Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 15: The Rescue

Harry was crouched amongst the low vegetation. Nothing particular marked the spot, but Harry was there for a very specific reason: exactly one meter in front of him was the edge of Voldemort's secrecy wards.

These wards hid Voldemort's main fortress. This was surely where Remus was being held. One thing was absolutely certain: if the pain in his scar was anything to go by, Voldemort was here. And Voldemort would be enjoying torturing his latest prisoner. Not that he could touch Remus directly, thanks to the Loyalty Spell.

Harry was still mentally exhausted and his Occlumency walls weren't as strong as he would have wanted. It was risky going inside in this state, but he wasn't going to let another of his loved ones die if he could help it.

To be perfectly honest, though, Harry wasn't faring much better physically. A week without food had taken its toll. That was why he had used Sirius' noisy motorbike instead of taking the opportunity to fly with his own wings. Besides, he wasn't sure if he had the stamina to last for long flights yet, even in top condition.

Basically, he had woken up quite starved. His magic had taken care of his needs, but it could only do so much. So he had hurriedly packed everything and set off in search of food. Once fed, he had nullified the tracking and weakening charms on his wand. He couldn't believe he had been naïve enough to trust Voldemort with his wand! It was lucky he had used it only once in Voldemort's presence or else the Dark Lord would have been able to find his little camp. Not to mention the weakening charm was set to worsen with each use.

Never again, Harry swore. Now he had knowledge, both of magic and of his enemy, and the last fortnight had given him the ruthlessness necessary to fight. He was going to bring Voldemort down, prophecy or not.

That, however, was for another day. Today, he would stick to saving Remus.

The fortress was hidden by two simple wards. The wards themselves were not very powerful. They were there for secrecy. Powerful defensive wards like those used at Hogwarts were easily detectable, a fact which defeated the purpose of hiding. For this fortress, Voldemort had used an invisibility ward as well as an alert charm. In other words, once Harry stepped through, he would be able to see the building, but the Dark Lord would instantly be alerted to his presence.

Thanks to the memories, Harry knew that Voldemort had toyed with the idea of using the Fidelius Spell, but had discarded it later for practical reasons. This way, none of his followers knew the location of the fortress. The only way they could enter was through a Dark Mark summoning or a Portkey, the latter useful for new recruits.

This was proof that complex security wasn't always the best choice. Harry had absolutely no way to get in without being detected. Whether he took the wards down or simply walked through, Voldemort was going to be notified.

This left one option. He had to act quickly. Very quickly. His arrival would be unexpected and he had to leave his enemies as little time to react as possible.

And to manage that, he needed energy.

He slowly drew out the smallest dagger of the set. His magical reserves were weak and he needed the boost the knife could provide.

That meant he had to kill. The ease that accompanied his decision scared him. The Dark Daggers had much more influence on his thoughts than he initially believed if he could take such a decision without batting an eyelid. A month ago he would never have condoned such an action, yet now he was taking the initiative himself. Nothing pressured him to do so. The knives suppressed his inhibitions; they did not give him the desire to kill.

Yet there it was. It used to be buried in his subconscious but now he was entirely conscious of this desire. He had no choice but to acknowledge it and recognize the fact that it wasn't right.

Unfortunately, in war, what one had to do was never all white. Shades of grey were much more prominent, and in this case, Harry chose to kill in order to save one he loved.

His resolve strengthened and he focused on the task at hand. Because of the complete assimilation of Voldemort's mind, Harry knew the layout of the fortress as if he had built it, which was a great advantage. On the other hand, he had no idea how many Death Eaters would be present besides the Dark Lord. That was the major flaw in his plan. Not that he had much of a plan at all.

Then again, no one knew he was here. Voldemort knew he was alive, but he wouldn't expect Harry to be in any state to attempt a rescue. Harry needed to play that advantage fully.

