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Chapter 8

He sat up – or more accurately, made the attempt sit.

Harry's clamber to consciousness had been a trying struggle. He had emerged from the murky depths of an ocean, it felt like; an ocean that consisted of fog instead of water. It seemed that every time he started to get a first inkling of awareness, or an indeterminate worry gripped him, strong claws of invisible merpeople pulled him down again, and the sense of purpose scattered like so much water vapour, untraceable in the vast foggy surroundings. It was like being on the verge of sleep, not remembering or understanding what you were thinking about before you slipped away into dreams. And then the cycle started again.

In this particular one though, he had surfaced to an understanding of reality that stayed firm, despite his own doubts. A reality that apparently included not being able to straighten his back.

Harry tried using his arms for leverage but they did not support his weight and he fell back with a grunt. He swallowed and felt a knot of anxiety burn his stomach. His eyes were drawn up to the elaborate wooden carvings that sprawled upwards to a dark blue ceiling.

'Mr. Potter, sir,' a small voice said near his elbow and Harry jerked his gaze down. The owner of the voice was small as well. Nevertheless, the sight of his visitor chilled him.

Except for the large eyes and ears that signalled a house elf disposition, its entire face was wrapped in black cloth, making the creature look like a ninja in one of Dudleys cartoons. His black towel reached all the way to the ground, covering his or her feet, and he wore a slim green band off one shoulder.

'Y-yes?'

'Me is being Tadders, sir. Me is going to show Mr. Potter to dinner, sir.' The elf sounded friendly enough.

To dinner? Harry thought but said: 'Nice to meet you, Tadders'. He tried again to find his bearings, but the effort was fruitless and he slumped back against the sheets. 'I'm afraid I can't go with you. I'm, uhm… a bit indisposed at the moment.'

The elf drew a bottle from his robes and handed it to Harry, as if in response. Harry took it and sniffed. Potions was not his strong suit. He had no idea what he was smelling.

The elf then rubbed its large-fingered hands and said: 'It is being for your muscle fatigue, me is instructed to tell you.'

Harry hesitated. He had just woken unharmed. It was unlikely that his captor or rescuer would off him at this point, he decided. Swallowing the contents of the potion, he grimaced as after a minute or two, his muscles started to cramp everywhere. With his second attempt he managed to remain in a vertical position. Clamping the bedpost he tried to stand. He ignored his wobbly legs and took two steps, before keeling over on the carpet.

Immediately the elf was at his side, whispering a Weightless charm while snapping its fingers. With the elf's' aid Harry managed to stand and eventually walk slowly towards the door, although it felt really weird not to feel his feet hitting the ground. Glancing down he saw they were bare, and that he was wearing non-descript black robes.

As they walked along the landing, the theme of lavishly detailed carvings continued on walls and ceilings and even around the paintings of beautiful landscapes. Harry studied the elf next to him, which he now knew to be male.

'Where are we, Tadders?'

'In Masters' Mansion. Through here, sir.' The elf took a left turn, leading them onto an even longer landing. This one ended in a sumptuous stairwell sprawling to the ground floor at what must be the back of the mansion: Harry could see a glimpse of the garden before they entered the next spacious room.

'Who is your master?'

'I is not allowed to speak of that to Mr. Potter, sir.'

Harry nodded his understanding. Another snap of the elf's fingers and a set of double doors opened to what Harry supposed must be the dining room. He looked in and froze, feeling the blood rush to his head.

He had seen this room before. It was where he had dined with the Death Eaters – where Voldemort had forced him to drink one of Snape's concoctions. He frowned, thinking on that. They'd eaten, he had undergone the sneers and suggestive comments of the Death Eaters. What happened afterwards?

A small hand gently shoved him in the back. Woken from his contemplation, he obligingly strode towards the end of the table laden with food. After some deliberation he chose the chair right of the one set for dinner – that had been Voldemort's place earlier. The dishes immediately accommodated by rearranging themselves hastily towards the new configuration. Harry stared blankly at this assiduous demonstration of the tableware, before shaking himself.

