(no subject)
So... I was watching Young Justice after finishing A Clash of Kings when I wrote this, so I blame that, and also I blame Jess for encouraging me to write my stupid ideas. It's untitled, unrated and basically weird thus far, and probably will get weirder. It's not beta'd, so if there's mistakes let me know. Also posted with Rich Text because I'm a lazy ass who doesn't want to format this shit.
Harry hated the Department of Mysteries. He hated the way everything changed so often, never knowing if he might make a wrong turn and end up somewhere familiar… somewhere he never wanted to end up. The Hit Wizard could honestly say he wasn't afraid of very many things, and he wasn't exactly afraid of the place - but it did make him extremely nervous, and his chest would always tighten so that breathing was difficult. He avoided it as often as he could, but his job had him work hand in hand with the Unspeakables most of the time, so he hadn't a choice.
Thankfully, he always had an Unspeakable guiding him through the maze of corridors and rooms, and he had yet to stumble across any of the rooms that he dreaded. Usually he was taken straight to Hermione's office (how she worked in this place, he could never say, but she claimed fascination.) Today he was lead by a woman who looked very young, though he doubted she was. People said he looked young, but he was twenty-six and he felt exceedingly older every day. She had an upturned nose, a bright smile and black hair cut close to her scalp. She seemed to have a very sunny disposition, despite the grim nature of her work place.
"Right through here, Mister Potter. Unspeakable Granger is waiting for you," she said, giving him a last lingering smile before turning away and walking back the way she'd came. There were many doors along the corridor, none of which were numbered or labelled, so he was sincerely glad the woman had lead him here. He might have wandered through any number of those doors. Some were offices he knew, but he also knew that any of those doors could him to the Hall of Prophecies or worse.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed brightly as Harry gave a quick knock and entered without waiting for her answer. She had glasses perched on the end of her nose and her hair was a dismal mess as usual, but most of it was tied in a braid. Her office was a homey sort of place that suited Hermione well. It was well lit, with a variety of colored furnishings, as well as a huge, shiny oak desk. The walls couldn't be seen for the built in bookcases that lined them, every single shelf filled with old books and new, some English, and some very clearly not. There were a few odds and ends mixed in with the books; a clock here, a small globe there and he was sure that was a Time Turner sitting on one of the uppermost shelves.
Harry wondered if that was how Hermione got most of her work done; but then he recalled her saying something about diminished life expectancy from prolonged use and knew she would never do that to herself unless necessary and while he knew she loved her work, she didn't love it that well.
"Another mission survived," she said with a very clear smile of relief. She hated his job, he knew, as did Ron and most of his other friends. Molly was constantly trying to persuade him to retire but Harry couldn't. Rest made him restless and before long he would become bored and ornery. It was either this or some other form of excitement, and it was like that this was safer than most of the other things he might choose. He did have a bad habit for danger and thrill. "No battle wounds, I hope?"
"No," Harry grinned at her and quickly wrapped an arm around her. It wasn't that he enjoyed hugging people, but he knew Hermione did and it would make her feel better and less prone to ask about his mission. Even subtle details would probably scare the pants off her. "Fully intact, as always."
Not always, but she didn't need to know that. Two months ago he'd nearly had his arm separated from his body and he still had a slow healing scar from that. Before that a blast had embedded shards of glass into his back. Before that he'd broken his leg in four places. He was right as rain though, thank Merlin for magic. His arm still twinged occasionally, but the Healer had said working it was better than rest.
"Good," Hermione smiled at him and it was for that smile that he lied. It wasn't that he wanted to be dishonest; he didn't want them to worry, because no matter what he did or how many missions he survived, they would always worry. Her and Ron and Ginny; all of them. "Anyway, it's nearly lunch, will you stay?"
"I don't have to leave for Burma until tonight," Harry answered, clearing away a pile of books and taking a seat in the chair opposite Hermione's desk. He grimaced. "But I didn't tell you that."
"Of course not," said Hermione, plopping down into her chair. She flicked her wand and a plate of conjured food appeared; finger sandwiches, fresh garden salad with pecans, and tomato stew with browned onions and lentils, along with a pitcher of lemonade with halved raspberries. She pushed the glasses off her nose and onto the top of her head. She didn't really need glasses to see; these were enchanted to store pages - sort of like taking notes, only without the note taking. She grabbed a finger sandwich and poured them each a glass of lemonade. "I know I can't ask you what you're doing, but do you know yet? Is it dangerous?"
