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The War We Fight | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Fluff Warnings: Violence Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 175 Summary: This is the story of a war. A war between good and evil, light and dark. This is the war Harry will fight, where he will learn the meanings of life and death, love and friendship, sorrow and betrayal, honor and hardship. This is the war where he will fulfill his destiny. H/G with some R/H sixth year fic. Hitcount: Story Total: 95165; Chapter Total: 4734 |
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Thomas Paine (1737-1809) Chapter four:Inside Tom's Lair Harry landed in what looked like a dungeon. Bellatrix, still pointing her wand at him, exited the room without a word, locking the door magically behind her. The room was damp and cold, as if sunlight had never touched its walls. It had no windows, and the walls were all solid rock, just like the dungeons at Hogwarts, thought Harry with a pang of homesickness. He realized he was in deep trouble, the moment they had made him drop his wand. Dumbledore had failed him, yet again. Truth be told, he had trusted the old man when he said that Privet Drive was safe, he had been neither expecting nor prepared for an attack. He had been trusting and lax and was now paying the price. He took a few deep breaths, clearing his mind, and focusing in the problem at hand. He could always deal with Dumbledore once he escaped, and if he didn't, let's just say Dumbledore would be the least of his concerns. Right now, he had to stay alive, or risk everything that he held dear. Unbidden, Ginny's smiling face popped in his mind, and it comforted him in an odd sort of way. It reminded him of what he was fighting for, what he had to come back to, why he shouldn't give up. He realized that this was probably the worst bit of trouble he had ever been in. No magic, no company, no idea whatsoever of where he was. Sighing heavily, he felt the walls around him, in the darkness, trying to find any kind of opening or hole. But all he felt was the slime and humidity that clung to his fingers. His search was completely fruitless. He turned his attention to the door, trying not to let despair take hold of him. But that search turned out even more hopeless than the walls. It didn't even have a lock, and was closed solely by magic. Without a wand, he had no way to open it. Discouraged, he sat down, leaning against the wall furthest from the door, and hugged his knees tightly to his chest. There was nothing to do, he was trapped. Fighting the waves of panic threatening to engulf him, he cleared his mind, working on the mental shield he had created in the past month. He felt it was going to be put to intense use in the near future. For the moment, he had nothing to do but to prepare as best he could, and wait for events to unfold. Ginny sat on her bed, still panting from the dream. She got up, pulled on a dressing gown, and walked towards the door, puzzling on what to do. Waking her parents was out of the question; she would never hear the end of it if she did. Her mother was sufficiently demanding and overwhelming on a normal day, Ginny didn't think she could deal with her fussing this night. Ron too, she couldn't go to for advice. The way he had been these last few days, he would bang the door in her face out of spite, just to hurt her. That left Charlie and Bill, who were at home for the holydays, and it felt right to talk to them. They were both in the Order; they would know what to do. Plus, they had always been her favourite brothers, she thought with a small smile. She went down a flight of stairs to Charlie's room, which was closer to hers. The door wasn't locked, and the light was still on. That meant he was still awake, good. Knocking lightly and opening the door further, she saw that Charlie was sprawled in his bed, feet dangling from the sides, reading a book. Just to see her brother this relaxed calmed her ragging emotions, here was someone she trusted implicitly, and that would always help and protect her. When he heard the noise of someone at the door, he dropped his book and glanced at his watch, noticing that it was quite late for anyone other than an insomniac to be awake. When his eyes finally landed at the door, it took a moment for his mind to register the trembling form of his sister, as pale as death, dried tears running down her cheeks. He jumped out of bed, grabbed her hands, that were cold and shaking under his larger ones, and sat her down beside him. But she seemed to need human comfort, so she threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him tightly. Not knowing what to do, but rather pleased with the display of affection, he just hugged her back, feeling the tremors slowly recede