Pumpkin juice sprang into existence near his elbow. He was very thirsty all of a sudden. He hesitated with the glass at his lips. He didn't like the idea of not knowing anything about his position here. All the same, it still remained illogical for Voldemort to poison him slowly through food, and not be around to enjoy it. Besides, that wasn't his style.

Remembering his resolve to become more Slytherin, he decided to make the most of his circumstances and tuck in. Yeah that must've been a very tough decision, wasn't it? his Gryffindor side spoke up tauntingly.

Although the beef with crisp vegetables and mashed potatoes was delicious, after a few bites he started to feel nauseous. Tadders was back immediately.

'Please do not eat too much of the food at once, Mr. Potter sir.'

'Yeah, I got that,' Harry replied, gripping his stomach.

The elf bowed low. 'I is wanting to suggest a walk in the gardens for young Mr. Potter, to settle down his stomach.'

Harry glanced up toward the large windows. The sun was still high, beckoning towards a fresh summer evening walk. He let his gaze slide to Tadders standing at his elbow.

'Am I allowed to walk the grounds?'

The elf nodded vigorously, making Harry think: they do nothing halfway, do they?

'Yes Mr. Potter sir, excepting leaving the grounds, which is not being possible for Mr. Potter sir.' He pulled at his ear as if upset by that.

Harry snorted. 'So I suspected.'

He stood. 'Al right, could you show me the way?' He knew he'd gone past the garden entrance, but having crossed through so many rooms and chambers, he didn't remember the way back.

Tadders eyes widened at this request in obvious pleasure, and he proceeded to walk him down two floors towards the French doors he saw earlier, his black blanket billowing around his feet. Harry wondered why Tadders wasn't more like Kreacher with being in the employment of the darkest wizard in a century. Although Harry didn't actually know whose manor this was.

Outside the air was heavy with flowers and the dusk songs of birds. Harry breathed it all in and sighed, wanting to suspend his worries for a few moments. Already the pressured feeling of too much food was receding. He took up a slow pace and randomly chose one of various paths, resolved to let his impressions be the only guide to his thoughts for now.

The wildness of nature had clearly been encouraged here: the gardens held to a nonexistent pattern of all kinds of shrubbery and trees overhanging rough and wild-flowered terrain. The garden path gave no hint of the lay of the land, twisting and turning, intentionally or not lacking any grand purpose to things. At regular intervals a beautiful panorama could be seen beyond, and Harry could get a glimpse of a waterfall or forest meadow, inviting the wanderer to explore this new vista.

Which was how Harry came to a stop under an old tree, standing alone in the centre of a field of grass. He had found it walking through a dense group of spruces. It was huge and baroque-like, a mammoth of its species. It had a girth as wide as a cars'.

He loved old trees. An ancient-looking beech grew at the playground in Wisteria Lane. Harry could remember fond memories of his childhood scaling the rough bark, climbing his way to the canopied crown. This particular one was an oak and flush with summer's green foliage. If he were to climb it, however, he would first need a ladder, just to be able to reach the branches.

He was in no state to climb anything now, though, so he choose to sit himself against it. He gazed upwards along the bark and dwelt, as he'd done so often, in the feeling of falling into an endless suspension of branches. He felt along the rough terrain with his hands – and jerked them quickly back in shock. The moment his fingers had touched the bark, all experience of the outside world had left him – there was only the huge body of the tree. It was, he thought after a moment, as if his conscious had taken leave of his body for a moment to travel elsewhere.

