"If you love me let me go, 'cause these words are knives that often leave scars, the fear of falling apart. And truth be told I never was yours. The fear, the fear of falling apart." - This is Gospel, Panic! at the Disco
I look around at the other three, now mere outlines in the darkness. I see Hermione raise her wand, not toward the outside, but towards Harry's face: there is a bang, a burst of white, and someone's hands are on my shoulders, shoving me hard towards the ground, my head colliding hard with the corner of the table. I can feel a lump swelling rapidly on my forehead, accompanied by warm, sticky blood, slowly trickling down my face as heavy footsteps surround me.
"Get up, pretty."
Unknown hands drag me roughly from the ground. Before I can stop them, someone's hands are roaming my body in search of the wand I do not have. I clutch at my excruciatingly painful face, which is both throbbing and bleeding steadily down the right side of my face: judging from the way my world is spinning, I'd wager Ron has concussed me. I blink blood away from my eyes until my surroundings become clear again. Four or five people are wrestling Ron, Hermione, and Harry outside, too, the latter of whose face being almost unrecognizable; so swollen and puffy it appears he's suffered some allergic reaction.
"Get -- off - her!" Ron shouts. There is the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunts in pain and Hermione screams, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"
"Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that if he's on my lift," says the horribly familiar, rasping voice. "Delicious girls...What a treat...I do enjoy the softness of the skin..."
My stomach turns over. I know this voice: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who is permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.
"Search the tent!" says another voice.
I'm thrown facedown onto the ground. Great thuds tell me that the others have been cast down beside me. I can hear footsteps and crashes; the men are pushing over chairs inside the tent as they search.
"Now, let's see who we've got," says Greyback's gloating voice from overhead. "I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"
I presume he has turned Harry over, who says nothing.
"I said," repeats Greyback, followed by the sound of him striking Harry, "what happened to you?"
"Stung," Harry mutters. "Been stung."
"Yeah, looks like it," says a second voice.
"What's your name?" snarls Greyback.
"Dudley," says Harry.
"And your first name?"
"I -- Vernon. Vernon Dudley."
"Check the list, Scabior," says Greyback, and I hear him move along sideways towards me, and I'm rolled onto my back. "Not so pretty after all, hm? What happened to you, girl?"
"Fell," is all I can manage, paralysed by both fear and pain.
Greyback gives a vicious laugh. "And what's your name, clumsy?"
"Petunia Evans," I say quickly.
"We'll see about that," he says, moving on to Ron, now. "And what about you, ginger?"
"Stan Shunpike," Ron says.
"Like 'ell you are," says the man named Scabior. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."
There is another thud.
"I'b Bardy," says Ron, and I can tell his mouth is full of blood. "Bardy Weasley."
"A Weasley?" rasps Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors, even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend..." The relish in his voice makes my flesh crawl.
"Easy, Greyback," says Scabior, over the jeering of the others.
"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll just see if she's a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?:
"Penelope Clearwater," says Hermione. She sounds terrified but convincing.
"What's your blood status?"
"Half-blood."
"Easy enough to check," says Scabior. "But the 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be 'ogwarts age --"
"We'b lebt," says Ron.
"Left, 'ave you, ginger?" says Scabior. "And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you'd use the Dark Lord's name?"
"Nod a laugh," says Ron. "Aggiden."
"Accident?" There is more jeering laughter.
"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, Weasley?" growls Greyback. "The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?"
"Doh."
"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the names been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!"
Someone yanks me up by the hair, drags me a short way, pushes me down into a sitting position, then starts binding me back-to-back with other people. I can see clearly again, but the pain in my head is making it hard to focus on anything. When at last the man tying us has walked away, I whisper to the others.
"Anyone still got a wand?"
"No," says Ron, Hermione, and Harry from either side of me.
"This is all my fault," echoes Harry. "I said the name, I'm sorry --"
"Haylee? Harry?"
It is a new, but familiar voice, and it comes directly behind me, from the person tied to Hermione's left.
"Dean?"
"It is you! If they find out who they've got --! They're Snatchers; they're only looking for truants to sell for gold --"
"Not a bad little haul for one night," Greyback is saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots march close by us, and I hear more crashes within the tent. "A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and four truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?" he roars.
"Yeah. There's no Vernon Dudley or Petunia Evans on 'ere, Greyback."
"Interesting," says Greyback. "That's interesting."
He crouches down beside Harry and me, and I see a face covered in matted grey hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores at the corners of his mouth. He smells as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.
"So you aren't wanted, then? Or are you on that list under different names? What Houses were you in at Hogwarts?"
"Slytherin," we say in unison.
"Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that," jeers Scabior out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."
"It's in the dungeons," I say clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff, and it's under the lake, so the light's all green."
There is a short pause.
