Harry Potter & Hell\'s Assassin

Chapter 3



“Alright…what do we know? Severus, why don’t you start…”



Albus Dumbledore lowered himself gently into the chair behind him. Never in so many long years had he felt so tired. He ached, in his body and soul. His hands shook with anxiety and stress. He felt every bit his one hundred and fifty-three years of age. Harry Potter was missing and there was nothing that he could do to help. He had no information and had been unable to take any steps forward in this matter. For once, he was on the same level and had the same information as everyone else; he had never felt so helpless. The entire Order of the Phoenix was present at this meeting. The first since last night’s terrible events. They needed a plan, and idea, a clue even, to get them started. They needed to rescue this poor boy.



Severus rose from his seat and began to speak, but Albus felt the man’s velvety voice roll over his senses like water off a duck’s back.



He loved Harry like a grandson. The boy had been through so much in his short life, had seen so many awful, horrible things. Things that no child should ever have to go through, and now this. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that Harry would most likely not come out of this alive. The boy was strong, courageous, brave and very stubborn. But he was not trained. He did not have the skill that Tom Riddle possessed. And running from Tom back into the safety of Hogwarts was so very different than fighting the monster in his own lair.



Images of Harry’s smiling face drifted through his mind. A bright boy with so much potential to excel in this world. Then suddenly those images turned dark. His memory spit forth reasons why the boy had never had a chance at a normal life. He remembered the boy with cuts and bruises and broken bones; lying in the hospital wing; dark circles surrounding dull eyes; shaking, bloody, hands…



And Voldemort. The reason the boy would suffer was because of one man. The man who currently had the boy in his clutches.



Albus let his head fall forward into his open hands and felt hot tears leaking through his fingers. They made a cool trail down the back of his aged hands and under the cuffs of his robe. He felt despair swell like a growing bubble in his chest and struggled to contain it.



Silence had fallen across the table, thick, heavy and suffocating.



“Albus…” Minerva whispered, her voice laced with concern, sympathy and sadness.



She rose from her seat swiftly and went to her old friend’s side. Everyone sat, some with their mouths hanging open and some with tears in their eyes. And some, like Molly, who had been crying since last night, were openly weeping.



“Albus, everything will be alright.” Minerva tried to sooth. She placed a gentle hand on the man’s back and rubbed her thumb gently up and down. “You’ll see. The boy is strong. He is a fighter.”



“You mustn’t despair headmaster.” Severus Snape’s voice was soft, low, and tinged with care. He was a cold man and a bastard at the best of times, but the one thing he could not stand was to see Albus upset. He tried for what he knew would make his mentor smile. “You know the boy will live just to spite me.”



He was rewarded with a watery grin and a soft chuckle. The wizened old man shook his head slightly. “Oh, Severus…”



Minerva’s smile followed suit and Albus clasped one of her hands in his, squeezing it tight. Hesitantly, his cheeks tinged slightly with pink, he raised his eyes to regard the rest of the table.



“I do apologize, my friends. I let my emotions overcome me for a moment.”



Everyone smiled warmly, not really knowing what to say but understanding none the less. It was the Weasley twins that spoke up.



“That’s alright, Albus.” Said Fred.



“Everyone needs a good cry every now and then.” Said George.



“Even the most powerful wizard in the world.” They quipped in unison.



Little chuckles were scattered about the room as the mood lightened considerably, or, as much as it could given the circumstances. Albus smiled a little wider, feeling grateful for having such close and loyal friends, and suggested that they start the meeting over again. Beginning with Severus.



As it turned out, Severus really didn’t have all that much information to give them. None but Voldemort’s closest and most trusted had been told of the plan to capture Potter. The potions master had barely finished relaying this bit of information when Sirius stood up, the four legs of his chair scrapping the stone floor as it skidded backwards shifted everyone’s attention to him. His face was contorted with anger, as it usually was when Severus Snape was in the same room.



“What about all the Death Eaters that were standing around outside the house when the Aurors showed up?!”



