tell what's sky and what's land."
At each end of his view, dim shadows and shapes drifted in and out of clarity.
"There are structures. Part of this building, I guess. They're not very clear."
"Does the window open?"
"No."
"Can you use your magic at all? We don't know when they last injected you."
"How did you know about the injection?"
"Try to apparate onto the ground outside."
"I can't even see the ground."
"Then apparate from one spot of your room to the other as a test."
Harry tried, feeling nothing, accomplishing nothing. "I can't."
He went back to the window. Maybe if he stared long enough, his eyes would be able to distinguish some kind of features on the horizon.
Just then, in the right corner of the window, he saw something clinging just below the edge. Something moved. Or rather, the wind blew it as it remained fastened to the outside ledge. What looked like fur, were more than likely feathers of the only animal that could take shelter so high. He only saw a hint of it as it burrowed mostly out of view, but it shifted and its little wing fluttered before folding back into the ledge.
"I see a bird. I can't tell if it's white or grey or what. What could possibly live out there?"
"Stop telling me and show me. It might be our only clue to where you're at."
Harry re-looped what he saw through his memory.
"Ah, I am collecting information. Harry, relax your body. I'm going to try something."
"Something like what?"
"As I see through your memory, I'm going to try to levitate the bird up to you, through mine. Get a good look at it. "
"Can you do that?"
"I am uncertain as to whether my magic can affect your reality at this great distance, but we are, you might say, soft-wired through our connection in the portrait, which is reliant on my magic already, and our history with occlumency. In a sense, you still have access to magic, whether you can manipulate it or not. Let me try for you. Through you."
The unique circumstance had Harry braced for the experience. "Okay, go for it."
As he waited for any strange sensations, he settled for being the observer.
"Look at the bird and think of it lifting up to you. Think of it as if you've already seen it happen and are showing it to me."
The act felt like suddenly being magnetized to what he saw. He "fastened to it" in an unsettling physiological way, as if his nerves had thrown out feelers that adhered to the window, to the howling wind outside, and to the little creature he could barely see as it hid below the window's edge. As he saw the bird lift, levitating and startled, he made a point not to hold his breath and to keep his body relaxed as Snape's magic bridged through him.
He itched to use his own abilities, but he heard Snape say into his mind, "You're a conduit, nothing more. Don't try to control this situation. Be a conduit."
Harry obeyed, almost trembling at the thought of his ex-teacher's power running through him. This was amazing and terribly wrong at the same time. The idea of it, too intimate to be possible. But then, he had sought Snape's help for the very mysterious and unknown knowledge that he believed him to have. The bird sailed up through pelting snow and came eye level to the window.
Harry studied the animal. It looked terrified. It was about the size of four fists, with a robust breast of grey and white striped feathers. The stripes ran almost vertical from neck to belly while it's wings bore a completely different feathering pattern, and were brown. Tiny black eyes blinked at Harry accusingly, from a pinkish orange head that tapered into a pointed beak. Very distinct.
Harry wasn't surprised when Snape said, "You are in the Himalayas. Tibet, if I had to narrow it down. My sources tell me that this is a Tibetan Snowcock. A high altitude bird. That particular breed, is unique to the Western region. Keep your eye on it, I'm putting it back."
"How do you know that? So fast?"
"Suffice it to say that while you can only communicate with me, I am in communication with others. The Ministry and those aurors investigating your case. Do not ask questions about it. You cannot divulge to your captors what you do not know."
"Okay…"
He watched as the bird was gently lowered and returned to its perch on the ledge.
"No doubt, you are being watched. Act like a father who can think of nothing but getting his child back. If they've witness the bird just now, they will think your magic has returned. Get ready to receive another injection from them."
"How do they know there isn't a limit to what a wizard can receive? How do they know it won't permanently hurt me?"
"They don't, nor do they care. But they should. They will have need of your magic. Are you aware that the Elder Wand resides within you?"
Harry's thoughts came to a stop. "How do you know that?"
Before Snape could answer, a knock rapt at the door. "Someone's here." It startled him and his defenses kicked in.
"You're going to have to talk to me in your mind, without speaking. Be very deliberate so that your communication is distinguishable from all the other chatter in your head. Come back to this room in your mind. Remember it to me."