Harry pondered telling her the truth. Of course it was dangerous. His job was inherently just that; most Aurors who enlisted to be Hit Wizards didn't even make it through the training. That wasn't to say they died, but they usually suffered some injury that couldn't be fixed, something that took them out of even being an Auror. In his training class alone he and only one other person had made it, though he couldn't say where she was at the moment.
"As far as I know, it's just a delivery," he said with a shrug, which was a partial truth. It was easier that way. "It couldn't be simpler."
- - -
This was not going as simply as he'd hoped. Harry gritted his teeth as the spell that bound his hands began to tighten the more he moved. It was burning his skin, but he didn't cry out. He'd suffered worse things. If it had been real fire, it would have been worse. This was more like rope burn, chafing the skin on his wrists raw. Broken bones and nearly losing his arm had been a hundred times worse. Hell, the heat of Burma was worse. Sweat plastered his black shirt to his back, his glasses had slipped to the end of his nose, and quite honestly, he wished they'd just fall off, but he couldn't even flick his head around to do that, a huge paw of a hand holding it in place. The hand was so huge that Harry was fairly certain it could have crushed his skull in an instant.
Some half-giant stood behind him while a wizard in deep red robes flanked his right side. The place they'd brought him to was unfamiliar and that didn't exactly bode well for his circumstances either. They hadn't apparated in, instead dragging him along with a burlap sack on his head. He'd tried apparating away twice, but each time the half-giant gripped his shoulders tighter and the wizard on his left hit him with a dizzying spell.
They'd passed through at least four doors, Harry had counted, and two of them were warded. He'd felt the wards press against his skin, hot and cloying, pushing him back even as the half-giant pushed him forward. That had hurt a bit too, but he hadn't made a sound. He was too busy thinking of ways out; they'd taken his wand, but Harry hadn't gone through training to use a wand. Any witch or wizard could do that.
Finally, they'd thrown him to the ground and ripped the bag off his head. The room was dark and smelled of mildew and rot, but it smelled a good deal better than the inside of the burlap bag, which no doubt had been used to cover many a damp and sweaty head. But when he saw a man materialize out of the shadows, Harry made his face a blank mask. While things weren't going exactly according to plan, they certainly weren't going terribly.
Though his wand had been taken, his delivery was still attached to his person, safe in a pocket of false skin disguised as an abdominal scar. He could still feel the cool glass against his skin, and that made him confident. Besides that, the half-giant and the wizard in red robes had taken him straight to his target. He could have smiled, but that would have made it obvious and possibly could have gotten himself killed very quickly.
"My men say you were looking for me," said the man bathed in shadow with a heavy accent. He was called the Shadowcat by his men, though Harry knew him as Sarang Srivas, an ex-Death Eater and current convicted felon and a man the Aurors couldn't seem to touch. He was slippery and had a knack for disappearing acts. He also had a knack for the Imperius curse and torture, and when Harry had been given the details of his mission, he knew it was one of those missions. The ones no one took because it was suicidal.
Harry hadn't refused a mission yet.
"I have to say, it is quite an honor to receive a personal visit from the Boy Who Lived himself."
Harry swallowed. He couldn't say how Sarang knew it was him. He'd been disguised before he'd left the Ministry, as usual. He'd taken on the appearance of a middle-aged, chalky faced man with curly brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, his green eyes hidden behind an illusion of brown. Though his face was blank, Sarang chuckled as though he could hear Harry's thoughts, but Harry's occlumens was near perfect these days. There wasn't a single way -
"I have little spiders everywhere, Mister Potter. You don't think I have managed to live free this long without help, do you?" the man laughed again, and Harry saw that his teeth were yellowed and crooked, his black hair shaven to disguise the receding hairline, and he had a pointed beard on his chin.
If only Harry could reach his wand; he could see it tucked in the sleeve of the wizard to his right, watching carefully out of the corner of his eye. It was the half-giant he had to escape. He didn't want to make a wrong move and have his head torn clean off.
"You don't think I've managed to live this long by being lucky, do you?" Harry bit out, sinking lower onto his legs. The half-giant had to bend now to keep hold of his head, and his grip had considerably loosened from the uncomfortable position. Sarang only laughed at his statement, shaking his head and pointing his wand directly at Harry's forehead.