from his sister's small form, and she calmed down enough to answer any questions. “Ginny, what happened?” he asked urgently. It was highly unusual for his rather contained sister to break down like this; she seemed to be on the verge of panic. Something important must have happened. He noticed that new tears were running down her cheeks as he asked the question, but she took a steadying breath and in as calm a voice as she could muster, began talking. “I had a dream, Charlie, more like a nightmare, really. He was inside my head; he talked to me, in my sleep, just like he does with Harry.” Her voice shook. “I knew he couldn't be totally gone.” Charlie was stunned. He had a pretty good idea of who 'he' was, but the idea that he could touch his sister in their own house was more than disturbing; it was downright terrifying. “Who was?” he finally asked, for lack of a better thing to say. Ginny shot him a withering gaze, as if asking just how stupid he could be, but answered nonetheless. “Tom…” she stopped “he left me a message…” another hesitation “I don't know what to do! I don't even know if what he told me is the truth!” “Wait a minute, Ginny, Tom?” Since when did Ginny call Voldemort Tom? “Yes Charlie. Voldemort if you prefer.” Charlie didn't flinch, or squirm, and for this Ginny was glad. She didn't want help from someone who was afraid of a name. “When did you start saying his name, Ginny?” He asked curiously. He had thought that, apart from him a Bill, his whole family was still using the blasted You-Know-Who. “When I started to know Harry better. And Sirius helped, too. He said that if I was afraid of the name, I would be even more afraid of the thing itself. I'm afraid of Voldemort, I can't deny it, but I'm not afraid of his name, I refuse to be afraid of his name.” Charlie was glad that he had taken Ginny's mind away from the events of the night. Now that she had calmed down enough, they could talk properly without her breaking down completely. And it was refreshing to hear the conviction in her voice when she talked about Harry, and what Harry believed in. He was even more convinced that she was right, and that her correspondence with Harry was a good thing, despite Ron's assurances. “You're right, little Gin-Gin, now why don't you tell me what happened tonight?” she had smiled at the old nickname, but her face darkened when she heard his question. “He talked to me about a lot of things, about the Chamber and the Diary and how we had a link because of that, just like he has one with Harry because of the curse.” Charlie closed his eyes dejectedly. So Bill had been right. They had talked about this after Ginny's first year, what would be the long time repercussions for her of the events of the Chamber. At the time they hadn't been very worried, as they thought the Dark lord was mostly dead, and consequently couldn't harm Ginny trough any connection that might have formed. But now, everything was coming back to haunt her. He hugged her again, not so much to give comfort, as to receive it from her, a reassurance that she was safe, although the danger she was in had increased tenfold. “What else, Ginny?” He felt there was more to it than just that. “He said something was happening to Harry, that he was no longer with his relatives, that he had him. He also talked about something that Harry knew, and that he wanted to know.” She was quiet a few moments, and then dropped the last bomb, all in one go. “And then he said he was coming for me. He wants to use me to make Harry talk.” Charlie sucked in a huge gulp of air, as dread took hold of him. He was quiet for a long time, deep in thought, just holding Ginny against him, drawing comfort as well as giving it. Finally, he asked, more to set his mind at ease, then because he actually doubted her word. “Ginny, you're sure this wasn't just a regular nightmare? I know you have those often enough…” “No, this was different. It started as a regular nightmare, but then I actually felt him, inside my head and I couldn't wake up, no matter what I did, I was trapped inside my own mind. I could wake up only when he left.” Ginny had calmed down significantly since she had entered Charlie's bedroom. Her voice was still weak, and it still shook slightly, but her heart and her breathing were normal, and she didn't have to struggle as much to focus on what she was saying. “You believe me, right?” she asked uncertainly, her head still resting on his chest. “Yes, love, I believe in you. We must wake mom and dad up, and then write to professor Dumbledore.” “No!” she cried, letting go of him “I don't want mom and dad to know! I can't deal with her right now, Charlie! I would never hear the end of it!” “They must know, Ginny” he said sternly “you are in danger!” “I know, and I'll take care. But I don't want anyone to know. In