Securing his hold on his weapon, Harry leapt forward. As soon as he passed the wards the imposing fortress materialized in front of him. It didn't come close to Hogwarts castle, but it was still quite remarkable.

With no one outside Harry was free to sprint straight to the front door. Going through a window would be both impractical and too long. The front door was much quicker and usually unexpected.

Once inside what could be called the Entrance Hall, he ran in the hallway to his right, hiding behind the third tapestry which concealed a depression meant for this purpose. This was the hallway leading to the dungeons, where Lupin was undoubtedly being held.

The tapestry had barely settled over him when he heard running coming in his direction. Of course, Voldemort would send his minions to do the dirty work. Concentrating, Harry could make out at least two sets of feet, maybe three. It was hard to make out with the echo caused by the stone.

Harry let them pass before quietly stepping out of his hiding place. There were indeed three of them, and Harry heard one of them speaking:

"Nott, circle around the East side. Mulciber, take the West side. I'll stay here and watch the Northern boundary."

The two addressed ran outside leaving the third one vulnerable. Or as vulnerable as a Death Eater could be.

Harry crept back towards the Entrance Hall, ignoring the weakness that the last week had caused. The Death Eater, who Harry had recognized as Avery, was dutifully scanning the grounds.

Once Harry reached the edge of concealing shadows, he leapt towards Avery intending to attack him before the Death Eater could react.

However, Avery was surprisingly fast. Harry had barely taken two steps when he was suddenly banished into a wall. Pain washed through him as he dropped face first to the floor, but he managed to hold on to his dagger. Or the dagger held on to him, depending on how you looked at it.

Harry stayed very still, trying to make the ringing in his head stop. As it subsided lightly, he opened his eyes slightly and saw Avery approach out of the corner of his eye, his wand ready. Harry didn't move, hoping the Death Eater would think him knocked out cold. It seemed to work, though Avery remained wary.

Harry stayed limp when a brutal foot turned him over, though he could not hold back a moan. It wasn't heard since Avery gasped "POTTER!" at the exact same time.

Harry saw his chance and took it, taking advantage of Avery's stunned appearance. Unfortunately, he had hit the wall harder than he thought and he was still reeling from the blow. His aim was off and the short dagger slid on the side of his adversary's throat, making a slight cut over the carotid.

Blood sprayed out and Avery slapped his free hand over the wound, giving Harry time to recover from his failed lunge. The blood that covered the blade was absorbed and Harry felt a small amount of power transferred to him, eliminating the last of his dizziness…

…just in time to duck a jet of green light sent at his head. He used his momentum to roll over towards Avery and in the same movement that brought him back to his feet, plunged the dagger just below Avery's solar plexus at an upwards angle.

Power exploded through his veins. It was a torrent, filling him, dissolving him. This time he was able to enjoy it, enjoy the feeling of pure, raw energy flowing through him, healing his fresh bruises, healing the damage a week with no sustenance had wrought. It did more than simply heal; it improved his overall condition, physically, mentally and magically. It seemed to stretch him, letting him absorb even more. He was intoxicated by the power, forgetting the reason this was happening in the first place, forgetting his own name.

Eventually the flow of power subsided and Harry came back to himself. He put his knife away and took a deep breath trying to centre himself in the still overpowering flow of energy inside him.

He snapped out of his semi-trance when the two other Death Eaters ran back inside the fortress. Their surprise when they saw him was a fatal mistake, just as it had been Avery's. Harry didn't hesitate and flicked his left wrist, freeing one of his throwing daggers. As he threw it towards his opponents, he noticed it was pulsing with a blood-red glow in time with his heart.

Then Mulciber's chest exploded. The knife, moving faster than the eye could follow, had gone straight through the Death Eater's body emerging out of his back with blood, flesh and bone.

Harry stared, shocked at the violence of the death. He was soon jolted back to reality when Nott started screaming curses, both magical and verbal. Obviously, he was used to violent deaths and had recovered more quickly.