The knock must've been an empty courtesy because the door at the other end flew open and two wizards stood there glaring at Harry. They wore casual suits. One, looking older than the other by ten years, had a mustache and dark brown hair slicked into a gelled ponytail. The other had a shaggy head of dark blond hair and wore circular glasses that hid his eyes behind purple lenses. Harry could tell from the flat compression of his humorless mouth that he was not there to be friendly.
"Good, you're up," The guy with the ponytail said. "Rest assured, we're not here to hurt you. You're about to have a very important meeting. They lady running this show, wants you fed and refreshed. If you'll let us escort you to the dining room, everything will eventually be explained to you."
"When do I get to see my daughter?"
"When the one in charge decides. And that depends on how cooperative you are. Right now, we need you to come with us."
As he said it, he held out an object that Harry recognized as a hood, but made with thick fabric and covered in something that looked like black plastic. The man all but smiled as he noticed Harry's resistance. Harry reminded himself, no matter how nice these people spoke or how well they treated him, it was all lies. They were out for blood. Don't be fooled by anyone's civil tone or an apparent display of kindness.
He let them put the hood on, effectively blind folding him and cutting off his senses to the outside world. "Is this necessary? I already have no idea where I am."
"Can't have you learning your way around the place, can we? It's just a precaution. We'll remove it when we sit you down to eat. Right now, you're on your way to the showers. All guests have to be cleansed before meeting our employer. She's a pure Backaal, and finds it difficult to tolerate human contaminants."
Contaminants? He didn't argue. In darkness and silence, his steps were at first, stifled and hesitant. A strong hand on his arm led him, and when he didn't fall, he began to trust his steps better. Fighting the urge to take a blind swing at one of these guys, he remembered Snape.
How much, if any, of his experience was Snape aware of?
Are you there, Harry thought to him. No response. He tried imagining the red crystal and showing what he was going through. He saw a vision of himself being led in the hood.
Can you see this? he asked. Still no response.
It took balance and concentration to feel for Snape and walk without any sensory reference at the same time. Only the man's grip on his arm allowed him to trust the next step in front of him.
He could hear his breath. He listened for voices and for surface echoes, but he couldn't really hear them. The hood canceled out most of the sound. He strained to detect entry to any new space. He tried to sense how the room and air around him changed as textures beneath his shoes changed with each step. They walked for a while. At one point, he felt like he was walking on grass instead of carpet or concrete. He distinguished between pavement and tiles. When he stepped onto a smooth surface that vibrated mechanically, he knew that he was being taken down an elevator. A series of them. The pressure around his body and in his stomach told him that he was going down. He saw nothing, and he only spoke to when absolutely necessary. That was the deal.
This sensory deprivation triggered the memory of getting here. After taking the injections and finding the waiting car, he'd gotten in. A thick, tinted partition separated him from the driver. He heard over the speakers, "Put the hood on."
Beside him, a folded cloth turned into head covering when he picked it up and let it slip loose. Against all caution, he resisted the temptation to unleash a choking jinx upon the driver and fought to ignore a knot in his chest. At the time he couldn't use his magic and suppressed the urge. He put the hood on. Blood rushed in his ears. His heart jumped in reaction to the speed and pull of the car, until it felt like a panicked animal trying to escape his chest. His body suddenly rushed with a sensation that was too warm too fast. Heat raced like glycerin through his veins. He knew he was loosing consciousness as he slumped. He only hoped that he would see his daughter on the other side of it.
That same hope continued now and he let himself be guided across a barrier.
"You're going to step up and over a door frame. It's about four inches high."
He did as he was told and traveled a few more steps as the guy pulled his arm.
"Stand here. Someone's going to come and give you a shower. They'll undress you. Don't panic. It'll take five minutes. This is routine for people from the outside world."
"What?"
"In fifteen minutes, you'll be dressed and eating. You'll have to be dosed again before meeting your host. She'll tell you everything."
Harry tried not to argue. He tried not to panic. The room did seem to have an echo to it, like a place of tile and water. The man let go of his arm.
"Can you at least take this thing off now?" Harry meant the hood.
"Not yet. Hang tight."
His wrists were suddenly yanked behind his back, and slapped into cuffs.
"What the hell?"
"Sorry, forgot this part. Precaution. Think nothing of it, it'll be over in no time."
With his arms behind him, Harry had to balance without the aid of the guiding hand. He felt fingers reach under the hood, touching his face. These were different hands, smaller, gentler, but proficient as they removed his glasses and plastered something around his eyes. Another pair of hands began unbuttoning his shirt. The hood came off, but he still couldn't see. A band had replaced the hood.