"That is exactly what I think, Mister Potter," answered Sarang, and Harry nearly flinched when the man opened his mouth again. Having a wand pointed at your head was possibly the worst position to be in. "Finite Incantatem."
Harry could feel the disguise melting away, curly hair tickling his ears as it straightened and popped back into it's usual messy shape, a dull black that he could see if he looked up. His vision was returning and any time he looked through the glasses on the end of his nose, he was a bit dizzy, but that hardly mattered. He didn't need to look down. His tanned skin reappeared slowly but surely. Thankfully the scar on his stomach remained; cast by an altogether different sort of magic, it wasn't prone to simply melting away.
"Now, there you are, the hero the world deserves, am I right?" Sarang tapped him on the head with the end of his wand as though he were nothing more than an unruly school boy being admonished for cursing in class. "I really do not want to kill you, Mister Potter, because to speak plainly, as long as you are alive, everyone the world over is under the very false impression that they are safe. And a safe person is an unsuspecting person, an easily manipulated person. But you truly are forcing my hand."
"Hey, I can't blame you," said Harry with a shrug, carefully watching Sarang while keeping his wand in the corner of his vision. "You only murdered, maimed and controlled the minds of innocent people. Who wants to go to prison over that, am I right?"
Just as Sarang was readying a reply that Harry had no interest in hearing, he quickly whispered, "Petrificus Totalum," and the wizard with his wand hit the floor hard. Fury bubbled up in Sarang's features, but Harry wasn't exactly worried about him. It was the half-giant behind him. He reached up behind his head, grabbing hold of the half-giant's hand and leapt into a crouching position before launching off the balls of his feet, using the half-giant's grip on his own head to propel him in the right direction. His heavily shod feet connected hard with the huge face that had loomed over him, and he only caught a brief glimpse of blood gushing from a broken nose before he used the face as a launch pad. He flew forward and collided with Sarang, physically knocking the ex-Death Eater's wand away.
Through the rumbling wail of the half-giant, Harry caught shouted words but he didn't bother to stop and make them out, instead nimbly leaping to the side and sliding towards the petrified wizard, making a grab for his wand. But before he could get there, the half-giant kicked out his leg and his huge foot hit Harry so hard in the stomach, he was positive he heard the crack of his bottom-most ribs. He went flying backwards, over Sarang and into a table, splintering the wood. When Harry collapsed to the ground, he was almost positive his back was broken. His legs had gone numb from the impact, his teeth rattling in his skull.
When feeling returned to his legs, he managed to find his feet again, stumbling as he stood. That was a bad one. A disc in his back popped sharply and it brought tears to his eyes, but he was on his feet and that was enough. But the half-giant was over his broken nose and Sarang was getting to his feet too. Sarang he could deal with easily, but the half-giant was making things difficult. Nothing better than a body guard the size of a small mountain.
He felt something wet against his stomach and swore, reaching beneath his shirt and ripping off the false patch of skin. The vial was still intact but it had cracked and was leaking.
"You mean to kill me with that?" Sarang said, and he laughed but he sounded greatly winded. Harry glared at him, his green eyes fierce and dark in the dim light. Suddenly something large came flying in Harry's direction and too late did he realize it was the petrified wizard, the half-giant having lobbed his stiff body at him. He crashed into Harry with such a force that his hands flew open and the vial went skittering across the floor. His head hit the shattered remains of the table this time and he was pinned beneath the heavy wizard's prone form.
Harry barely had a moment to spare to move the body when it was wrenched from atop him and the half-giant grabbed his throat, squeezing until he could barely breath and his face was surely turning purple. Harry coughed, kicked, squeezed his fists around the meaty hand and arm, and tried to say a spell - any spell - to no avail. Sarang was standing at his pawn's side, holding the vial of viscous blue liquid in his hand.
"I am curious to see what the British Ministry means to kill me with," said the man they called Shadowcat with a bloody grin. His lip was split open but that was hardly the damage Harry had wanted to do to the man. Damn him and his damn half-giant. He was usually quick enough, wily enough - how had some overgrown oaf gotten the best of him? Why had he gotten caught in the first place? Because it had been in the plan. Well, that was the last time Harry was following plans. They always ended badly.
