Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4v3k82yL25w
CHAPTER ONE -CAPTIVE-
*HARRY POTTER: AGE 16*
(July 31st, Potter's Birthday, The Summer Before 6th Year)
Once again, Harry Potter was having a horrible, terrible, birthday. He had woken up in the middle of the night with a searing pain behind his skull, as if his brain was about to explode out of his head, like a hot poker shoved between his eyes. The dream that had caused the pain faded to near nothing once his eyes opened, but one moment stuck with him, terrified him, made him hostile. It was Voldemort’s face, with his pale, almost translucent skin, bald head, snake-like slitted nose, and his lips curled in a sneer. The look in his eyes had sent an unpleasant shiver down Harry’s spine. Because of this, Harry hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, instead he’d sat on his bed, staring into the darkness, obsessing over the look that had been in Voldemort’s eyes and what it could possibly mean. Harry knew about the prophecy, that he was The Chosen One and that neither he or Voldemort could live while the other survives. One day he would have to face that vile man one last time and that would be the end of everything and that day would be soon. He also knew that Voldemort could come to him in dreams, even spy on him, play tricks on him like he had with Sirius at the Ministry, or, on rare occasions, he could even possess Harry, seeping into his mind like poison. Unfortunately, Harry was bloody horrible at occlumency, though part of him blamed Severus Snape, who’d been his teacher. But he knew he was far too hot headed and impulsive to ever master the art and so he’d given up. So, closing his mind to Voldemort seemed near impossible.
Voldemort hadn’t been happy, that much Harry was sure of. The look in his crimson eyes was one of impatience, verging on anger. He wanted something. What he wanted was the question. The Dark Lord shouldn’t want for anything, he had already taken most of the people near and dear to Harry, most recently his Godfather, Sirius Black. But, Voldemort was greedy, power hungry, and, most of all, evil. He wanted to rule the wizarding world, enforce his own twisted beliefs, and to kill all who opposed him. He wanted Harry dead. That was okay because Harry wanted Voldemort dead too. He was tired of waiting and of running. For years, he and Voldemort have been going head to head, and so far, each year, Harry has gotten away. True, Harry was just as fearful of The Dark Lord as anyone else, but something in him wouldn’t let him show it. Each time he’d come face to face with Voldemort, he’d had the courage to fight against him in whatever way he could. Harry could do it again.
Harry forced Voldemort out of his mind, focusing on the two important people in his life, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They’d been with him through all of it, since first year, and he couldn’t be more grateful to have them. He could almost hear what Hermione would say when she heard his scar was hurting, Harry! You should have told me sooner! Why didn’t you send an owl at once? Did you tell Dumbledore? You shouldn’t have given up occlumency. Once we’re back at school I’ll go to the library. Surely, there’s something in the forbidden section. And then Ron would say something like, Bloody hell. You don’t think you-know-who is planning something, do you? You have to ask Dumbledore. Harry knew them well, they wouldn’t want him to brush off his dream like it was nothing. But, that was exactly what Harry planned to do. If he worried every time his scar hurt he would be in constant distraught.
When light started to filter through his window, Harry stood, stretching out the knots in his shoulders and groaning. He goes to Hedwig, who sits in her cage grooming herself, slides a finger through the bars to give her a little pet. She jerked, hooting at him.
“Just me.” Harry said, smiling.
She hooted again and then went back to minding her feathers.
Harry started to mark another day off his calendar and that is when he realized that today is his birthday. Sixteen years old. So young but yet he felt so old inside. He decided he would act as if it wasn’t his birthday, like the Dursleys would bother to mention, let alone celebrate, Harry growing a year older. What was the point anyway? He’d already received his presents from the Weasleys and Hermione last week, a sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a cake, a broom cleaning kit from Ron, and a new cloak from Hermione. Plus, with the dream and Voldemort’s face plastered behind his eyes, as if burnt there, Harry was in no mood to celebrate anything.
He crossed the thirty-first off his calendar, a little more viciously than need be, and then he rubbed his forehead hard enough to bruise himself. His scar was still aching. Harry changes from his pajamas into a pair of Dudley's old jeans that he has to buckle with a belt and a blue shirt. He tries to brush his hair, tame it somehow, but that’s a battle lost years ago. Lastly, he put on his glasses.
Slowly, in order to not wake everyone else, Harry eased his bedroom door open and tiptoed into the bathroom where he locked himself inside. He turned the water on cold and splashed his face repeatedly, till the chill started to burn him. Then, he looked at himself in the mirror, not in a vain way, in fact, at the sight of himself he grew disdainful. His green eyes are dark with pain and his thin face is still pale from the dream.
Harry reached out, touching the cool face of his reflection.
“What is it you want now? Voldemort?” Harry whispered.
Obviously, there was no answer. Not that Harry expected one.
“I wish you were dead.” Harry said just as softly. “That’s what I want. To see you die, even if I die with you.”