"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught some little Slytherins," says Scabior. "Good for you, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins." He points harshly at Harry. "Who's your father."
"He works at the Ministry," Harry lies. I know that our whole story will collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, we only have until Harry's face regains its usual appearance before the game is up. "Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
"You know what, Greyback," says Scabior. "I think there is a Dudley in there."
I can barely breathe; Could luck, sheer luck, get us out of this?
"Well, well," says Greyback, and I can hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and I know that Greyback is wondering whether he has just indeed attacked and bound the kid of a Ministry official. My heart is pounding against the ropes around my ribs: I would not be surprised if Greyback could see it. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."
Panic rising in my chest, I try my hardest to embody Draco's sense of self-importance. "My father won't take kindly to being bothered! Or to the fact that you've tied up his daughter --"
"Hey!" comes a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this, Greyback!"
A dark figure comes bustling towards us, and I see a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They've found Gryffindor's sword.
"Ve-e-ry nice," says Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"
"It's my father's," Harry lies. "We borrowed it to cut firewood --"
"'ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet!"
As Scabior says it, my scar, which is hidden beneath my battered forehead, burns savagely. More clearly than anything, I see a towering building, a grim fortress, jet-black and forbidding; Voldemort's thoughts have suddenly become razor-sharp again; I'm gliding toward the gigantic building with a sense of calmly euphoric purpose...
So close...so close...
With a massive effort of will, I close my mind to Voldemort's thoughts, pulling myself back to where I'm sitting, tied to Ron, Hermione, Harry, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness, listening to Greyback and Scabior.
"'ermione Granger'," Scabior is saying, "'the Mudblood who is known to be travelling with 'arry an' 'aylee Potter."
My scar burns in the silence, but I make an extreme effort not to let myself slip into Voldemort's mind. I hear the creak of Greyback's boots as he crouches down in front of Hermione.
"You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."
"It isn't! It isn't me!"
Hermione's terrified squeak is as good as a confession.
"'...known to be travelling with Harry and Haylee Potter'," repeats Greyback quietly.
A stillness has settled over the scene. My scar is exquisitely painful, but I struggle with all my strength against the pull of Voldemort's thoughts: It has never been more important for us to remain in our own minds.
"Well, this changes things, doesn't it?" whispers Greyback. Nobody speaks: I feel Harry and Hermione's arms trembling beside me as Greyback takes a couple steps towards us, crouching down to stare closely at Harry and me.
"What's that on your forehead, Vernon?" he asks softly, his breath foul in my nostrils. "What about you, Petunia, hiding anything under all that blood?" And he presses a filthy finger to my scar, hidden beneath layers of blood, sweat, and makeup.
"Please don't touch it!" I yell, unable to stop myself; I think I might be sick from the pain of it.
"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?" Greyback breathes, turning his attention to Harry.
"I found glasses!" yells one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. "There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait --"
And seconds later, Harry's glasses have been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers are closing in now, peering at us.
"It is!" rasps Greyback. "We've caught Harry Potter! And look --!"
Greyback reaches for my bound hand, and my heart stops dead in my chest as he rips Draco's bracelet from my wrist with a single, painful tug, holding it up in the air like a trophy.
"Haylee Potter, too! The Malfoy boy's bitch!"
They all take several steps backward, stunned by what they have done. Still fighting to remain present inside my splitting head, I can think of nothing to say: Fragmented visions are breaking across the surface of my mind.
-- I am gliding around the high walls of the black fortress --
No, I'm me, tied up and wandless, in grave danger --
-- looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower --
I am Haylee, and they are discussing our fate in low voices--
-- Time to fly...
"...to the Ministry," Greyback growls. "They'll take the credit, and we won't get a look in. I say we take them straight to You-Know-Who."
"Will you summon 'im 'ere?" says Scabior, sounding terrified.
"No," snarls Greyback, "I haven't got -- they say he's using the Malfoy's place as a base. We'll take them there."
I know why Greyback is not calling Voldemort here. Though he may be able to wear Death Eater robes, only Voldemort's inner circle are branded with the Dark Mark; Greyback has not been granted this highest honour.
My scar seers again --
-- and I rise into the night, flying straight up to the window at the very top of the tower --
"...completely sure it's them? 'Cause if it ain't, Greyback, we're dead."
"Who's in charge here?" Greyback roars, covering his moment of inadequacy. "I say that's the Potters, both of them, plus their wands, that's four hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you're too gutless to come along, any of you, it's all for me, and with any luck, I'll get the girl thrown in!"
-- The window is the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter...A skeletal figure is just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket...Dead, or sleeping...?
"All right!" says Scabior. "All right, we're in! And what about the rest of 'em, Greyback, what'll we do with 'em?"
"Might as well take the lot. We've got two Mudbloods, that's another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they're rubies that's another small fortune right there."