"They don't -" Harry tried to choke out, blinking around blood that dripped from the top of his head. His breath simply wasn't coming to him and speaking was damn near impossible. He gasped, feeling his fingers begin to tremble as his grip on the half-giant's wrists begin to weaken. Sarang unstoppered the vial and strode over, and though Harry attempted to clamp his mouth shut, the man in front of him pointed his wand at Harry's mouth, forcing it to pop open. He could have swore and cursed them, trying to wriggle desperately out of the death grip that was threatening to cut off his wind pipe. Why hadn't he called for backup? Why hadn't he called for backup?
Real fear filled Harry then, because he knew what the potion was, though Sarang didn't. Harry Potter was not afraid of death.
A potion that stripped a man of his magic, however, was an altogether different story.
"No -" he gasped, but Sarang didn't listen and instead shoved the open end of the vial into Harry's mouth, the liquid sliding down his throat before he could stop it and spit it out. Despite the shear horror that overtook him in that moment, the half-giant released him and he hit the floor hard, gasping for breath that brought both pain and sweet relief. He would have rubbed his neck but his hands were still bound and he still needed to escape. He gritted his teeth and let his body jerk instead of fighting the potion, rolling his eyes into his head and letting his body hit the floor. Through slitted vision he could see that the half-giant had done him one favor. The petrified wizard was close enough now that he could easily reach out and grab his wand - but would it help? Did he even have enough magic in him to escape? He could feel the burning in his veins, but he didn't give out hope. He wouldn't.
Sarang tutted, the half-giant gave him a sharp kick in the ribs that sent him sprawling onto his back but he didn't move. He stopped his breathing, though it was hard enough after being nearly strangled. When one of them came close (Harry suspected Sarang since his tread was much lighter), Harry opened his eyes and in one fluid motion, leapt to his feet and brought his hands slamming into Sarang's nose. It wasn't the right angle to crush his nose or kill him, but it was enough to stun him long enough for Harry to grab his wand. The end shimmered and he breathed with relief. Still some magic left.
The half-giant was slow but he realized quicker than Harry would have liked that the potion hadn't killed him. Still, by the time he was swinging round to grab him again, Harry shoved Sarang in the huge man's path instead and rolled out of the way. The half-giant clobbered Sarang so hard that Harry was sure he was unconscious before he hit the floor. The half-giant paid no attention to his master and instead lumbered after Harry.
First he blew out the door, shielding his face with his arm as the debris flew by. A piece of wood caught his shoulder, but it was no matter. He lunged forward, finding himself in a veritable maze of halls and corridors lined with paintings and dusty pots. Instead of searching for a door out, he made one, blasting another hole into the wall. His magic was fading, he could feel it. The hole in this wall was much smaller than the one he'd already left behind. He leapt through and continued on, again and again blasting holes into the walls, wondering when he'd ever reach the exit.
The wards pressed against him and he ground his teeth and pressed forward, knowing he was close to freedom. As soon as he passed the last ward, he turned around. He thrust his arm up into the air and his wand shot off a flare, disappearing above the ceiling and no doubt bursting in the sky, creating a direct arrow to where he was. It took only seconds before he heard the familiar pops of his backup arriving.
"Watch out!" he shouted as the half-giant came barrelling through the holes he'd left. He shoved one of his men aside and yelled, "Stupefy!"
Nothing happened, no spell came from the end of his wand. The half-giant hit the ground nevertheless; two Aurors had cast the same spell within seconds of his own. Harry stared at the end of his wand in horror for a long moment. Eventually one of his Aurors came up to him.
"Sir?" the Auror asked slowly, giving him the once over as he took his hands and undid the spell that held them together. "Do you need a -"
"Tell McDavish and Miller that I wasn't able to administer the potion. He was unconscious though -"
"He's gone," one of the Aurors that had gone ahead was striding back, and another behind him had the petrified wizard floating in front of him. "Damned Srivas escaped."
Harry felt as though his legs were about to give out. He'd failed. It wasn't the first time, but it was certainly the most spectacular. He'd failed - and had been force fed one of the most devastating potions Hermione had ever made. His head was swimming and he felt as though he might throw up, but that might have been the blood loss and the way the room was tilting dangerously. He wiped sweat off the back of his brow and it came back red. What a mess.
He should have cursed, should have been angry or disappointed, upset or rash; instead he looked calmly at the Auror beside him. "Take me to the Department of Mysteries."
"Sir, you need a healer," protested the Auror. Harry put his hand on the man's arm and his grip was deathly tight.