He dodged the jets of light while flicking his wrist to free his wand. But he was far from Nott's level at duelling. He was desperately trying to defend himself against the barrage of lethal curses, never having enough of a break to try to strike with one of his blades. He was still energized but he didn't want to waste that energy wearing out Nott. He needed some left to save Remus. Besides he couldn't risk reinforcements arriving.

A memory surfaced, one of his own… an image of a Dark Dagger flying back to his hand after he had thrown it.

Continuing to dodge and deflect curses, Harry focused on the knife that was probably lying outside somewhere. Less than five seconds later, Nott's attack abruptly stopped and he collapsed, letting Harry see the knife deeply buried in his back.

Harry walked over warily, not letting his guard down until he was sure his opponent was dead. Once that absence of breathing had reassured him, he wrenched the knife out, a difficult task since the hilt was partially inside the body, stuck between two cracked ribs.

So the energy he stole from lives, as powerful as it was, was only short-lived. He had destroyed Mulciber's chest, yet the knife had not hit Nott with nearly as much strength. One more reason to finish this quickly.

Harry took one last look at the bodies. He had come here intending to end one life to save another. He had already killed three men and Remus was still in danger.

Even more disturbing was the Dark Daggers' satisfaction that echoed through him as they fed on yet more blood.

Ignoring it as much as he could, Harry turned and ran back towards the dungeons. He lowered his Occlumency walls and guided himself using the pain in his scar. If Remus was being tortured, which was likely, Voldemort would probably be watching.

As he approached his goal, he began hearing the laughs and the jeers of sick men enjoying hurting others. It seemed they had forgotten they had an intruder. Well, the intruder himself would remind them.

Voldemort looked at the half-breed screaming in agony, a smile of satisfaction on his lips. He was disappointed that he couldn't participate, though he still enjoyed the performance. The damned werewolf was still under Potter's protection via the Loyalty Spell, nullifying any attack the Dark Lord tried. That, along with the intrusion he had felt a few hours back, proved the brat was still alive.

Alive, yes, but what state would he be in? Only the most experienced Occlumens could survive a mind assimilation and barely half of them survived with both their lives and sanity intact. And those who did survive usually did by aborting the process and rejecting the foreign mind. So either Potter was insane or he had rejected the information he had stolen. Either way he wasn't a threat for now.

And so Voldemort made the same mistake over again: he underestimated Harry Potter.

When the wards alerted him to an intruder, Voldemort wasn't too worried. The signal that had breached them was weak, so whatever was there was weak or exhausted; not much of a threat. So he sent three of his servants to deal with the annoyance and then returned to enjoying the scene before him.

Remus Lupin was resistant, that much was certain. They had been torturing him for over an hour and he hadn't cracked yet. Of course he could have used veritaserum, but Snape didn't have any handy and besides, this way was much more fun.

In fact the only way it could be more fun was if the Dark Lord had access to his mind to use the half-breed's fear against him, but werewolves were instinctively resistant to mind control. That meant the Death Eaters could give free rein to their creativity.

The werewolf was chained to the ceiling; the shackles around his wrists were designed in a way that made them bite into the flesh and cut circulation as more weight pulled them down. Somewhere around forty minutes ago, someone had sent a Bone Shattering curse at the werewolf's legs and he had lost the ability to stand upright. His hands were now unrecognizable swollen protuberances of sickly coloured blue-black flesh.

As horrible as his hands were, the rest of his body was much worse. His legs were badly deformed, lumpy and cut where bones had pierced the skin. Little rivulets of blood contrasted against the dark purple colouring of dying flesh.

The skin over his back was marred with muscle deep lashes saturated with different coloured pain potions. The skin over his chest had been ripped off, strip by strip, to reveal the whiteness of his ribs, most broken, as well as the occasional glimpse of pink lung.

His arms had been hit with different varieties of the Acid Curse, dissolving his skin and exposing his muscles to the damp dungeon air. The Death Eaters were currently enjoying cutting the tendons one by one, between two short but intense Crucios.