We're dragged roughly to our feet, and I become aware of my breathing; fast and terrified.
"Grab hold and make it tight. I'll do the Potters!" says Greyback, seizing a fistful of my hair; I can feel his long yellow nails scratching my scalp. "On three! One -- two -- three --"
They Disapparate, pulling us along with them. I struggle, trying desperately to throw off Greyback's hand, but it's hopeless: Harry and Ron are squeezed tightly on either side of me, I cannot separate from the group, and as the breath is squeezed out of my chest, my scar sears more painfully still --
- as I force myself through the slit of the window like a snake and land, lightly as vapour, inside the cell-like room --
We lurch into one another as we land in a country lane. With my head still spinning, it takes a moment to figure out where we are, until I focus on a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looks like a long driveway. I experience the tiniest trickle of relief. The worst has not happened yet: Voldemort is not here. According to the vision, he's in some strange cell, at the top of a tower, hopefully, miles and miles away. How long it will take him to get to this place when he learns Harry and I are here, however, is a different matter...
One of the Snatchers strides to the gates and shakes them. "How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't -- blimey!"
He whips his hands away in fright. The iron is contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract curls and coils into a frightening face, which speaks in a clanging, echoing voice: "State your purpose!"
"We've got the Potters!" Greyback roars triumphantly. "We've captured Harry and Haylee Potter!"
"Come on!" says Greyback to his men, and we're shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffle our footsteps. I see a ghostly white shape above me and wonder briefly if I hit my head harder than I first thought, before realizing that it is an albino peacock. I stumble and am dragged to my feet by Greyback; now I'm staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back with the other prisoners, and side by side with Harry. Closing my eyes, I allow the pain in my scar to overcome me for a moment, wanting to know where Voldemort is, whether he knows that we've been caught.
The emaciated figure stirs beneath its thin blanket and rolls over toward me, eyes opening in a skull of a face...The frail man sits up, great sunken eyes fixed upon me, upon Voldemort, and then he smiles. Most of his teeth are gone.
"So you have come. I thought you would...one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it."
"You lie!"
As Voldemort's anger throbs inside me, my scar threatening to burst with pain, I wrench myself back into my own body, fighting to remain present as we're pushed over gravel.
Light spills over us all.
"What is this?"
"We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" rasps Greyback.
"Who are you?"
"You know me!" There is resentment in his voice. "Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry and Haylee Potter!"
Greyback seizes us and drags us around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around, too, as I fight to stay in the dark.
"I know they're beaten up, ma'am, but it's them!" pipes up Scabior. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see their scars. And there 'ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who's been travelling with 'em, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'em, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Eere, ma'am --"
Lip trembling, trying desperately bite back tears, I stare at Narcissa Malfoy as she scrutinises our faces, not daring to make eye contact as Scabior thrusts the blackthorn wand at her.
"Bring them in," she says.
We're shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.
"Follow me," says Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. "My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry and Haylee Potter, he will know."
I can't fight the strangled sound that escapes my throat. Draco is here. My eyes fill with tears, and though I try desperately to blink them away, I can't stop them falling down my cheeks.
The drawing room dazzles after the darkness outside, making the throbbing in my head worse. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rise from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as we're forced into the room by the Snatchers.
"What is this?"
The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy falls on my eyes, and I cast the clean side of my face away from them, hiding beneath my hair and caked layers of blood, beginning to truly panic. I can't see any way out of this, and the more terrified I become, the easier it is to block out Voldemort's thoughts, though my scar is still burning.
"They say they've got the Potters," says Narcissa's cold voice. "Draco, come here."
I don't dare look at him, but see him obliquely, my whole body beginning to visibly tremble as he rises from an armchair: a figure far taller than me, his face pale and pointed beneath white-blond hair.
Greyback forces us all to move again so as to place Harry and me directly beneath the chandelier.
"Well, boy?" Greyback snarls.
We are facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the gaps of my hair, I see Harry properly for the first time since Hermione's stinging jinx. His face is enormous, shiny, and pink, every figure distorted by the jinx. His black hair reaches his shoulders, and there is a dark shadow around his jaw. If I didn't know it was Harry, I'd wonder who had stolen his glasses.
My own reflection seems almost normal in comparison: Right above my scar is a deep gash, concealing the scar beneath purple bruising and blood, the latter of which has dripped down the right side of my face and into my hair, which hangs over my face like dead weight. There are deep purple bags under my eyes, and my face looks as hollow and pointed as Draco's. Worst of all, my eyes are glassy and bloodshot; everyone here can see how terrified I am. I resolve not to speak, for my voice is sure to give me away, but when I sneak a glance at Draco as he approaches, I can see in his eyes that he knows it's me.
"Well, Draco?" says Lucius Malfoy. He sounds avid. "Is it? Is it Harry and Haylee Potter?"
