a/n: You're very kind, poka! This was a fun one to write. I'm going to post the next three chapters today since two are pretty short.
Prompt: Bats
Chapter 2: Watershed
March 1998 | Malfoy Manor
"Stupefy!" Ron's spell threw Greyback out of sight. "That was for Bill," he shouted and turned his wand toward Narcissa and Malfoy. Daring them to intervene.
Harry was pulling Hermione out from under the chandelier. He couldn't tell if she was breathing. Small cuts peppered her exposed skin. He searched for a pulse and found one under the trembling muscles. How many times had she been cursed? He counted at least six. Bellatrix. Harry looked up wildly, searching for the dark witch.
She was scrambling to get up on her feet. Harry stepped between Hermione and Bellatrix. His scar burned with pain. He welcomed it.
"Crucio!" Harry's spell threw Bellatrix back off her feet. The rage and hate he felt for the witch burned through him. Ever since she killed Sirius, he dreamed of making her regret her curses. Now she had tortured Hermione. Being forced to listen to the horrifying screams from the dungeons of the manor had undone him. Something broke. Even as his scar burned with the thoughts and emotions of Voldemort, Harry channeled it all at the witch who had inflicted so much pain. He watched in satisfaction as the witch writhed in her own pain, the material of her black skirt fluttering as if she was being attacked by a swarm of bats. Even that would be too easy of an end for her. He held the curse despite the shouts of protest from the Malfoys. "I guess I mean it now," he said to her as he leaned closer remembering her advice the first time he tried to curse. You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it.
"Harry!" Ron called out a warning as he turned his wand away from the Malfoys and in his direction.
Harry turned to see Greyback running toward him. Neither he nor Ron were going to get a spell off in time. Harry braced for the attack. In a blink he was standing on a beach. Sand under his feet as the sea drenched his shoes. He looked wildly around and saw Dobby. The house elf didn't bother to explain, he disappeared, presumably to go back for Hermione and Ron. Luna and Dean were advancing from a bank overlooking a small cottage. He saw Fleur helping Mr. Ollivander inside and Bill turning back toward the beach. Harry swallowed. Voldemort was nearly there. Not Shell Cottage. The manor. Harry saw it coming into view.
A pop and Dobby reappeared with Ron and the goblin. Ron was pushing the house elf away. "No! Get Hermione," he was shouting, clearly disagreeing with Dobby's choice to prioritize him.
Harry saw Voldemort fly through the gates and into the front door. Hermione was still there. Laying next to the ruined chandelier. "No," he breathed, trying to apparate there. Nothing happened.
Dobby was also trying. He was blocked. His large eyes swam with tears. "Dobby can't," he whispered with a roughness that came from fear and regret.
"No. We have to go back," Harry said, hearing the panic in his voice. What had he been thinking? Wasting time to punish Bellatrix. They should have gotten out of there as soon as he had Hermione in his arms. His anger blurred into Voldemort's. He was learning he just missed Harry Potter. Distracted by Grindelwald. Harry never identified more with the dark wizard than that exact moment. Distracted from what mattered.
Keep the girl. Potter will come for her, Voldemort barked orders, lashed out at the others with curses and hexes.
Harry fell to his knees on the beach, holding his head in his hands, trying to push reality away. What was the point of anything? They'd been running, trying to find unknown items in unknown places. Risking everything. Avoiding snatchers, trying to do the impossible alone. And the thing that did them in was a taboo on Voldemort's name.
"Harry," Ron started, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We'll go back. We'll get the Order involved."
The Order. What good were they? They were hiding too. Just surviving. Harry brushed off his friend's touch and stood. They couldn't attack the manor outright. That would be a suicide mission. He let out a long shaky breath. Voldemort was still there in his mind, in the background, raging over his loss. What did he know about loss? "Get the Order here," Harry told Ron. They'd turn the taboo against the Death Eaters. Invoke their master's name and ambush them. Pick them off until it's an even fight. "We're done running."