fact, I wouldn't have told anyone if the message had been only about me, but something must be done about Harry.” Her voice didn't leave much room for discussion, but to sweeten her harsh words, she laid down against him again, hugging him tight. “Ginny, this isn't right. They deserve to know! You know that if anything happened to you, it would kill mom. And she would never forgive me for keeping it a secret. You can't keep this a secret!” he was trying to be gentle. “I can and I will. Just send a message to the Order about Harry, and that's that.” Her voice was muffled and slightly exasperated. “Come on, Ginny! It won't be that bad… In a few days, they will treat you normally again. You know mom, she' s just concerned about you.” “Don't you remember how it was, after first year? All I wanted was to be left alone, to deal with everything that had happened, and instead, I had to deal with her in overprotective mode, fussing over me every moment of the day, never giving me a moment' s peace. I don't want to deal with that again, Charlie.” “But Ginny!” “No Charlie! They have enough problems as it is. Just write to the headmaster telling him what happened. Oh, and professor Lupin should know too, I think. That's all. I don't want anyone else to know.” Charlie realized this was a losing battle. No one could change Ginny's mind once it was set to something, the best option was to compromise. “If I agree to this Ginny, to not telling our parents, you have to agree to tell Bill, never stay alone at home, leave unaccompanied and to always stay near him or me until the end of the summer.” She smiled at him, The Smile, as the Weasley brothers liked to call it. The one that would get her anything she ever wanted. “If you'll stay with me, I don't mind. Now go write to Dumbledore.” Harry had rested his head his crossed arms, and was starting to doze of, when he heard the door swing open and two masked men, all dressed in black and both with wands in hand came in. Their uniforms were so similar that they left no recognizable signs appear. They motioned for him to get up and one said in a crisp, cold voice. “Come, the master is ready for you.” Harry got up slowly, his eyes slowly getting used to the bright light coming in from the door. Shivers ran trough him, as he realized he would be meeting Voldemort again. Then a freezing cold engulfed him, this was it, Harry realized. He was as good as dead. There was no way he would escape Voldemort again, the dark Lord would never make that kind of mistake again. But instead of fear at this realization, that those were the last minutes of his life, a deep, unreal calm engulfed him. He felt a strange detachedness of his own body, any feelings of reality receding to the point of having completely vanished, as if his own life was but a dream. A small part of his mind noticed that he was walking through a dark corridor, that lead to massive metal door, which was, strangely, unlocked. Beyond that door the universe changed completely. Where there were dark, bare walls, he saw rich tapestries and pictures hanging, some obviously dating back hundreds of years. Darkness faded, as a soft, early-morning light seeped trough the uncovered windows. The floor was squishy under his feet, covered by a rich green carpet, deep and soft. As he passed trough richly decorated rooms and corridors, his astonishment intensified. How could there be any danger, when there were such flowers in the windows? Nothing could harm him, not with the sun rising behind far away mountains, warming him after the freezing cell. His mind seemed to be miles away from this manor where he was imprisoned and where he would be spending the last minutes of his life, utterly alone, surrounded by his most loathed enemies. His guard halted before a massive double door, fashioned in some sort of dark wood. The door seemed to absorb all the surrounding light, a prelude to the darkness that resided behind it. The first masked man knocked twice in quick succession, asking for permission to enter. Soundlessly the hinges turned, seemingly of their own volition, and with just a slight hesitation Harry was pushed inside, to come face to face to the men, the monster, he was prophesized to kill. The silence was deafening, the darkness blinding, and the smell of decay overwhelming. The perfect reflection of Voldemort's soul, thought Harry as he took in the totally barren room, kept in the dark by heavy curtains and blinds. The walls were painted black, and seemed to have the same quality as the door, drawing all the light, and making it disappear in its depths. But by far the most prominent feature of the chamber was the blood red ceiling, only colour present in the room, which enveloped everything under it in a red glow. In the centre of the room, seated in jet-black, obsidian throne