Black eyes glared furiously into blue.



“If you would let me finish, Black, then you would have the answers to all of your questions! Everyone who was there, with the exception of Malfoy and a few others, were Obliviated upon their return to headquarters. Most of the Dark Lord’s minions don’t even know that Potter is in their midst yet. When that changes, and I assure you it will and soon, I will let you know.” Here, the spy paused to take a breath and regain his composure.



Sirius had calmed himself down and grumbled an apology when he noticed Albus gazing at him sternly.



“Why do you think Voldemort is keeping this a secret?” Kingsley asked. “I would have thought he would announce it to the world. Leak it to the Prophet.”



“Maybe he is just waiting for the right time?” Tonks suggested.



“But even his followers don’t know.” Kingsley argued gently. He looked around the table. “I don’t mean to be insensitive or blunt but,” he paused, “Would Voldemort not want to hurt Harry?”



Sirius made a strangled noise at the end of the table and turned a little white. Most of the occupants of the kitchen had already thought about this, but no one had really wanted to broach the subject. However, Alastor Moody, who had thus far remained silent, spoke up at once.



“He’s right. As much as you all don’t want to think about it, there is a good chance that Potter is being tortured as we speak. Voldemort may have even killed him already.”



“Alastor!”



Several people cried in outrage, alternating concerned glances between a somber Albus, an ill looking Sirius and a nearly hyperventilating Molly.



Moody banged his staff on the floor loudly and everyone fell silent, except for a few hiccups from the mother of the Weasley family.. “It is sad that the Potter boy is in trouble, yes!” The ex-auror spat. “But sitting here, reminiscing about the child as if he were already lost to us is not helping him. We need to gather as much information as possible. We need to find out where the boy is being kept and plan an attack. We need to pull ourselves together if this is going to work! By now most of you have subconsciously planned a body retrieving mission when it could very well still be a rescue mission!”



* * * *



He wondered, again, how long he had been here. And where here was. He had no idea of either. As he had been trapped in the darkness for, what felt like, days and days. The silence and solitude was maddening. The cell, for he guessed that was what it was, was just long enough for him to lay down in and stretch, though he never did. To uncurl his body from the tight ball it was in was to be rattled and consumed by the cold, damp, musty air. By now, the little bit of rock wall his back and bum were touching were warm. He had been sitting like this for hours. His body ached and throbbed from it and the atmosphere, but at least he had stopped shivering. But if he moved…oh, it would take hours again to regain the warmth.



So he stayed like this. With nothing but the silence and his aching, hungry belly for company.



‘Maybe Voldemort forgot about me…’



* * * *



Several hours later, Harry was wishing they had forgotten about him. He would have been so lucky…



Eyes scrunched shut and teeth grinding against the pain, Harry waited for the fiery curse to consume him once more.



“Crucio!”



Another scream was ripped from his throat, his body convulsing and twisting on the cold, stone floor. Then he was released. He fought hard to suck air into his lungs but, with every curse, the tremors took longer to quell and he had to fight harder to regain control of his body. He was sure that, if they kept up like this, his body would just stop functioning altogether.



“Had enough, Harry?” Tom Riddle’s chilling voice reverberated off the stone walls of the chamber where he, and most of his followers, watched the long awaited torture of Harry Potter.



The Boy Who Lived took a few more seconds to make sure that, if he spoke, he could actually form words.



“Fuck…you…” he gasped with as much defiance as his ravaged body could scrape up.



Voldemort’s face morphed into something ugly, with muscles twitching and eyes flashing, he snarled, “Foolish boy!” he took a few calming breaths to control himself. Harry supposed it wouldn’t do to lose one’s composure in the face of an enemy.



“You have no idea the power I possess!” he snake snarled viciously.



Harry chose not to comment. Deciding that he needed to save the energy for the next torture curse.