"I'll find one there. Take me to the Department of Mysteries right now," his voice was a low growl and the Auror didn't dare disobey. The man gave a short nod and then clamped his hand around Harry's wrist. The world was a whirl and then everything went black.
Harry hated the Department of Mysteries. He hated the way everything changed so often, never knowing if he might make a wrong turn and end up somewhere familiar… somewhere he never wanted to end up. The Hit Wizard could honestly say he wasn't afraid of very many things, and he wasn't exactly afraid of the place - but it did make him extremely nervous, and his chest would always tighten so that breathing was difficult. He avoided it as often as he could, but his job had him work hand in hand with the Unspeakables most of the time, so he hadn't a choice.
Thankfully, he always had an Unspeakable guiding him through the maze of corridors and rooms, and he had yet to stumble across any of the rooms that he dreaded. Usually he was taken straight to Hermione's office (how she worked in this place, he could never say, but she claimed fascination.) Today he was lead by a woman who looked very young, though he doubted she was. People said he looked young, but he was twenty-six and he felt exceedingly older every day. She had an upturned nose, a bright smile and black hair cut close to her scalp. She seemed to have a very sunny disposition, despite the grim nature of her work place.
"Right through here, Mister Potter. Unspeakable Granger is waiting for you," she said, giving him a last lingering smile before turning away and walking back the way she'd came. There were many doors along the corridor, none of which were numbered or labelled, so he was sincerely glad the woman had lead him here. He might have wandered through any number of those doors. Some were offices he knew, but he also knew that any of those doors could him to the Hall of Prophecies or worse.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed brightly as Harry gave a quick knock and entered without waiting for her answer. She had glasses perched on the end of her nose and her hair was a dismal mess as usual, but most of it was tied in a braid. Her office was a homey sort of place that suited Hermione well. It was well lit, with a variety of colored furnishings, as well as a huge, shiny oak desk. The walls couldn't be seen for the built in bookcases that lined them, every single shelf filled with old books and new, some English, and some very clearly not. There were a few odds and ends mixed in with the books; a clock here, a small globe there and he was sure that was a Time Turner sitting on one of the uppermost shelves.
Harry wondered if that was how Hermione got most of her work done; but then he recalled her saying something about diminished life expectancy from prolonged use and knew she would never do that to herself unless necessary and while he knew she loved her work, she didn't love it that well.
"Another mission survived," she said with a very clear smile of relief. She hated his job, he knew, as did Ron and most of his other friends. Molly was constantly trying to persuade him to retire but Harry couldn't. Rest made him restless and before long he would become bored and ornery. It was either this or some other form of excitement, and it was like that this was safer than most of the other things he might choose. He did have a bad habit for danger and thrill. "No battle wounds, I hope?"
"No," Harry grinned at her and quickly wrapped an arm around her. It wasn't that he enjoyed hugging people, but he knew Hermione did and it would make her feel better and less prone to ask about his mission. Even subtle details would probably scare the pants off her. "Fully intact, as always."
Not always, but she didn't need to know that. Two months ago he'd nearly had his arm separated from his body and he still had a slow healing scar from that. Before that a blast had embedded shards of glass into his back. Before that he'd broken his leg in four places. He was right as rain though, thank Merlin for magic. His arm still twinged occasionally, but the Healer had said working it was better than rest.
"Good," Hermione smiled at him and it was for that smile that he lied. It wasn't that he wanted to be dishonest; he didn't want them to worry, because no matter what he did or how many missions he survived, they would always worry. Her and Ron and Ginny; all of them. "Anyway, it's nearly lunch, will you stay?"
"I don't have to leave for Burma until tonight," Harry answered, clearing away a pile of books and taking a seat in the chair opposite Hermione's desk. He grimaced. "But I didn't tell you that."
"Of course not," said Hermione, plopping down into her chair. She flicked her wand and a plate of conjured food appeared; finger sandwiches, fresh garden salad with pecans, and tomato stew with browned onions and lentils, along with a pitcher of lemonade with halved raspberries. She pushed the glasses off her nose and onto the top of her head. She didn't really need glasses to see; these were enchanted to store pages - sort of like taking notes, only without the note taking. She grabbed a finger sandwich and poured them each a glass of lemonade. "I know I can't ask you what you're doing, but do you know yet? Is it dangerous?"