seated on an elevated platform, was Lord Voldemort. He wasn't any more human than Harry remembered. Serpentine face, dark red eyes that seemed to exude dark magic, skeletal fingers… He was as terrifying as ever, and yet, in the state Harry's mind was, that fact didn't seem to penetrate his conscious thoughts. He stood alone, before the most powerful Dark Lord of the century, and yet he didn't tremble, he didn't shy away. He was, in fact, barely aware of his surroundings. The Dark Lord didn't speak for a few moments, simply savouring his victory, his final moment of triumph, mad red eyes staring into unseeing green ones. When he spoke, his eerie, unearthly voice sent shivers trough Harry's whole body but was not enough to bring him back from whatever world he was in now. “Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise. I hope you have been treated well, I did recommend you to my servants, but my orders are not always followed quite as well as I would wish. I believe we have some very serious matters to discuss. Why don't we start, for example, so as not to lose any time, with the prophecy?” So that was it, thought Harry. Once again it all came down to that bloody prophecy. He closed his eyes very slowly, as if exhausted and kept them closed for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. When he opened them again, a drastic change had taken place in them. His eyes were bright with awareness and flashing with anger. He was standing before his parents' murderer; he would not give him the satisfaction of being afraid. And he would die, before giving in to him. Voldemort might discover the prophecy, but it would not be through him. After all, the worst thing that could happen to him was death, and he was not afraid of death. I fact, death was quite an appealing prospect, allowing him to see Sirius and his parents again. “What about the prophecy? It was broken.” Answered quietly, in barely more than a whisper. “I want, obviously, to know what the prophecy said. Since it concerns me, I should think I had a, right of sorts, to know.” Voldemort answered evenly. “Who do you think you are to talk about rights, Voldemort? Maybe before asking for your so called rights, you should respect other peoples.” Answered Harry angrily, his eyes flashing. “Let's say I have the right of the stronger. Considering that you are my prisoner, that you don't have your wand and that you are impossibly outnumbered, it would be in your best interest to do as you are told. What does the prophecy say?” It was obvious that he was used to command and be obeyed, and that Harry's bravado was annoying the Dark Lord slightly. Harry felt small tendrils of magic leaving the Dark Lord, and trying to enter his mind. His touch was smooth and delicate, like a woman's caress, tempting you to let your guard waver, even for just a second. Much more dangerous than Snape's direct hits, Harry realized, as he struggled to keep his mind safe and beyond Voldemort's reach. Remembering everything that he had studied during the summer, he found a focus, something he loved and wanted to protect, and at the same time trust all of his magic in his mind, holding his barriers in place, looking for weak spots, strengthening the whole structure he had painstakingly built. Unwanted, Ginny's smiling face filled his mind, working as his focus, filling him with energy and hope. Voldemort winced visibly and left his mind alone, at least for the time being, glaring at Harry with eyes full of hate. “So, Potter, you've learned Occlumency, have you?” It was more of a rhetorical question, but Harry answered anyway, slightly breathless from his previous exertion. “Anything, Voldemort, to defeat you. Anyway, what makes you think that I know what the Prophecy says anymore than you do? It smashed before I could listen to it.” “Because I'm sure that old coot told you its contents. He always knew what it said, and he wouldn't keep it from his golden boy, so spit it out. You'll talk before this is over, Harry, so you might as well do it by your own means. I assure you, my servants can be very persuasive.” “You'll have to do better that that, Tom, to make me talk, supposing that I did know what it said.” Harry was caught up in the game now, he focused his whole attention in the monster standing before him, trying to guess what the next move would be, carefully phrasing his answer, so as to give away as little as possible. “Harry, Harry,” his voice was mocking, “I have some very effective ways of convincing unwilling people to talk. Trust me, you don't want to try them.” Something clicked in Harry's mind as Voldemort spoke. He was afraid, scared of the prophecy and what it said. He wouldn't act before he knew it all, and that gave Harry and advantage, as long as he kept his mouth shut, and his mind protected. Deciding