"I can't -- I can't be sure," says Draco. He is keeping his distance from Greyback and seems as scared of looking at us as we are of looking at him.
"But look at them carefully, look! Come closer!"
I've never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.
I gasp as Greyback grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back, forcing me to look at Draco. He looks as scared as I am: he stands tall beside his father, but I can see his hands shaking at his side, and his lip trembles ever so slightly as he stares at me. Is the boy I loved still there?
"She was wearing this when we found her," Greyback says, the feeling of his hot breath against my neck making my skin crawl. He tosses my silver bracelet at Lucius, who catches it swiftly, his eyes widening as he examines it.
"Yes!" he exclaims, utterly elated, his stature for a moment reminding me of Xenophilius Lovegood. "This is her bracelet, isn't it, Draco? The one you gave her?"
I bite back another sob as Lucius places the thin chain in the palm of Draco's hand, more tears escaping my eyes. Why didn't I take the stupid thing off?
Lucius breathes down Draco's neck as he stares at it, but Draco has gone entirely silent, his face paling drastically. His eyes have glazed over as if remembering a million memories in mere seconds.
"What about her wand?" comes Narcissa Malfoy's voice, taking the attention from her son. "You only gave me one."
"She didn't have one on 'er when we searched 'em," comes Scabior's voice.
"Well, search her again. We have to be certain," Narcissa says coldly, her eyes falling on me, and for a moment I think I can see some shred of sympathy.
Scabior waltzes across the room to me and Greyback pulls my hair tighter still. More tears come when Scabior's hands begin roaming my torso: his hands travel beneath my t-shirt across my chest where he lingers, a smirk on his face.
"No wand yet, ma'am," Scabior calls out, his hand lingering at my throat, "but there's this."
With a rough tug, he rips Dumbledore's phoenix necklace from around my neck, holding it up to the light to better examine it.
"Could be worth a few Galleons," he sniggers, reluctantly tossing it to Lucius Malfoy. My mouth goes dry: what if they can figure out what it means?
Scabior's hands continue to search shamelessly, now travelling across my back towards my legs, where he gropes inside each jean pocket, before reaching down the front of my pants -
"I don't have one!" I burst out tearfully, unable to stop myself.
This seems to snap Draco out of his trance, and he looks up from the bracelet, his eyes alert once more. He goes to storm towards me, only to be stopped by Lucius. The look in his eyes is evidence enough that it's us.
Greyback laughs maliciously in my ear, and murmurs, "there it is."
"Draco," Lucius says imploringly, one hand on the back of Draco's neck and the other on his chest, "if we are the ones to hand the Potters over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv --"
"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught them, I hope, Mr Malfoy?" says Greyback menacingly.
"Of course not, of course not!" says Lucius impatiently. He approaches us himself, coming so close that I can see my reflection in the whites of his eyes, his languid, pale face in sharp detail. Held back by Greyback and bound to the other prisoners, I feel like an animal at a zoo, being ridiculed for the enjoyment of others.
"What did you do to them?" Lucius asks Greyback, examining the gash on my forehead. "How did they get into these states?"
"That wasn't us."
"I don't know about the girl," Lucius says, looking me up and down once more before returning to Harry, "but this looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me."
His grey eyes rake our foreheads.
"There's something there," he whispers, "it could be the scars stretched tight, or covered in blood...Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"
I see Draco's face up close now, right beside his father's. They are extraordinarily alike, except that while his father looks beside himself with excitement, Draco's expression is full of reluctance, even fear.
"I -- I don't know," he says, and he walks away toward the fireplace where his mother stands watching.
"We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa calls her to her husband. "Completely sure that it is the Potters before we summon the Dark Lord...They say this is his" -- she is looking closely at the blackthorn wand -- "but it does not resemble Ollivander's description...and the girl isn't even carrying a wand...If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing...Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"
"What about the Mudblood, then?" growls Greyback. I'm thrown off my feet as Greyback shoves me forward, my head spinning, and the Snatchers force us to swivel around again, so the light falls on Hermione instead.
"Wait," says Narcissa sharply. "Yes -- yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with the Potters! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
"I...maybe...yeah."
"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" shouts Lucius, striding around us to face Ron. "It's them, the Potter's friends -- Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name --?"
"Yeah," repeats Draco, his back to us. "It could be."
The drawing-room door opens behind Harry and I. A woman speaks, and the sound of her voice winds my fear to an even higher pitch. I shut my eyes, willing myself not to cry.
"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"
Bellatrix Lestrange strolls around us, and stops on my right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes.
"But surely," she says quietly, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"
"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" cries Lucius. "And beside her, we think, the Potters! The Potters and their friends, caught at last!"
