𝐕𝐈. 𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄 ➵ 𝐏𝐉𝐎 𝐱 𝐇𝐏

011.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⟻ NEPENTHE ⟼

011.

the manor.

——— ☾𖤓 ———

THEY DISAPPARATED, PULLING THE PRISONERS, with them. Harry struggled, trying to throw off Greyback's hand, but it was hopeless: Ron and Hermione were squeezed tightly against him on either side; he could not separate from the group, and as the breath was squeezed out of him his scar seared more painfully still—

—as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapor inside the cell-like room— The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane. Harry's eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatize, then he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive.

He experienced the tiniest trickle of relief. The worst had not happened yet: Voldemort was not here. He was, Harry knew, for he was fighting to resist the vision, in some strange, fortresslike place, at the top of a tower. How long it would take Voldemort to get to this place, once he knew that Harry was here, was another matter. . . .

One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them. "How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't—blimey!" He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice. "State your purpose!"

"We've got Potter!" Greyback roared triumphantly. "We've captured Harry Potter!" The gates swung open. "Come on!" said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps.

Harry saw a ghostly white shape above him, and realized it was an albino peacock. He stumbled and was dragged onto his feet by Greyback; now he was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the four other prisoner. Closing his puffy eyes, he allowed the pain in his scar to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know what Voldemort was doing, whether he knew yet that Harry was caught. . . .

The emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over toward him, eyes opening in a skull of a face. . . . The frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were 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 throbbed inside him, Harry's scar threatened to burst with pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body, fighting to remain present as the prisoners were pushed over gravel. Light spilled out over all of them.

"What is this?" said a woman's cold voice. "We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" rasped Greyback.

"Who are you?"

"You know me!" There was resentment in the werewolf's voice. "Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter!" Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.

"I know 'es swollen, ma'am, but it's 'im!" piped up Scabior. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'is scar. And this 'ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who's been traveling around with 'im, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Ere, ma'am—"

Through his puffy eyelids Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen face. Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows. "Bring them in," she said. Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.