that he might as well act as if he was totally unconcerned with these so-called methods, he said, “I'm not afraid of pain, Voldemort, you've made me feel enough of it in my life, and I'm quite used to it.” He raised his eyes defiantly, and squared his shoulders. If he could have seen himself, he would have seen that he looked quite imposing, raw power swirling in his eyes, surrounding him like armour. Voldemort eyes flashed dangerously, and raising his wand with a muttered “we'll see” he whispered the dreaded word “crucio”. The spell hit Harry in the chest, quickly spreading trough his whole body. For the next half minute all he knew was pain, but he didn't give Voldemort the satisfaction of screaming. Willing his mind to block the pain, the feeling that his own skin was melting, every nerve ending on fire, he bit his lips savagely to keep from crying out, only a muttered groan leaving his mouth. He closed his eyes tightly, focusing on his own magic letting it course trough him like medicine, dulling the pain, but not making it any more bearable. He fought his body's urge to curl in the floor and cry, and made an enormous effort simply trying to keep standing. The pain was so great, his legs were giving way and he was about to fall down on his knees when Voldemort lifted the spell. At that Harry sucked in a huge gulp of air and too tired to keep on standing, he let one of his knees fall to the ground, while his muscle shook in the aftermaths of the curse. Voldemort's voice cut through the silence of the room. He didn't sound pleased. “Very well, Mr. Potter. That was an admirable show of self-control. But pain isn't the only method of persuasion, as you'll soon see.” Turning to a crouched form beside him he ordered “Bring Veritaserum.” The man, to which Harry had paid little to no attention, hurried to do as his master had ordered. As he left trough a side door, a surge of cold fury made itself know, that silver hand could only belong to one person, he realized. Turning back to the matter at hand, he pushed Pettigrew to the back of his mind. He would deal with him later. Revenge was a plate better served cold. Voldemort spoke again, in a voice that could only be qualified as confident. “We'll see how you fare against that potion, Mr. Potter. It's the most potent truth potion that exists.” Harry's only response was a strangled laugh. Let him relish his false victory a little longer, he thought. “What can you possibly find funny, Mr. Potter, in this situation?” But Harry only smiled as he waited for the most powerful truth potion in the world. A few minutes latter, in which Voldemort showed obvious signs of impatience, Wormtail arrived with the potion. At a sign from his lord he approached Harry, and dropped three drops of the potion in his mouth, without any kind of resistance from the boy. When he was sure that he had swallowed the potion, Voldemort started his questioning. “What does the prophecy say, in it's entirety?” Harry felt the potion take effect, felt the almost overwhelming urge to say the truth and spill all his secrets, hold nothing back. But it wasn't for nothing that he was the only wizard in his class that could fight the imperious curse, he resisted the urge, and said happily. “Well, ol' Tommy boy, I really don't feel like telling you that. You know, maybe some other time, if you ask me nicely.” Voldemort sprang from his throne, fury evident in all his movements. “What potion did you give the boy, Wormtail?!” he yelled. Peter cowed in evident fear, trembling so much he wasn't able to answer his master. Harry did it for him, feeling an unpleasant surge of pity for his father's old friend. “I can resist the imperious curse, Voldemort. How could you possibly think I was vulnerable to a simple truth potion? Wormtail did nothing wrong, you simply underestimated me. Again.” Harry had risen from his crouched position, and was standing tall in the face of his enemy. “Maybe I did, Mr. Potter,” said Voldemort thoughtfully as he sat down once again, his eyes gleaming malevolently in the half-light once again. “But there is one thing I know you won't be able to withstand. We'll just have to use the girl. I don't think she'll have your self-control. How long, do you wager, before her mind breaks under Cruciatus?” He laughed before snapping to two Death Eaters standing near the door. “Take him away. Spread the news that you have carte blanche. But I want him perfectly sane and in acceptable health the next time I meet him. If anything happens, I will be most displeased.” Harry felt a large hand in his shoulder, leading him back to his cell, but Voldemort's last words kept ringing in his ears, and fear gripped his heart. Who was the girl? It could only be Ginny. What could he do to save her? |
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