He tried to hold still as strangers removed his clothing. He pushed his natural, survival instincts, way down and tried not to remember having ever been a victim. The people touching him were efficient. He could feel and hear his sleeves being cut to remove them around the handcuffs.
He heard the briefest, "Excuse me, sir," as his pants were unzipped and peeled around his hips. Air cooled his chest and legs as every stitch was removed. He was asked to step out of his shorts.
He let them take his CIUM ring, but kept his talisman necklace.
He did so, awkwardly. Angrily. A blast of warm water nearly knocked him over. He staggered until he hit a cold wall. Spray hit his face and he smelled something like sweet herbs. Sponges soaped him quickly. Phantom fingers even lathered his hair. He held still for it, unprepared for the release of water from above. It poured like a fountain, continuous, as those working on him rinsed his hair and skin clear of the herb solution.
He remembered his connection to Snape and hoped that his mind wasn't showing him any of this.
The watery assault was over quickly, but he remained shaken long after they dried him and led him to a different room where the blindfold was removed and his hands were released, but not before he felt the sting of another injection. He saw that the people handling him were a man and a woman wearing what looked like hazmat suits. Both were shorter than him and wore white domed hoods that concealed everything but their faces. They went about putting away the injection inside a carrying kit and picking up his wet towels. They never looked him in the eyes. He was given clothes to put on.
The small woman spoke. "When you're dressed, the canteen is through the opposite door."
She pointed, indicating around the lockers. "Your meal will be waiting for you."
Harry clung to any hope her voice gave him. In spite of her and her partner's cold treatment of him, her voice was rather heavy and low for a woman, thick with warmth. She might've been a mother giving instructions to her kids in a "I-don't-have-time-to-talk-about-this' kind of way. He couldn't sense any magic, but he didn't know if that was because she was a muggle, or if it was a result of the injection. Her male counterpart never addressed Harry and was the first to leave.
As he pulled on the clothes, he looked around, thinking of any details he could give to Snape. The room looked exactly like a gym locker room, with slender brown lockers, benches, and that same retro orange paint lining the walls.
The clothes they gave him were so loose, they looked like pajamas. As he put them on, he realized they were more like scrubs. They came with socks, underwear, and soft cloth shoes with firm soles. Right, he wouldn't be running far in these, even if he could get outside.
Once dressed, he rounded the lockers to find a large window looking out onto an expanse of white tables and chairs. It might've been a cafeteria in a hospital or a school. It struck him as not native, but an artificial adaptation to the place. He supposed, no more so than a hotel room custom fitted into the side of a cliff. He had the feeling this is where all guests/hostages were brought in a sort of orientation.
He walked out, expecting someone to come up to him, to talk to him. No one did. No one was around.
A tray sat on the table closest to him. It was exactly like the kind of old trays served at school, with sections of food separated into form-fitting plastic molding. He sat down and tried to identify what was before him. It didn't matter. He was hungry, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. Why would they present this first and not his daughter? He'd held it together as long as he could. Their games were starting to chafe and he was losing patience.
He pushed the food away, hit the table with his fist, and said, "I want to see my daughter. Enough games!" He looked around for cameras, for somewhere to direct his anger, and found none. Just like in his room. No visible surveillance. That didn't mean he wasn't being watched. Just when he thought he was going to be ignored, the doors at the far end opened and the two wizards who'd escorted him from his room approached the table.
The one with the slicked ponytail said, "You haven't eaten since you traveled with us. That was three days ago. If you don't eat, you'll be too sick to see her, let alone help her. Our employer wants you well. You're not in danger."
Oh, so that's why he felt generally awful and hungry. "Excuse me if I have trust issues right now."
The dark blond man smirked, but the other replied, "We didn't bring you all this way to poison your food. You were out cold and we took care handling your unconscious body. If we wanted to harm either you or your child, you'd already be dead. Eat. People, even wizards, don't adapt well to this place. You're being fed steak and vegetables, but it's in a puree form for your stomach. You're underground. The people who live here are… different. They have a power source that has side effects until you get used to it. You need your strength. That's all I can tell you right now."
Harry reconsidered the brown and yellow contents on his tray. Fuck it, he quickly spooned as much of the slop into his mouth as he could in ten seconds. His captors watched, bemused. He shoved the tray away again. Mouth full, he said, "I'm done."
"Very well," the wizard nodded. His partner produced another black hood. "I believe you know how this works."