Catching his breath he sat upright. Carefully, he reached back with his palm to touch the wood. Once more he was catapulted away from his surroundings – into the ancient being that was hundreds of years old; a vast, deep system of roots reaching tens of meters into damp soil, juices of life slowly being pulled upwards by tight channels along a sprawling network of branches, towards thousands of carefully wrought twigs and leaves, and from there pulled away, vaporised back into thin air. Unimaginable numbers of wood ants and other tiny creatures crawled its wooden surfaces and inner walls, providing access to healthy minerals; much higher, a number of bird nests created a soft steady pressure against his many-legged branches, protecting the birds against higher order predators.

Harry opened his eyes. He had fallen from his perch against the tree and was now on his stomach in the grass. He felt very sleepy all of a sudden. He closed his heavy eyelids, breathing in the earthy smell of summer around him. It had grown cold and, blinking his eyes open with effort, he noticed that the light of the sun had disappeared from the clearing.

Oh well, he didn't feel like going into whomever's house it was. Satisfied with this reasoning he pillowed his head on his arm and slept.

He was woken roughly by a wide-eyed Tadders, frantically pulling on his arm.

'Mr. Potter sir is not to go from the path. No, sir, not at all.'

'Hmm. Hm?' Harry jerked upright and felt in the grass for his glasses, until he saw Tadders holding them out in front of him.

'Oh, thanks.' He scrambled up and immediately had to be grasped by the elf again: apparently his legs were still not cooperating. Before he was aware of it happening, his surroundings faded away with a snap of Tadders' fingers and they were back in the bedroom where he'd woken up. Tadders slowly let go of his arm.

He was very tired, Harry thought. The ticklish feeling of a cleaning charm came over him then, and he flushed as he glanced down at black pajamas.

'Mr. Potter is needing to go sleep, sir,' the elf said softly.

Some of the fog of sleep had left Harry's head by now. 'Does your master live here?'

'I is not allowed to say, Mr. Potter sir.'

'Are there other people in the house besides me?'

Tadders shook his head. 'I is not allowed to say, sir,' he repeated.

'Of course not,' Harry muttered. Back in the mansion, all his worries crept up on him again. He sat down heavily on the bed. What had happened to Ron, Hermione? How long had he been out, was Dumbledore alive? What was Voldemort doing? He didn't know, and not knowing felt worse than knowing the exact details of their horrible situation. His eyes drooped again and he rubbed them with his knuckles.

At least he would be able to fall asleep now. He just hoped his sleep would be dreamless.

888

He woke feeling rested. As he wondered about this, he felt guilty. The memories of the battle cleared the residual sleep from his limbs. For what felt like the umpteenth time Harry saw them in his mind – Justin Flinch-Fletchy fallen and surrounded by Death Eaters, getting kicked repeatedly in the head… the desperate expression on Hermione's face… Ginny….

Ginny. He closed is eyes. He let his mind go back to that drifting feeling, when he'd felt like he was swimming through fog. He imagined himself back in that strange otherworld and clung to that image. At some point he noticed his slowed heartbeat and even breathing. He sighed in relief: at least he could still manage some basic Occlumency.

He moved slowly as not to strain his muscles, which had decided to be slightly more cooperative. In the dining hall the same sight met him as the day before: only this time breakfast was spread one place down from the table end.

Harry sat and ate, thinking that he needed a strategy. A good start would be to explore his whereabouts.

Just like the Malfoy Manor, this one was huge. Rooms after rooms sprawled from long and luxurious landings, some of which opened at his touch and some of which stayed firmly closed. The mansion consisted of two stories and probably an attic, although he couldn't manage to open any of the doors leading up to it. Most rooms were used as storage for all kinds of items: on the ground floor alone he'd stumbled onto a coin cabinet, a collection of exotic vases (he tried to break one to use a shard as a weapon, but apparently they were Unbreakable, just bouncing off the floor), a room full of fabrics cut into all kinds of forms, as well as a two-story deep indoor greenhouse, which was situated at a nook of the manor. It smelled terrific of heavy flowery scents and he decided to explore it thoroughly later. One hell of a rich bastard must be living here, he considered. Someone with a collector's craving.