"Potters?" shrieks Bellatrix, and she backs away, the better to take us in. "Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"
She drags back her left sleeve: I see the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and know that she's about to touch it, about to summon him --
"I was about to call him!" Lucius says, and his hand actually closes upon Bellatrix's wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. "I shall summon him, Bella, the Potters have been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority --"
"Your authority!" she sneers, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!"
"This is nothing to do with you; you did not capture them --"
"Begging your pardon, Mr Malfoy," interjects Greyback, "but it's us that caught the Potters, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold --"
"Gold!" Bellatrix laughs, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his -- of --"
She stops struggling; her dark eyes fixed upon something I can't see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius throws her hand from him and rips up his own sleeve --
"STOP!" Bellatrix shrieks. "Do not touch it; we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"
Lucius freezes, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strides out of my limited line of vision, and I try to watch her over my shoulder.
"What is that?" she says.
"Sword," grunts a Snatcher.
"Give it to me."
"It's not yorn, missus, it's mine, I reckon, I found it."
There is a bang and a flash of red: I know that the Snatcher has been Stunned. There is a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior draws his wand.
"What d'you think you're playing at, woman?"
"Stupefy!" she screams. "Stupefy!"
They're no match for her, even though there is four of them against one of her: She is a witch with prodigious skill and no conscience, after all. They fall where they stand, all except Greyback, who has been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. I strain to see Bellatrix as she bears down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen.
"Where did you get this sword?" she whispers to Greyback as she pulls his wand out of his unresisting grip.
"How dare you?" she snarls, his mouth the only thing that can move as he's forced to gaze up at her. "Release me, woman!"
"Where did you find this sword?" she repeats, brandishing it in his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"
"It was in their tent," rasps Greyback. "Release me, I say!"
She waves her wand and the werewolf springs to his feet but appears too wary to approach her. He prowls behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.
"Draco, move this scum outside," says Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."
"Don't you dare speak to Draco like --" Narcissa says furiously, but Bellatrix screams.
"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"
She stands, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turns to look at us.
"If it is indeed the Potters, they must not be harmed," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of them himself...But if he finds out...I must...I must know..."
She turns back to her sister.
"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think of what to do!"
"This is my house, Bella, you don't give orders in my --"
"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" shrieks Bellatrix. She looks frighteningly mad; a thin stream of fire issues from her wand and she burns a hole in the carpet.
Narcissa hesitates for a moment, then addresses the werewolf. "Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."
"Wait," says Bellatrix. "All except...except for the Mudblood."
Greyback gives a grunt of pleasure.
"No!" Ron shouts. "You can have me, keep me!"
Bellatrix hits him across the face; the blow echoes around the room.
"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," she says. "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure but do nothing more to them -- yet."
She throws Greyback's wand back to him, then takes a short silver knife from under her robes. She cuts Hermione free from the rest of us, then drags her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forces the rest of us to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.
"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her?" Greyback crones, as he forces us down the corridor. "I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you, ginger?"
I can feel Ron shaking. We're forced down a steep flight of steps, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking our necks at any moment. At the bottom is a heavy door. Greyback unlocks it with a tap of his wand, then forces us into a dank and musty room and leaves us in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door has not died away before there is a terrible, drawn-out scream from directly above us.
"HERMIONE!" Ron bellows, and he starts to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying us together, so Harry and I stagger. "HERMIONE!"
"Shut up!" I hiss, trembling. "Shut up, Ron! We need to work out a way --"
"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"
"We need a plan, stop yelling -- we need to get these ropes off --"
"Harry? Haylee?" comes a whisper through the darkness. "Ron? Is that you?"
Ron stops shouting. There is a sound of movement close by, and I see a shadow moving closer.
"Harry? Haylee? Ron?"
"Luna?"
"Yes, it's me! Oh no, I didn't want you to be caught!"
"Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?" Harry asks.
"Oh, yes, I expect so...There's an old nail we use if we need to break anything...Just a moment..."
Hermione screams again from overhead, and we can hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words are inaudible, for Ron shouts again, "HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"
"Mr Ollivander?" I hear Luna say. "Mr Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit...I think it was beside the water jug..."
She is back within seconds.
"You'll need to stay still," she says.
I can feel her digging at the ropes tight fixtures to work the knots free. From upstairs, we hear Bellatrix's voice.
"I'm going to ask you again? Where did you get this sword? Where?"
"We found it -- we found it -- PLEASE!" Hermione screams again; Ron struggles harder than ever, and the rusty nail slips onto my wrist.
"Ron, please stay still!" Luna whispers. "I can't see what I'm doing --"
"My pocket!" says Ron. "In my pocket, there's a Deluminator, and it's full of light!"
A few seconds later, there is a click, and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent fly into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hang there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. I see Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander, the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Opposite him is a sight that makes my breath hitch in my throat: Riley sitting in a corner, his knees brought up to his chest.
