Chapter Three

Harry and Hermione
did not sleep, but fell into a sort of trance, their eyes open and
glazed, staring beyond, their consciousness settled and still. For
the time being.

They both gave a
start when the door flew open once more and crashed against the outer
wall. Rookwood entered again, this time followed by Macnair, Avery
and Travers, their hoods pulled low over their faces, like they were
part of some sort of ritual. Without a word, he gestured for Macnair
and Travers to grab Harry and Hermione and hold them still. It took a
few moments for Harry to register what was happening, but when he
realized that Macnair had his arms in a vice-like grip, he began to
thrash, as strongly as he could muster. It wasn't enough. Macnair
simply laughed and held him tighter, tearing his grimy nails into
Harry's scalp. Across from him, Hermione was limp in Travers's arms,
her eyes closed.

Rookwood grinned
triumphantly at them and gestured to Avery, who stepped forward. “As
you undoubtedly don't know, Avery here is a natural at Memory Charms.
. . especially backfired Memory Charms that can make you a bit funny
in the head. He's so graciously volunteered to help us today. I'm
sure you'll find his services memorable. . . or perhaps not. Do say
goodbye to your sanity now, or at least, whatever you have left.”

He stepped aside,
and Avery slowly drew his wand, looking positively murderous. Harry
gasped in spite of himself. This was it. This was the end. Ron's
sacrifice, and the sacrifice of everybody he'd ever known, of
Dumbledore and Dobby and Fred and Lupin and Tonks and Sirius and even
his own mum and dad, was all in vain. He was going to die, Hermione
was going to die, and the Death Eaters were going to take away
people's hope again, with no one to stop them.

The anger bubbled
up, boiling hot, scorching his throat and his eyes, but he would not
cry, he would not cry. It surged through his veins, screaming with
strength, making him tremble with the crushing weight of it all. It
seared through his brain, so that all of the sadness and misery
vanished, replaced with pure, red-hot fury.

And in that moment,
when Avery pulled back his wand and prepared to strike, he felt
something inside him, something he had not felt for a long time. It
slithered into his soul and grasped it with its burning tendrils,
forcing it down and replacing it with something new, something
positively grotesque, exactly the thing he needed in this, his final
moments. . .

His vision was
blurring, his scar was screaming in pain. Avery began to form the
spell, a horrible blue-white ball of energy, ready to crack him in
two.

Right before he
sent it into the minds of his captives, right before everything was
gone and there was only darkness, he looked into Harry's eyes and
recoiled. A look of pure horror crossed his face, and he made an
instinctive drawback motion with his wand, but it was too late. The
spell erupted from his wand, shuddering forward, straight into
Harry's heart.

He slumped forward,
seeing nothing.

“I must redo the
spell, I must, you cannot send them out like this—”

“There's no time,
you fool, I saw, you did it perfectly!”

“No, no, there
was something in the boy, something very, very strange, and I sent
the spell out in the wrong way!”

“Nonsense. If
there was something strange in him, the spell had probably already
taken effect, you idiot.”

“No, no, that's
not it!”

“And how do you
know?”

“I—I don't
even—I can't, but it happened, I'm sure of it!”

“ 'I'm sure of
it!' Are you a Mudblood, can't you see past the tip of your nose?”

“Of course I
can!”

“Then there
shouldn't be a problem, everybody in the room saw it enter the boy's
heart, and the girl's too. In any case, we haven't got any time,
we've going to send them off soon, and the Ministry is close to
discovering this place anyway, we've got to move.”

“Please, one more
chance!”

“We can't risk
them dying. They'll be too important later.”

“But—but—”

“This is my final
word, Avery. If you don't like it, go ahead, give yourself up to the
Ministry, I'm sure they'd be glad to make room for you in Azkaban, at
least until we kill you in your sleep.”

“No. . . no, I'm
not going to the Ministry.”

“Good. Then tie
them up, and prepare the Portkey. We've got to get ready, now.”