The second floor held no such flagrant displays of wealth, though. The rooms were fewer and larger, austerely decorated. Most held areas to recline and to read, perhaps for the more trusted guests, with small tables, thick black leather couches and chairs near the fireplaces. Harry encountered several restrooms with small windows looking out on the gardens, interspersed by chambers he was barred from entering - perhaps the main bedrooms.

A large part of the second floor was taken up by the inaccessible glass walls that looked out onto the greenhouses. Harry felt a moment of vertigo as he looked down on all the greenery from above. A door next to it led to another main area of the mansion: the library.

The library well matched Harry's expectations of what a rich Death Eater would want to read. To his surprise and delight, he was able to peruse any book on the shelve he wanted to. The worst of the blackened and burned-like covers he avoided, for fear of getting cursed, although he couldn't resist perusing some of the titles, like "Mind Spells for the Wicked" and "Kozlov's Guide to Strengthen Thy Magick". He choose one of the couches near the fireplace to read.

He hadn't noticed the time until Tadders sprang into existence in front of him, making him drop his book in his lap. Tadders pulled at his long black cloth and said: 'Is Mr. Harry Potter sir wanting lunch?'

Harry unfolded his legs and stood. 'Yes I would.'

'Tadders is being able to bring lunch to Mr. Potter sir, if he so prefer.'

Harry grinned. No harm in sucking up to the house elf. 'Great, thanks Tadders.'

Tadders' eyes, the only visible feature of his face, widened at this praise and he was gone and back in an eye blink: lunch sprang into existence on the reading table. It was tuna and roasted vegetable sandwiches with pumpkin juice, and Harry ate with gusto.

When Harry was full and reclining in the much-too-comfortable couch, he felt a twinge of unease. With all the exploring and the delicious meals he could almost forget what was important: he was a prisoner. One moment not spend escaping was another moment wasted. There was a war going on. People were dying, maybe Ron was being tortured right this second and what was he doing? Exploring the library because it was interesting. Pathetic.

Placing the books on the couch arm, Harry proceeded to walk out and down the large stairway to the front door. From there he crossed the entranceway towards the high and fearsome-looking brick property walls, which stretched to the left and the right as far as the eye could see.

There was no entrance. The driveway just stopped at an unremarkable spot of wall. There must be a trick to making the entrance appear, Harry thought, just like in Diagon Alley. He took a step towards the bricks and touched one.

At once a sharp pain burned into his scull right above his eyes. He stumbled back and fell, clutching at his scar. Although he was used to this kind of pain, he wasn't used to it getting stronger and stronger. He squirmed on the ground, the grind of the driveway digging through his robes. He closed his eyes and tried to be as still as possible, only wanting to get through it. Finally the pain vanished and he breathed out slowly.

He stood up and strode back towards the mansion, not looking back.

During the rest of the day Harry had a pounding headache. He asked Tadders for a Headache Cure potion, but he felt no different after taking it. Deciding that he was done with scheming for the day, he had a quiet evening of exploring the different rooms and studying the strange items.

888

Harry had been immersed in a huge tome on the best use of curses in broom-to-broom combat, but jumped when he heard a low hissing near the hearth. "What the-"

There was a huge snake in front of the fire, basking in the warmth it seemed. It tasted the air in Harry's direction with its forked tongue. Harry jumped out of his seat and scrambled backwards. Usually he was not afraid of snakes, but this one…

'Hm,' the emerald-green snake said after some tongue-studying. 'The young one is back.'

'What are you doing here, Nagini?' Harry hissed.

If snakes could laugh, it would be a hissing sound. 'The more logical question is, what is the young one doing on my Masters' territory?'

Sectumsempra Harry thought and willed the magic towards the snake.

Nothing happened.

'Touchy. And weak.'

Harry tensed as Nagini winded her way towards him over the dark green carpet. 'Since you speak my language, I will be lenient and tell you why I am here,' she hissed while closing the distance between them. 'I have been asked by Master to oversee your person in his nest. You are not to leave it.'