"Oh, that's much easier, thanks Ron," says Luna, and she begins hacking at the bindings again. "Hello, Dean!"
From above comes Bellatrix's voice.
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell me the truth, tell the truth!"
Another terrible scream -
"HERMIONE!"
"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"
"There!"
I feel the ropes fall away, and turn, rubbing my wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, says, "Thanks," to Luna and stands there, shivering, but Griphook sinks into the cellar floor, looking dizzy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face.
I cross the floor to Riley as Ron begins trying to Disapparate without a wand.
"There's no way out, Ron," says Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. "The cellar is completely escape-proof. Riley and I tried, at first. Mr Ollivander has been here for a long time, he's tried everything."
Hermione is screaming again: The sound goes through me like physical pain. Barely aware of the fierce pricking of my scar, I watch as Harry joins Ron in his search for a way out, though as I drop down beside Riley, and I know in my heart it is useless.
"Riley! Riley!?"
It is only when I grab his hand that he looks up: both his eyes are blackened, and his nose has the look of having been broken multiple times.
"Haylee," he says weakly, staring at me for a few moments before his eyes widen in shock."Haylee! What the fuck are you doing here?!" He looks around the room, growing more panicked when he sees Ron and Harry, and even more panicked when we hear Bellatrix and Hermione above.
"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
Hermione's screams echo off the walls upstairs, and Ron is half sobbing as he pounds the walls with his fists. Riley grabs my other hand and pulls me closer to him, his eyes frantic and wild.
"You need to get out of here! You and Harry, you need to get far, far away from here," he says, a sob escaping his mouth. "Tessa's dead --"
This confirms what I think I already knew, deep down, to be true. I squeeze his hands, allowing a few tears to fall, and say, "I'm gonna get you out of here." But as Hermione's screams grow louder, and the boys fail to find some secret way out, I find myself unable to believe my own words.
"Help us!" Harry suddenly yells in mad desperation. "We're in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!"
I turn to see him clutching our shard of Sirius' communication mirror, and can't help but feel enraged. "Oh, what good is that going to do!?" I snap, staggering to my feet and holding my head in my hands: we're going to die here.
Hermione is screaming worse than ever, and next to us, Ron is bellowing, "HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"
"How did you get into my vault?" we hear Bellatrix scream. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"
"We only met him tonight!" Hermione sobs. "We've never been inside your vault...It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, it's just a copy!"
"A copy?" Bellatrix screeches. "Oh, a likely story!"
"But we can find out easily!" comes Lucius' voice. "Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"
Harry and I dash across the cellar to where Griphook is huddled on the floor, almost falling over each other in our hysteria.
"Griphook," Harry whispers, "you must tell them that the sword's a fake, they mustn't know it's the real one..."
"Please, Griphook --" I add desperately, pausing when we hear someone scuttling down the cellar steps: within moments, Draco's shaking voice speaks from behind the door.
"Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything or I'll kill you!"
We do as we are bidden; as the lock turns, Ron clicks the Deluminator and the lights wizz back into his pocket, restoring the cellar's darkness. The door flies open; Draco marches inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined. He seizes the little goblin by the arm and backs out towards the door.
"Draco!" I call out before the door slams, unable to stop myself. Harry knocks me with his shoulder, scowling, and Draco looks back over his shoulder. "It's not too late to do the right thing, you know."
He stares at me for a moment but says nothing before dragging Griphook away. The door slams shut at the same moment a loud crack echoes inside the cellar.
Ron clicks the Deluminator. Three balls of light fly back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who has just Apparated into our midst.
"DOB --!"
I slap my hand over his mouth to stop him, shouting, and Ron looks terrified at his mistake. Footsteps cross the ceiling overhead: Draco marching Griphook to Bellatrix.
Dobby's enormous, tennis-ball-shaped eyes are wide; he is trembling from his feet to the tips of his ears. He's back in the home of his former masters, and it quite clear that he's terrified.
"Harry and Haylee Potter," he squeaks in the tiniest quiver of a voice, "Dobby has come to rescue you."
"But how did you --?"
An awful scream drowns me out: Hermione is being tortured again. I cut to the essentials.
"You can Disapparate out of this cellar?" I ask Dobby, who nods, his ears flapping.
"And you can take humans with you?"
Dobby nods again.
"Right. Dobby, we want you to grab Riley, Luna, Dean, and Mr Ollivander, and take them -- take them to --"
"Bill and Fleur's," Ron says. "Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth."
The elf nods for the third time.
"And then come back," Harry says. "Can you do that, Dobby?"
"Of course, Harry and Haylee Potter," whispers the little elf. He hurries over to Mr Ollivander, who appears to be barely conscious. He takes one of the wandmaker's hands in his own, then holds out the other to Luna, Riley, and Dean, none of whom move.
"Bullshit. I'm staying," Riley says, though his voice shakes.