Harry pondered telling her the truth. Of course it was dangerous. His job was inherently just that; most Aurors who enlisted to be Hit Wizards didn't even make it through the training. That wasn't to say they died, but they usually suffered some injury that couldn't be fixed, something that took them out of even being an Auror. In his training class alone he and only one other person had made it, though he couldn't say where she was at the moment.
"As far as I know, it's just a delivery," he said with a shrug, which was a partial truth. It was easier that way. "It couldn't be simpler."
- - -
This was not going as simply as he'd hoped. Harry gritted his teeth as the spell that bound his hands began to tighten the more he moved. It was burning his skin, but he didn't cry out. He'd suffered worse things. If it had been real fire, it would have been worse. This was more like rope burn, chafing the skin on his wrists raw. Broken bones and nearly losing his arm had been a hundred times worse. Hell, the heat of Burma was worse. Sweat plastered his black shirt to his back, his glasses had slipped to the end of his nose, and quite honestly, he wished they'd just fall off, but he couldn't even flick his head around to do that, a huge paw of a hand holding it in place. The hand was so huge that Harry was fairly certain it could have crushed his skull in an instant.
Some half-giant stood behind him while a wizard in deep red robes flanked his right side. The place they'd brought him to was unfamiliar and that didn't exactly bode well for his circumstances either. They hadn't apparated in, instead dragging him along with a burlap sack on his head. He'd tried apparating away twice, but each time the half-giant gripped his shoulders tighter and the wizard on his left hit him with a dizzying spell.
They'd passed through at least four doors, Harry had counted, and two of them were warded. He'd felt the wards press against his skin, hot and cloying, pushing him back even as the half-giant pushed him forward. That had hurt a bit too, but he hadn't made a sound. He was too busy thinking of ways out; they'd taken his wand, but Harry hadn't gone through training to use a wand. Any witch or wizard could do that.
Finally, they'd thrown him to the ground and ripped the bag off his head. The room was dark and smelled of mildew and rot, but it smelled a good deal better than the inside of the burlap bag, which no doubt had been used to cover many a damp and sweaty head. But when he saw a man materialize out of the shadows, Harry made his face a blank mask. While things weren't going exactly according to plan, they certainly weren't going terribly.
Though his wand had been taken, his delivery was still attached to his person, safe in a pocket of false skin disguised as an abdominal scar. He could still feel the cool glass against his skin, and that made him confident. Besides that, the half-giant and the wizard in red robes had taken him straight to his target. He could have smiled, but that would have made it obvious and possibly could have gotten himself killed very quickly.
"My men say you were looking for me," said the man bathed in shadow with a heavy accent. He was called the Shadowcat by his men, though Harry knew him as Sarang Srivas, an ex-Death Eater and current convicted felon and a man the Aurors couldn't seem to touch. He was slippery and had a knack for disappearing acts. He also had a knack for the Imperius curse and torture, and when Harry had been given the details of his mission, he knew it was one of those missions. The ones no one took because it was suicidal.
Harry hadn't refused a mission yet.
"I have to say, it is quite an honor to receive a personal visit from the Boy Who Lived himself."
Harry swallowed. He couldn't say how Sarang knew it was him. He'd been disguised before he'd left the Ministry, as usual. He'd taken on the appearance of a middle-aged, chalky faced man with curly brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, his green eyes hidden behind an illusion of brown. Though his face was blank, Sarang chuckled as though he could hear Harry's thoughts, but Harry's occlumens was near perfect these days. There wasn't a single way -
"I have little spiders everywhere, Mister Potter. You don't think I have managed to live free this long without help, do you?" the man laughed again, and Harry saw that his teeth were yellowed and crooked, his black hair shaven to disguise the receding hairline, and he had a pointed beard on his chin.
If only Harry could reach his wand; he could see it tucked in the sleeve of the wizard to his right, watching carefully out of the corner of his eye. It was the half-giant he had to escape. He didn't want to make a wrong move and have his head torn clean off.
"You don't think I've managed to live this long by being lucky, do you?" Harry bit out, sinking lower onto his legs. The half-giant had to bend now to keep hold of his head, and his grip had considerably loosened from the uncomfortable position. Sarang only laughed at his statement, shaking his head and pointing his wand directly at Harry's forehead.
"That is exactly what I think, Mister Potter," answered Sarang, and Harry nearly flinched when the man opened his mouth again. Having a wand pointed at your head was possibly the worst position to be in. "Finite Incantatem."
