"Rennervate."
Harry jerked awake, the sudden return of dual consciousness making her stop walking in shock.
The black dog trotting beside her looked up and cocked its head. She cleared her head and resumed her walk down Platform Six and a Half, all the while focusing on France.
He was lying in a luxurious four poster bed with silk sheets. To one side of the bed was a large fireplace, around which were two armchairs. Flamel sat in one, Duke Mercado Reya in the other.
"Welcome to my home, Mr. Potter," said Flamel. Harry sat up and took a good look around. The room looked like something from Buckingham Palace. Every piece of furniture was wand crafted by a master, and there was a certain abundance of gold. An ounce more would have been gaudy. The hardwood floor was polished, and a large portrait was hanging above the fire.
"I hope you're well rested," the Frenchman continued with an insufferably smug tone.
"What's your game, Flamel?" Harry asked. He had no patience for playing around. He was tired of politics.
"No game, Potter," said Reya, standing. He was short and thin, his olive coloured skin pockmarked, his greying hair still showing a hint of black. "You are our guest."
Harry snorted. Sure, a "guest" that wasn't allowed to leave.
"I am not a cruel man, Harry," said Flamel, "I do not wish you pain or discomfort. As a show of good faith, I am even letting you have your wand."
Harry blinked in surprise when Flamel reached into his robes before tossing Harry his holly wand. He caught it easily before examining it, hardly believing that it was his. They must really be confident in their abilities, Harry thought.
"You will find that this room would give even the most talented wizards trouble, Harry. I have full confidence in its ability to hold you."
Harry didn't respond to the slight. He'd escaped from Flamel once. He could do it again. He'd have to do it before they could send him to prison with that fake evidence, though.
"And how long will I be your... guest? Until the trial?" he asked.
Flamel and Reya shared a look and, to Harry's great surprise, burst into uproarious laughter.
"You still haven't figured it out?" said Flamel at last, still chuckling occasionally.
Harry tried to think. What could they be talking about?
"Ah, Potter, you have so much still to learn," said Flamel. "What do you think would happen if you had a trial?"
Harry frowned. "I'd tell everyone the truth about you," he said, and as soon as he said it, it was obvious. There would be no trial. Why would Flamel want a trial? He was the Boy Who Lived - his voice still carried weight. People would listen to him. Giving Harry a public platform was the worst possible thing for Flamel right now.
"Did you actually think that you were able to overcome two of my Aurors?" said Flamel, and he looked like he was going to laugh again. "And then avoid capture by twenty more? How bad do you think their aim is?"
Reya chuckled.
"But... the evidence. The ear," Harry said.
"Filed safely in the Auror Office," said Flamel, "without you around to contest it. Rather suspicious activity, attacking two Aurors and then escaping, don't you think, Mr. Potter?"
He'd been played even more thoroughly that he had thought.
"If I hadn't run..." he said, thinking out loud.
"I dare say it would have been rather inconvenient. I would have had to arrest you and arrange a trial. Very messy. I must thank you Harry, for playing your part so perfectly. Your trial shall be held in your absence, since you are unfortunately 'on the run'. Between the Ear and your escape, I'm sure you will be convicted."
Harry wanted to scream. It wasn't fair. This went completely beyond anything he was used to. Compared to these men, Draco Malfoy was a rank amateur.
"And then?" he asked. "I suppose then I'll be "caught" and sent to prison?"
"That is... one possibility," said Reya.
"But risky," added Flamel. It sounded like a conversation they'd had before. "It depends on your behaviour, Harry. If you behave well, you shall remain our guest, and may live out the rest of your days in comfort. We have even provided opportunity for you to continue your education," - here he gestured at the rather well-stocked bookcase - "should you wish to. But if you misbehave, Potter, then - well. My Aurors are quite skilled at tracking down criminals."
The rest of his days.
They planned to keep him in this gilded prison forever. It was insane. Why didn't they just kill him? Not that he wanted to die, of course, but it just made no sense.
"Well then, Potter, we'll leave you to... settle in," said Flamel, and he led Reya from the room. The door made a sucking sound as it closed behind them, as if sealing itself airtight. As soon as they were gone, Harry leapt out of bed. It was time to test Flamel's spells.
The room had a window - a large one at that, filling the place with the bright light of dawn. That would be the place to start, Harry thought. He walked over to it and looked out. There was some kind of clever obscuring charm on it. He thought that he was looking out on a street, but he couldn't really be sure. It was very strange. It wasn't that his vision was blurry, as such: he just found that he couldn't focus on any details in particular. He stared right at what he was sure was a street name, but it was as if he had forgotten how to read. He knew there was writing there, but not what it said. He couldn't even decide if the other buildings in the street were made of stone or wood.
This could be a problem, Harry thought. If he couldn't figure out where he was, how could he be rescued?
"Finite," he said, not expecting much. The image of the street didn't even waver. Perhaps something a bit more specific would be better. Harry thought for a while, trying to think of the best choice. The art of undoing charms was something he wouldn't study properly for years. "Finite Obsfucato!" he tried, drawing a circle in the air. The idea was to create a circle of clear vision. Once more, the window remained unchanged.
Harry suddenly wished he knew a blasting curse. A sure way to break any charm was to destroy the object it was tied to. If he could smash the glass, he would be able to see the street beyond. And maybe even climb out.
He had been given a desk and chair. The chair was a heavy looking thing: wood and red leather; it was almost throne-like.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he said, flicking his wand. After practicing the charm so much, he'd found the swish was becoming unnecessary. The chair floated into the air under the direction of Harry's will; he wrenched his wand like a fishing rod, throwing it as hard as he could against the window. It bounced off with a boing, the glass acting like a trampoline. He managed to bring the chair under control just before it crashed into the portrait over the fire.
"Dear boy!" the ancient man in the portrait said, looking alarmed, "what do you think you're doing?"
Harry ignored him and, after setting the chair down, walked over to the bookcase. If he couldn't get out of the room with the magic he knew, maybe he could find a spell there to do it. He ran his fingers along the spines, reading the titles.
Stupefaction: An Introduction to the Stunning Charm looked interesting, but it wasn't going to help in this situation. He quickly passed over Unnatural Philosophy by Adalbert Waffling too - it contained no spells. There would be time for books like that later. Simply Smashing Spells looked much more promising. Harry pulled it off the shelf and set it on the desk, tracing his finger down the contents. The first half of the book was devoted to theoretical discussion, but the latter half had extensive explanations of what it called "the four principle blasting curses". Harry sat down to read.
He had work to do.