'Yeah, I got that already,' Harry snarled, fists clenching - he was tired of hearing it.

The snake flickered its head over Harry's robes. 'Go back to your chair.'

'I'm not taking orders from you.'

'It is easier talking.'

Harry was tempted to make a run for it, but who knew what she could do when he turned his back - she had proven before that she could maim an adult on guard with one bite. So he sat down again, holding his book in front of him like it was a shield. He gritted his teeth when he couldn't find her in his vision. Then he felt a presence glide over his neck.

He gave a startled yell. All his muscles went rigid under the pressure of the reptile's body. Nagini hissed again. She wound herself around his abdomen and shoulders, finally stilling with her head on the couch arm.

Ignoring her, he thought of Mr. Weasley nearly getting killed and of Voldemort. Then he shaped in his mind: Avada Kedavra. The snake tensed, which caused him to be squeezed tightly by her scaly body. Harry realised then that he wouldn't be able to get out of her hold unless she allowed it.

Nagini gave another warning squeeze. 'I am annoyed, human. It is not wise to annoy me.' She drew upwards until they were eye to eye, reptilian to human. A swirl of red could be seen at the corner of Nagini's left one.

A heartbeat went by before Nagini released him.

'I won't do it again,' he lied.

'Good.'

'Will your master come here as well?'

Nagini flickered her tongue at him. 'No. Do you wish for him to come right now?'

'No!' Harry snapped, then tried to dampen his tone: 'No that's okay, I don't need to see him right now.'

'Hm. Put on more fuel.'

'What?' Harry looked around, bewildered.

'For the fire!' Nagini squeezed him impatiently.

'Oh, right.' Harry waited for her to climb off of him, but she appeared to be right at home on his shoulders.

'Here goes…' Harry murmured to himself. Standing very slowly, he walked towards the basket holding a supply of firewood and placed two fresh pieces in the flames. She was cold to the touch. If he could just squeeze her to death like she almost did to him... but both his hands barely covered half of her neck...

Nagini sighed and it was such a human thing that it made him shiver. Balancing her weight he shuffled back towards the fauteuil and lowering himself carefully into it. After a moment she uncoiled herself and settled back in her spot before the fire. Harry went back to his book. His attention wasn't on it, though: a horcrux was near, lying in sight.

She had to be killed, and he was in the unique position to kill her.

888

That was easier said than done. First of all, he had to find a way to kill her without his wand. While staying clear of her deadly fangs. While Voldemort could be witnessing his act from out of her eyes at any moment.

Everyone thought he invited trouble like a magnet, but actually, it was trouble that always managed to find him. People just assumed that he liked these kind of situations, that he wanted to be in danger or something. Harry shook his head at his rambling thoughts as he began a search in the library for books that could be of any use. He found many books on how to keep snakes in the impressive Dark Arts collection, but not on how to kill them. Now that he thought about it, ways to kill snakes didn't seem like Voldemort's favourite kind of reading.

Maybe there was a potion that required a freshly killed snake? Harry looked around and soon discovered the potion's section. He perused all the entries that could possibly be relevant. Finally he found a passage on snakes in a book on ingredient salvaging. It said:

- fresh snake, all species: relevant parts must be cut or the snake body killed less than one hour before use. In potions allowing for magical interference: incantation Serpenconcido. W. m: fluent motion consisting of diagonal left-down / inner wrist circle to the right / diagonal left-down. In potions not allowing magical interference: use a sharpened object twice the snakes' length. Standing clear, cut off the head. Beware: if the snake be poisonous, a professional snake killer must be hired.

Great. He just happened to have a mightily poisonous snake on his hands, and no wand to kill it from a safe distance. Slamming the book with a huff, he stood and paced to the creature in question, dozing and oblivious. The fire made her scales gleam in beautiful colours, ranging from bright green to deep metallic. He had to do this, he thought to himself firmly, trying to squash his nerves. He didn't think his period of solitude in the manor would last very long, or his courage for that matter. It had to be today.