Voldemort sat back in his high backed chair…well, it was more like a throne. His pale hands gripping the arm rests convulsively. And then his face twisted into something resembling a grin and Harry felt as if his stomach had dropped several feet. He could do nothing as he waited for the Dark Lord to spill whatever grand secret he had obviously been waiting to divulge to everyone.



“There are a great many things you do not know, Harry Potter.” The chilling voice hissed into the silence of the room. “But, as you are about to die, I will enlighten you.” Collecting his thoughts, Voldemort paused and then leaned forward in his throne, his crimson eyes flashing eagerly.



“I cannot kill you, Harry.”



For a split second, Harry felt something like relief fill him, then confusion followed. Hadn’t Voldemort just said he was about to die?



“…At least,” he drawled, giving a long pause of suspense, “Not in this world.”



Swallowing back the tang of blood in his mouth, Harry heard all the Death Eaters behind him shifting and moving about restlessly. And from his place on the cool floor he could hear them whispering.



A small frown marred the boy’s dirty face.



They sounded…surprised? Dubious?



Was this news to them as well as Harry then? Had they not known their master’s plan either? For some reason, this didn’t make Harry feel any better about the situation.



Voldemort stood from his chair, bearing an arrogant smile.



“I will explain this to you all. I discovered, in my research over the past few months, that this boy,” he spat the word, “and Myself, have a stronger bond than I had originally thought. I do not wish to go into particular details, but, simply put: If the boy dies, so do I.”



There were more whispers after this declaration, and one brave Death Eater cried out, “But my lord! Surely you are strong enough to overcome this bond!”



“Shut up, you fool!”



Every Death Eater in the crown seemed to shrink under their master’s withering glare.



“Do not speak of things you know nothing about!” Here, he seemed to collect himself. “The bond is complete and unbreakable. However,” That horrible gleam had reappeared in those evil eyes and Harry opted to close his own. He did not wish to stare death in the face any longer.



“I have found a way around this. I will, quite simply, make Harry Potter disappear. If the boy is gone from this world then his half of the bond goes with him.”



This was all said as if it were the most obviously simple thing in the world.



“How will you…send him away, My Lord?”



Avery Nott. Harry recognized his voice immediately. He asked a good question, one that was on everyone’s mind. Voldemort smiled indulgently, as if he had been waiting for someone to ask it.



“A potion and a spell.”



Only silence greeted this answer. Was it really going to be so simple, Harry wondered? Where would he be sent? What would this world be like? Was there even alternate dimensions? Harry had always assumed them to be nothing more than myths. But, then again, until he was eleven, he had believed that magic was just a myth as well.



Voldemort had made his way over to where Harry still lay, shaking on the floor. He looked down his nonexistent nose and sneered.



“The place where you are going is not a nice place, Harry Potter. You will not survive. And that is the point of all of this. First I will make you and the bond we have disappear and then, when you die, it will not affect me in the least. For no bond can stretch across a universe.”



Harry wished he could say something. Anything. But his throat was torn from screaming. It hurt too much. Voldemort was walking away now, towards his loyal followers.



“When the boy is dead, I have devised a little present for all his…loved ones.” The last two words sounded as if they tasted bad in his mouth.



Dark chuckles floated across Harry’s awareness.



“Would you like me to tell you what I will give your friends, Potter?”



Unable to talk, Harry shook his head.



“I didn’t think so. Which is why I am going to tell you.” Voldemort was once again standing over his enemy’s prone figure. “I assume even you have heard of the Visual Projection spell, Visiva Mostra?”



Harry blinked. He had. But what did that have to do with anything? It was like a live television feed. You could watch what was happening in a certain place, as it was happening, without actually being there.



“I am going to show all your little friends your rotting corpse.”



Harry’s face contorted in disgust. It still amazed him how Voldemort could say such horrible things as if he were just commenting on the weather.



“When will this happen, My Lord?!” the Death Eater that spoke sounded giddy with excitement.



Voldemort smiled horribly. “Well, there’s no time like the present, Mr. Goyle.”





* * * *





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