"We want to help you!" Luna echoes in a whisper.
"We can't leave you," adds Dean.
"Go, all of you! We'll see you at Bill and Fleur's."
As I speak, my scar burns worse than ever, and for a few seconds I look down, not upon the wandmaker, but on another man who is just as old, just as thin, but laughing scornfully.
"Kill me then, Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek...There is so much you don't understand..."
I feel Voldemort's fury, but as Hermione screams again, I shut it out, returning to the cellar and the horror of my own reality.
"Go!" I say again. "Go! We'll be right behind you, I promise!"
They catch hold of the elf's outstretched fingers. There is another loud crack and Dobby, Luna, Riley, Dean, and Ollivander vanish.
"What was that?" shouts Lucius Malfoy over our heads. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?"
We stare at each other.
"Draco -- no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!"
"We're going to have to try and tackle him. Hayles, let Ron and I handle it, all right?" Harry whispers. We have no choice: The moment anyone enters the room and sees four of their prisoners missing, we're dead. "Leave the lights on," Harry adds, and as we hear someone descending the steps outside the door, Harry and Ron back against the wall on either side of it, while I (somewhat begrudgingly) hide a little further back.
"Stand back," comes Wormtail's voice. "Stand away from the door. I am coming in."
The door flies open. For a split second Wormtail gazes into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in midair. Then Harry and Ron launch themselves upon him. Ron seizes Wormtail's wand arm and forces it upwards; Harry slaps a hand to his mouth, muffling his voice. Silently they struggle: Wormtail's wand emits sparks; his silver hand closes around Harry's throat.
"What is it, Wormtail?" calls Lucius from above.
"Nothing!" Ron calls back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail's wheezy voice. "All fine!"
Meanwhile, I can see Harry is barely able to breathe; Ron can't help without releasing Wormtail; Harry can't help himself without risking Wormtail yelling out for help. Filled with the fury of Wormtail's betrayal of our parents, I cross the cellar floor and swing -
My fist collides with Wormtail's temple with a horrid crack, and it takes all my willpower not to cry out in pain as he falls to the ground, unconscious.
"'Hayles, let me and Ron handle it, all right?'" I whisper mockingly, nursing my aching fist. "Fuck!"
"And we'll have that," Ron whispers, collecting Wormtail's wand from the ground.
We look at each other for a moment before leaving Wormtail on the floor, slamming the cellar door behind us as we run up the stairs and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing-room. Cautiously, we creep along it until we reach the drawing-room door, which is ajar. Now we have a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who is holding Gryffindor's sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione is lying at Bellatrix's feet, barely stirring.
"Well?" Bellatrix says to Griphook. "Is it the true sword?"
I wait, holding my breath, fighting against the prickling of my scar.
"No," says Griphook. "It is a fake."
"Are you sure?" Bellatrix pants. "Quite sure?"
"Yes," says the goblin.
"Good," she says, and with a casual flick of her wand, she slashes another deep cut into the goblin's face, and he drops with a yell at her feet. She kicks him aside. "And now," she says in a voice that bursts with triumph, "we call the Dark Lord!"
And she pushes back her sleeve and touches her forefinger to the Dark Mark.
At once, my scar feels as though it has split open again. My true surroundings vanish: I am Voldemort, and the skeletal wizard before me is laughing toothlessly at me; he's enraged at the summons he feels -- he's warned them, he had told them to summon him for nothing less than the Potter Twins. If they are mistaken...
"Kill me, then!" demands the old man. "You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours --"
And Voldemort's fury breaks: A burst of green light fills the prison room, and the frail old body is lifted from its hard bed and then falls back, lifeless, and Voldemort returns to the window, his wrath barely controllable...They will suffer retribution if they have no good reason for calling him back...
"And I think," says Bellatrix's voice, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."
"NOOOOOOO!"
Ron has burst into the drawing-room; Bellatrix looks around, shocked; she turns her wand to face Ron instead --
"Expelliarmus!" he roars, pointing Wormtail's wand at Bellatrix, and hers flies into the air, which I catch as Harry, and I sprint after Ron. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Greyback wheel about; I yell, "Stupefy!" and Lucius Malfoy collapses onto the hearth. Jets of light fly from Draco's, Narcissa's, and Greyback's wands; I throw myself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid them.
"STOP, OR SHE DIES!"
Panting, I peer around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix is supporting Hermione, who seems to be unconscious, and is holding her short silver knight to Hermione's throat.
"Drop your wands," she whispers. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"
Ron stands rigid, clutching Wormtail's wand. Harry stands just beside him, wandless. I straighten up, still holding Bellatrix's wand.
"I said, drop them!" she screeches, pressing the blade into Hermione's throat: I see beads of blood appear there.
"All right!" I shout, and I drop Bellatrix's wand onto the floor. Ron does the same with Wormtail's. We all raise our hands to shoulder height.