Walking with purpose through the many rooms and chambers, he began a search for any sharp and long objects that could help him. His host wasn't so stupid as to provide him with obvious weapons, unfortunately. After about an hour of finding nothing, he decided on a different tactic: were there any objects in the manor that he could disassemble into something useful? Gazing around with this in mind, he soon found something suitable: the wooden curtain rails on which the dark green curtains were hung inside of every room. And which, incidentally, demonstrated fancy sharpened spikes at both endings.

He decided on one of the smaller ones, lest he wouldn't be able to carry it later, and pulled a chair close to the windows. Standing on the upholstery he was just able to reach for the curtain rail. Harry's shoulders sagged in relief as he discovered that it lay loose on its holders. He pulled the rail up and let it fall from its perch, accompanied by the dull sound of fabric touching the ground. Harry then pulled the long rail clean from its curtains and balanced it on one hand. It was long alright; about two meters in length. He clasped the rail like a spear and set off towards the library in search of Nagini.

His luck was holding: she was still sleeping the day away, her long body curled in on itself with her pointed head resting on top of it. He came to a stop as near as possible to Nagini's body. Harry's right hand became slippery around the dark wood of the rail.

It was now or never. Gripping his new-formed spear with both hands, Harry slowly lifted it above his head, one pointy end in line with her head.

He flung the spear down.

Nagini had sensed the movement of air apparently because at the exact same time that his weapon was about to strike home, she moved her head fractionally, making him miss his mark by inches and causing the the rail's end to pierce through her neck instead.

He heard a loud hissing noise before he was struck to the ground by a vicious slap of scales on skin. He felt two cold points at his neck. The snake's fangs sunk in deep, almost like they were falling through butter instead of skin. It was over before he knew it. He blinked slowly as Nagini's head hovered into view.

'Too bad for you, young one.'

Warmth was gushing from his neck. Already he felt a sharp pain following in its wake and rushing throughout his body.

He reached for her. 'Nagini.' His arm felt weirdly disconnected as he lifted it. His scar started to burn again, a pain that paled in comparison to the venom's agony. He gasped as he looked into her eyes and saw that their colour had shifted completely to red.

Nagini spoke, but he heard Voldemort's voice:

'Foolish boy,' the dark wizard said from her mouth as well as inside his head. 'I suppose the venom will be a fitting punishment.'

The meaning of the words cut slowly through his fogged brain. A low sound of pain escaped him then. Nagini was hissing again, probably laughing at him. Voldemort chuckled softly as well, an itch in his scar.

Something else clambered for his attention: his heart was now trying to push itself from its place between his lungs. He felt for it, trying to keep it in place. Glancing upwards he was struck by the strange sight above him: the fire was outdoing itself with the colours on the walls; blue, purple, red, gold… He laughed at that. Voldemort and Gryffindor colours! He frowned then, as that thought troubled him in some way. He tried to push away from the ground, but his arms had stopped working: they just lay next to his chest, unmoving. Neither were his legs, actually. He blinked down, thoroughly bewildered by this turn of events. Then he remembered the snake. The beautiful, gleaming snake. There was something about the snake. Nagini. Yes, Nagini. His forehead itched and he tried to rub it, remembering too late that his hand was somewhere else now.

With great care he lay his head back on the ground, not wanting to lose it as well. But then he noticed that his eyes were also in on the conspiracy: they had decided to introduce a great, expanding blackness. His heart comforted him, by slamming harder in reassurance of its existence. Harry smiled, grateful for this kind gesture. He tried to convey to it that, although its' efforts were much appreciated, they were both obviously fighting a losing battle. Gradually it slowed down in response, having gotten his message.

More excitement in the next chapter. Please review and tell me your thoughts!