Of course, all this is done with the artful precision that brings a maximum of pain while keeping the victim alive and conscious. Right now, this victim was so lost in the pain he was barley aware of anything else. The fact that this was a werewolf only gave them more leeway in their cruelty before he succumbed.

As the Dark Lord gazed over his followers, he realized the three he had sent to investigate the alarm had not yet returned.

"Where are those damned idiots?" He hissed loudly.

"My guess would be Hell," answered a voice by the door. It was a voice the Dark Lord had heard before. But it was different. It had an edge to it that had never been there before.

As one, all the Death Eaters turned to the figure cloaked in the shadows. As he stepped into the torchlight, they recognized a strangely changed Boy-Who-Lived holding twin swords.

The change in the boy, no, man, wasn't just physical, though there were differences. It was in the way he held himself, head high, with a quiet confidence that put their nerves on edge. The aura and the attitude that radiated off him was one of danger. This wasn't the act he had tried to hold in front of the Dark Lord some weeks ago. No, this was quite real.

"I gave your minions a one-way trip to Hell, so I guess that's where their hanging out now," he continued, calmly surveying the room. A flash of overwhelming rage shone through his eyes when he looked at the mangled body that was Remus, but contrary to the Harry of the past, he kept control and stayed where he was, entirely focused.

During the long silence that followed, Harry came to the conclusion that Snape wasn't in the room. So the Order had abandoned its member. A part of him wanted to scream and shout injustice while the other understood the notion of sacrifice for the survival of the group. He put that conflict in the back of his mind, focusing on the difficult task of dealing with the Dark Lord without getting screwed over again.

Finally, Voldemort stepped forward lightly. He was dumbfounded, flabbergasted, astonished and shocked, but, as the worthy Heir of Slytherin, he hid it very well. Potter was sane, Potter was here and Potter had just killed three of his most powerful servants without even a scratch. And all that while he was, according to his wards, exhausted! What had happened up there? And more importantly, what had happened to Potter?

"I must congratulate you on retaining your sanity Potter. That is quite an astounding feat." The only sign that the Dark Lord was frantic was the exaggerated hiss in which he spoke.

"Sane?" answered Harry, "I don't think walking around with your mind inside my head meets the criteria of sanity."

"IMPOSSIBLE!" screeched the Dark Lord. He mentally berated himself for his outburst when he saw the smirk the brat was wearing.

"How else would I know about this place, hmmm?" Harry replied, slightly amused despite the situation.

Voldemort raised his wand, planning to curse into oblivion the boy that had been the bane of his existence since he had heard of the prophecy.

"That won't work, you know. Besides, I'm only here to pick up my friend Remus. There's no need for violence." Harry was walking a fine and dangerous line here. He needed to goad the Dark Lord and keep him unbalanced, keep him from thinking straight without pushing him far enough to order Remus killed. There were many Death Eaters in the dungeon cell, too many for him to take on, especially with the state he was in. His energy was rapidly fading and Remus didn't have long to live.

"Then let me remind you that your swords, even if you somehow manage to use them without hurting yourself, will not work against me either!" spat Voldemort.

"Who said I was intending to hurt you?" replied Harry. °Like chess players, we cannot hurt each other directly. We use pawns, whether they are aware of it or not. Kill mine and I destroy yours° he continued, hissing.

°Indeed. So you seek to make this a stand-off? Do you not realize I could ask one of my servants to kill you? Hardly a stand-off at all!° Voldemort replied in the same language.

Harry laughed, confusing the attentive Death Eaters even more. What was this? The Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived conversing in Parseltongue and laughing?

"Tom," Harry resumed speaking once his laughter had subsided, "You already tried that trick once before. I hope you haven't forgotten how effective that was. Avada Kedavra doesn't work on me, as you should have figured out by now."