Harry could feel the disguise melting away, curly hair tickling his ears as it straightened and popped back into it's usual messy shape, a dull black that he could see if he looked up. His vision was returning and any time he looked through the glasses on the end of his nose, he was a bit dizzy, but that hardly mattered. He didn't need to look down. His tanned skin reappeared slowly but surely. Thankfully the scar on his stomach remained; cast by an altogether different sort of magic, it wasn't prone to simply melting away.
"Now, there you are, the hero the world deserves, am I right?" Sarang tapped him on the head with the end of his wand as though he were nothing more than an unruly school boy being admonished for cursing in class. "I really do not want to kill you, Mister Potter, because to speak plainly, as long as you are alive, everyone the world over is under the very false impression that they are safe. And a safe person is an unsuspecting person, an easily manipulated person. But you truly are forcing my hand."
"Hey, I can't blame you," said Harry with a shrug, carefully watching Sarang while keeping his wand in the corner of his vision. "You only murdered, maimed and controlled the minds of innocent people. Who wants to go to prison over that, am I right?"
Just as Sarang was readying a reply that Harry had no interest in hearing, he quickly whispered, "Petrificus Totalum," and the wizard with his wand hit the floor hard. Fury bubbled up in Sarang's features, but Harry wasn't exactly worried about him. It was the half-giant behind him. He reached up behind his head, grabbing hold of the half-giant's hand and leapt into a crouching position before launching off the balls of his feet, using the half-giant's grip on his own head to propel him in the right direction. His heavily shod feet connected hard with the huge face that had loomed over him, and he only caught a brief glimpse of blood gushing from a broken nose before he used the face as a launch pad. He flew forward and collided with Sarang, physically knocking the ex-Death Eater's wand away.
Through the rumbling wail of the half-giant, Harry caught shouted words but he didn't bother to stop and make them out, instead nimbly leaping to the side and sliding towards the petrified wizard, making a grab for his wand. But before he could get there, the half-giant kicked out his leg and his huge foot hit Harry so hard in the stomach, he was positive he heard the crack of his bottom-most ribs. He went flying backwards, over Sarang and into a table, splintering the wood. When Harry collapsed to the ground, he was almost positive his back was broken. His legs had gone numb from the impact, his teeth rattling in his skull.
When feeling returned to his legs, he managed to find his feet again, stumbling as he stood. That was a bad one. A disc in his back popped sharply and it brought tears to his eyes, but he was on his feet and that was enough. But the half-giant was over his broken nose and Sarang was getting to his feet too. Sarang he could deal with easily, but the half-giant was making things difficult. Nothing better than a body guard the size of a small mountain.
He felt something wet against his stomach and swore, reaching beneath his shirt and ripping off the false patch of skin. The vial was still intact but it had cracked and was leaking.
"You mean to kill me with that?" Sarang said, and he laughed but he sounded greatly winded. Harry glared at him, his green eyes fierce and dark in the dim light. Suddenly something large came flying in Harry's direction and too late did he realize it was the petrified wizard, the half-giant having lobbed his stiff body at him. He crashed into Harry with such a force that his hands flew open and the vial went skittering across the floor. His head hit the shattered remains of the table this time and he was pinned beneath the heavy wizard's prone form.
Harry barely had a moment to spare to move the body when it was wrenched from atop him and the half-giant grabbed his throat, squeezing until he could barely breath and his face was surely turning purple. Harry coughed, kicked, squeezed his fists around the meaty hand and arm, and tried to say a spell - any spell - to no avail. Sarang was standing at his pawn's side, holding the vial of viscous blue liquid in his hand.
"I am curious to see what the British Ministry means to kill me with," said the man they called Shadowcat with a bloody grin. His lip was split open but that was hardly the damage Harry had wanted to do to the man. Damn him and his damn half-giant. He was usually quick enough, wily enough - how had some overgrown oaf gotten the best of him? Why had he gotten caught in the first place? Because it had been in the plan. Well, that was the last time Harry was following plans. They always ended badly.
"They don't -" Harry tried to choke out, blinking around blood that dripped from the top of his head. His breath simply wasn't coming to him and speaking was damn near impossible. He gasped, feeling his fingers begin to tremble as his grip on the half-giant's wrists begin to weaken. Sarang unstoppered the vial and strode over, and though Harry attempted to clamp his mouth shut, the man in front of him pointed his wand at Harry's mouth, forcing it to pop open. He could have swore and cursed them, trying to wriggle desperately out of the death grip that was threatening to cut off his wind pipe. Why hadn't he called for backup? Why hadn't he called for backup?