"Good!" she leers. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Potters! Your death's approach!"
I don't need her to tell me this; my scar is bursting with the pain of it, and I can feel Voldemort flying through the sky far away, over a dark and stormy sea, and soon he will be close enough to Apparate to us, and I can see no way out.
"Now," says Bellatrix softly, as Draco hurries back to her with the wands. "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."
At the last word, there is a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of us look upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it begins to fall. Bellatrix is directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she throws herself aside with a scream. Everything starts to go in slow motion: I leap over the sofa and sprint towards Hermione, the impending destruction of the chandelier hanging over my head, though before I can reach her, I'm pulled from harm's way and into the safety of someone's chest. There is an explosion of glass and chains as the chandelier crashes to the floor, and the figure holds me a little tighter. My next breath is laced with his cologne.
"I'm sorry!" someone is whispering to me, their breath hot against my neck as they continue to hold me tight. My head is throbbing intensely, and amidst everything going on around me, it takes a moment for me to recognize the voice. "Haylee, I'm sorry. I -- I fucked up, I fucked up so bad..."
I look up to see Draco; tears in his eyes, beyond terrified, and holding on to me as if his life depends upon it. As if by instinct, I raise my free hand to cup the side of his face, but before I can reach him the pain in my scar resurges, and I'm consumed by it. I clutch my head, tugging at my hair; he's getting closer.
"Haylee --?"
I interrupt him swiftly, my survival instincts taking over. "I'm sorry."
I drive my knee into his groin, and he doubles over with a cry of pain, still gripping my shoulders. Breathless and teary, I snatch the six wands from his hands, shove him away, and point all of them at Greyback, yelling, "Stupefy!" The werewolf is lifted off his by the spells, flies up the ceiling, and then smashes to the ground.
As Narcissa drags Draco away from further harm, Bellatrix springs to her feet, her hair flying as she brandishes the silver knife, but Narcissa has directed her wand at the doorway.
"Dobby!" she screams, and even Bellatrix freezes. "You! You dropped the chandelier --?"
The tiny elf trots into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.
"You must not hurt Harry and Haylee Potter!" he squeaks.
"Kill him, Cissy!" shrieks Bellatrix, but there is another loud crack, and Narcissa's wand flies into the air and lands on the other side of the room.
"You dirty little monkey!" Bellatrix bawls. "How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"
"Dobby has no master!" squeals the elf. "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry and Haylee Potter and their friends!"
My scar is now blinding me with pain. Dimly, I know we have only moments, seconds before Voldemort is with us.
"Ron, Harry, catch -- and GO!" I yell, throwing two of the wands to them, watching as Harry dashes to retrieve Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who is still holding the Sword of Gryffindor, Harry seizes Dobby's hand, and we begin to turn on the spot to Disapparate.
Upon seeing the gleaming Sword of Gryffindor upon the goblins back, my free hand grasps desperately at my neck for the phoenix locket, and my heart seems to stop dead in my chest as I remember that Lucius Malfoy has it. I cannot explain my impulse. Perhaps, it is my desire to keep Dumbledore's love life a secret, or my persistence that the locket must mean something important, or even pure sentimentality. Still, when I see Lucius Malfoy regaining consciousness by the hearth, I know what I must do. I just need to be quick enough. Just as my surroundings begin to blur, I let go of Harry's hand -
"HAYLEE!"
I vault the sofa and sprint to the hearth, all other sound drowned out by the erratic thumping of my heart, and with trembling hands, I battle Lucius for the locket, using all my force to shove him against the fireplace and snatch Dumbledore's secret from his grip. I stumble on my run back, Harry and the others now midway through their turn, their muffled screams combined with my heavy, aching head resembling a nightmare. Amidst the chaos, I lock eyes with Harry, warped and blurred, but the motivation I need to push past my burning lungs to reach him. At the last second, I leap towards his outstretched hand, so close to safety...so close, until -
A pair of arms rip me away mid-leap, knocking the wind from me. I drive my elbow upwards, twisting as I do so to face my assailant. I catch a brief glimpse of Lucius Malfoy, now nursing a bloodied nose, before his hand smacks across my face with a sickening crack! I stumble backwards from the force of it, gliding through the space where Harry and the others stood mere moments ago, my head reeling nauseatingly as it slams into the marble floor. And as the phoenix locket clatters to the ground beside me, I hear Bellatrix Lestrange laughing.
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hey everyone! for anyone who didn't read my previous update, I'm re-releasing this chapter with some slight (bit of an understatement?) changes! The next chapter, entitled "Wait For Me" should be out later this week, and I am so beyond excited for you all to read it!
As always, please remember to vote and comment if you enjoyed, as your love and feedback is what motivates me to continue writing! And thank you all so much for reading!