Just as Harry expected, a jet of green light immediately headed in his direction, coming from the far corner of the room. If he remembered well, that was where Bellatrix was standing earlier. Remembering the pain that had accompanied last time, he was reluctant to let himself be hit again, but was fully aware of the unsettling effect his survival would cause. The Death Eaters would doubt themselves and he could take advantage of that uneasiness.

The curse hit him and a pain worse than the Cruciatus burned through him. Before he even had time to scream, it dissipated, leaving him shaken but unharmed. Last time, the pain had lasted much longer. Maybe being ready for it made it easier to deal with. Or maybe his body was getting used to it, you never know.

Anyway, Harry had achieved his goal. The Death Eaters were flabbergasted and, yes, that was the shadow of fear in their eyes.

Good, Harry thought, turning back to Voldemort. If worse came to pass and he had to fight his way out, he now had the advantage of fear. But fighting his way out meant sacrificing Remus, the last link to his parents, one of the few people he loved and helped keep the darkness in him at bay.

The Dark Lord seemed to have regained his footing and looked quite pensive. Harry had expected him to rage, not think. This was not good. This was not good at all.

"Fine" Voldemort said, "You've made your point. But if I give you your werewolf back, what would I get in return? Don't tell me you won't kill my Death Eaters. That is not only hardly believable, it is not enough. If I give you our… source of information on the Order of the Phoenix… and also source of entertainment… then you must give me something equivalent in value."

Damn that Slytherin cunning! Always one to get the best out of any situation. So much for hoping this to be easy.

"And what would "equivalent in value" be?" Harry growled. He was going to be screwed over. Again. He just knew it.

The Dark Lord seemed to think before replying with a smirk: "How about a Wizard's Oath not to harm my servants in any way?"

"That hardly seems fair, nor equivalent!" Harry replied, incensed. Voldemort looked at him expectantly.

He wants me to make a counter-offer, Harry realized. What offer could I make? What can I afford to offer?

Finally, after a furious brainstorming, he announced, articulating carefully: "If you let Remus leave with me, I'll swear a Wizard's Oath to protect all your servants attending Hogwarts." It killed him to say that, but it was the only thing he could think of to save Remus. It had to be something that had enough worth for Voldemort to accept. There was always the possibility that he might convert a few of them. Maybe. But he was willing to go that far, and further, to save his surrogate uncle.

There was a long silence, only broken by the sounds of Lupin's ragged breathing. Voldemort and Harry had their gazes locked, each of them trying to stare down the other. This wasn't a battle of minds; this was a battle of wills.

Finally Voldemort conceded. "That is acceptable. Make your Oath."

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. A Wizard's Oath was one of the most binding magic there was. The person who broke one would die, painfully. Harry hoped his amazing luck would help him get through this one. If any of those under his "protection" died, he would die as well.

Staring straight at Voldemort, Harry recited the Oath that would save one of those few people he trusted and loved.

"I swear, on my magic and on my life, that if you let Remus Lupin leave with me without harming him any further, I will protect those loyal to you which are attending Hogwarts from those who work against you."

The wording was very important. A loophole or a flaw could be fatal. As Harry felt the binding magic working, he desperately hoped he had covered everything.

Voldemort nodded, satisfied. He signalled his servants to back off. Bellatrix looked particularly disappointed.

Harry headed towards Lupin, willing his right sword back into its dagger size. He slipped it into his boot and brought out his wand.

"Staseum," he whispered, bringing Remus in a state where none of his injuries would worsen. He followed with a Mobilicorpus, easing the pressure on the werewolf's wrists.

With a ferocious slash that made the Death Eaters start, he cut the chains that were holding his friend. Ignoring them, Harry picked up the chains he had just cut and turned them into a Portkey. He had never learned to do so yet had the memories of doing it innumerable times.

He looked one last time at the creature that had destroyed his life before it had even begun before disappearing, leaving a thoughtful Dark Lord behind.

TBC