Real fear filled Harry then, because he knew what the potion was, though Sarang didn't. Harry Potter was not afraid of death.
A potion that stripped a man of his magic, however, was an altogether different story.
"No -" he gasped, but Sarang didn't listen and instead shoved the open end of the vial into Harry's mouth, the liquid sliding down his throat before he could stop it and spit it out. Despite the shear horror that overtook him in that moment, the half-giant released him and he hit the floor hard, gasping for breath that brought both pain and sweet relief. He would have rubbed his neck but his hands were still bound and he still needed to escape. He gritted his teeth and let his body jerk instead of fighting the potion, rolling his eyes into his head and letting his body hit the floor. Through slitted vision he could see that the half-giant had done him one favor. The petrified wizard was close enough now that he could easily reach out and grab his wand - but would it help? Did he even have enough magic in him to escape? He could feel the burning in his veins, but he didn't give out hope. He wouldn't.
Sarang tutted, the half-giant gave him a sharp kick in the ribs that sent him sprawling onto his back but he didn't move. He stopped his breathing, though it was hard enough after being nearly strangled. When one of them came close (Harry suspected Sarang since his tread was much lighter), Harry opened his eyes and in one fluid motion, leapt to his feet and brought his hands slamming into Sarang's nose. It wasn't the right angle to crush his nose or kill him, but it was enough to stun him long enough for Harry to grab his wand. The end shimmered and he breathed with relief. Still some magic left.
The half-giant was slow but he realized quicker than Harry would have liked that the potion hadn't killed him. Still, by the time he was swinging round to grab him again, Harry shoved Sarang in the huge man's path instead and rolled out of the way. The half-giant clobbered Sarang so hard that Harry was sure he was unconscious before he hit the floor. The half-giant paid no attention to his master and instead lumbered after Harry.
First he blew out the door, shielding his face with his arm as the debris flew by. A piece of wood caught his shoulder, but it was no matter. He lunged forward, finding himself in a veritable maze of halls and corridors lined with paintings and dusty pots. Instead of searching for a door out, he made one, blasting another hole into the wall. His magic was fading, he could feel it. The hole in this wall was much smaller than the one he'd already left behind. He leapt through and continued on, again and again blasting holes into the walls, wondering when he'd ever reach the exit.
The wards pressed against him and he ground his teeth and pressed forward, knowing he was close to freedom. As soon as he passed the last ward, he turned around. He thrust his arm up into the air and his wand shot off a flare, disappearing above the ceiling and no doubt bursting in the sky, creating a direct arrow to where he was. It took only seconds before he heard the familiar pops of his backup arriving.
"Watch out!" he shouted as the half-giant came barrelling through the holes he'd left. He shoved one of his men aside and yelled, "Stupefy!"
Nothing happened, no spell came from the end of his wand. The half-giant hit the ground nevertheless; two Aurors had cast the same spell within seconds of his own. Harry stared at the end of his wand in horror for a long moment. Eventually one of his Aurors came up to him.
"Sir?" the Auror asked slowly, giving him the once over as he took his hands and undid the spell that held them together. "Do you need a -"
"Tell McDavish and Miller that I wasn't able to administer the potion. He was unconscious though -"
"He's gone," one of the Aurors that had gone ahead was striding back, and another behind him had the petrified wizard floating in front of him. "Damned Srivas escaped."
Harry felt as though his legs were about to give out. He'd failed. It wasn't the first time, but it was certainly the most spectacular. He'd failed - and had been force fed one of the most devastating potions Hermione had ever made. His head was swimming and he felt as though he might throw up, but that might have been the blood loss and the way the room was tilting dangerously. He wiped sweat off the back of his brow and it came back red. What a mess.
He should have cursed, should have been angry or disappointed, upset or rash; instead he looked calmly at the Auror beside him. "Take me to the Department of Mysteries."
"Sir, you need a healer," protested the Auror. Harry put his hand on the man's arm and his grip was deathly tight.
"I'll find one there. Take me to the Department of Mysteries right now," his voice was a low growl and the Auror didn't dare disobey. The man gave a short nod and then clamped his hand around Harry's wrist. The world was a whirl and then everything went black.