Prisoner 63

Run

The tall building loomed over Harry as he walked up to the doorway. He reached out his hand, fingers closing around the doorknob, sending an icy shiver up his arm. The door was old, but Harry could tell it was still strong - it was built to be that way, it seemed.

He twisted the doorknob, like he'd learned with Draco, but it didn't turn. He frowned deeply, wondering if this was a type of door Draco hadn't told him about, before spotting the nails hammered into it through the wall, holding it firmly shut.

Harry scowled, taking a few steps backwards. A few nails weren't going to stop him, he just wouldn't be able to take anyone by surprise after this. He outstretched his hands, and let out a yell, the door flinging itself off its hinges and crashing to the ground. Harry's shoulders shook as he was once again overcome by silence, staring into the darkened doorway, only inky blackness swimming behind the threshold.

Harry bit his lip, but stride forward, readjusting his glasses. The floorboards creaked under his trainers as he stepped through the doorway, blinking a few times, waiting in baited breath for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Dusty furniture littered the room, an overturned table, a moth eaten armchair, a cracked mirror hanging on the wall. But there was no sign of life anywhere, nothing that Harry could sense. No bugs even, but certainly no Draco. Surely this was the right way though, where else could he have gone? There was nothing but barren snow outside, Harry would have been able to see him.

He took one slow step forward, the floorboards sending an ear piercing creak throughout the dark room. He froze, but there was no sound to tell him someone was coming, no footsteps or other creaking floorboards, so he continued forwards.

There was a door branching off beside the shattered mirror which hung dejectedly on the wall, Harry catching a brief glimpse of himself in it before he grasped the doorknob. His reflection was all spliced and wrong, carved up in neat little lines.

The doorknob was cold, the door swinging open silently, Harry wrinkling his nose at the dust that was swept up by the door moving, and was faced with a dark, empty corridor, another door looming at the end. The corridor descended, steps leading downwards, very clearly going underground. Harry bit back the sour feeling at the back of his throat - they'd kept him underground before. He turned around, casting a longing look back into the light he could barely now see. He didn't want to let go of the surface world ever again...

He strode forward into the dark, descending the steps and falling into complete darkness as the door swung shut behind him. He pushed his way through the door at the end of the hall, and looked at the scene in front of him.

The room was dimly lit by lanterns, that burned with enchanted green flames, giving the room a sickly glow. It was furnished more expansively than the rest of the old house, and seemed to have been lived in somewhat. A goblet of liquid sat on a table in front of a plush couch, a small platter of food beside it. It was clear the room was devoid of people though, the green light giving no space for anyone to hide in the corners.

This was the last room, though. There were no other passageways, no small tunnels, no other ways out. So where had Draco gone? He began to peer around the room.

A bookshelf stood in the corner, books haphazardly splayed across it, leaning on their sides and placed the wrong way around. Cockroaches crawled across them, the visible pages having holes in them where they had been eaten away at. It was a sick, twisted perversion of the Malfoy manor library, which was bright, clean, and warm. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes, scanning across the titles quickly, trying to understand the words scrawled across them. The few he did recognise were dark and made his stomach churn, so he quickly turned his attention away from the bookcase.