Harry hadn't been expecting this when he ran from the blood door. More of the mansion, sure. More of that nightmare of burning dozens alive with his fire, that was pretty much a given. But these bodies weren't killed by fire. They weren't harmed at all. Most of them lay in postures of relaxed submission, their faces etched in pleasure.
Lethal pleasure.
His steps slowed as he stepped around the bodies. One figure fell in the center of the chaos, another standing over it with arms spread. Harry didn't have to look hard to know who that was. Instead, he looked out, past the bodies, into the crowd.
This was all wrong.
He'd seen Thomas. Seen the struggle he fought on a day-to-day -- no, on a moment-to-moment basis. This was no dream This was.... a nightmare.
"Thomas," he said, keeping his voice even. He glanced at himself, and saw that he was still naked, stripped by Bianca's scourge. Harry shut his eyes and focused. When he opened them again, he was properly dressed, all in black, with his duster over his shoulders and the silver pentacle around his neck. His staff solidified in his left hand. The right, he extended to his brother.