His hand dropped from the mirror. There was no point in speaking to someone that couldn’t hear him, but it felt good to say anyway. He spends the rest of the morning in his room, watching the sun rise with Hedwig on his shoulder, thinking dark thoughts of the man that had been his enemy since Harry was an infant.
***
He waited to go downstairs till he could smell the bacon that Aunt Petunia had frying. Harry takes his seat, squeezing between Uncle Vernon and Dudley, trying to go unnoticed and failing at it. Vernon eyed Harry, his big mustache quivering.
“So it’s you, is it?” Vernon said, opening that day’s newspaper loudly.
“Unfortunately.” Harry replied.
“I know what today is.” Dudley said, his voice taunting.
“Wow, Dudders. You know the date? They’ll be calling you the Prime Minister next, you watch.” Harry said.
“It’s your birthday.” Dudley prodded.
“Comes every year.” Harry said.
Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. “Has… has that boy invited you to stay again?”
“You mean Ron?” Harry replied.
“The red headed one.” Vernon said, leaning back so Petunia could sit his breakfast in front of him. Two strips of bacon, one egg, and a piece of grapefruit. Dudley got the same. As usual, Harry’s plate was lacking, Petunia had shorted him a piece of bacon and his egg had been overly cooked. Harry won’t say anything about it, not worth it.
“That’s Ron. No, he hasn’t said anything about me going to his house for the summer. Shall I ask?” Harry said.
“Send him your bloody pigeon, if you will.” Vernon said.
Harry chewed his bacon thoughtfully. “I suppose I could.”
Petunia sat across from Harry, her horse teeth piercing her bottom lip. “It’s getting dangerous… for us to have you in our home.”
“This place is the only thing keeping me safe from him. As long as this is my home, Voldemort cannot hurt me.” Harry said. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.”
“You need only spend a few weeks here, then. Don’t you want to go to your friend’s?” Petunia said, her voice cold.
Harry bit into his egg. “You overcooked it.”
Petunia sneered. “Ungrateful.”
“You would think your little friends would’ve already invited you to stay, seeing how they care for you sooo much.” Vernon said, chuckling.
Harry’s scar throbs. “Whatever, muggle.”
Vernon gasped, turning red. “What did you call me, boy?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go write that letter now.” He stands, pushing his chair back. “The sooner the better.”
As he walked away, Vernon hollered after him. “And someday you’ll never return, mark my words.”
***
Harry sat on his bed and using his favorite quill (fire red with a yellow tip) he wrote out a letter for Ron. The words are messy as his hand shakes with rage. He hates how the Dursleys have so much resentment towards him for merely existing, as if he’d chosen them. If given the chance he would have chosen any other family. Most of all, he would’ve loved to have grown up with his parents, if Voldemort hadn’t killed them, or even Sirius, but Voldemort had killed him too.
Dear Ron,
Hey. How are you? I got all your presents. Tell Mrs. Weasley, thank you. I was wondering if there was a possibility that I could come and stay with you for the rest of the summer? Ask your parents if I could? Being with the Dursleys has gotten on my last nerve and I need somewhere else to go. Maybe even the order’s headquarters? I don’t know. Please let me know. Don’t send Errol back again, that owl nearly died last time. Just give your return letter to Hedwig. Thanks- Harry.
He folded the letter, tied it with string, then he let Hedwig from her cage and tied the letter to her offered leg. Harry strokes down her back a few times.
“Take this to Ron.” Harry says, opening his window. “And hurry, please.”
Hedwig needles his hand and takes off through the window, disappearing into the clouds. Harry watched her, all the while rubbing his forehead, scratching it with his nails. He wants to rip into his skin, break into his skull, and tear out whatever it is that hurts him so much.
“Damn you.” Harry whispered. “Stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing because it hurts.”
Harry went back downstairs to finish his breakfast, but the pain in his scar makes it hard to see, and he pauses in front of the table, swaying on his feet. Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley watch him with confused faces.
“I don’t know what he’s doing.” Harry whispered. “But it’s bad… I should… tell…” Harry trailed off, unsure of what he’d been saying. He claps a hand to his forehead, clutching it, as pain radiates from behind his scar. “Oh god… oh god… he’s happy… why is he happy?”
“What are you going on about?” Vernon said, a quiver in his voice.
“Stop it. You’re scaring Dudders.” Petunia moaned, pulled Dudley’s head over to her shoulder to hide his eyes.
The world has started to fog over, and Harry’s vision goes blurry as a pain like no other shoots through his head. It feels like being shot in the head, like someone has cut his skull open and dumped gasoline onto his exposed brain, before lighting a match and setting him on fire. The pain sears inside him, rushes through his veins, and into his heart, eroding at his very soul, making him wish for the sweet release of death. Suddenly, the room around him fades away, disappearing like smoke, and it’s replaced by Voldemort’s sneering face. At the sight of him, Harry’s scar explodes with pain even more, causing Harry to stumble down to his knees, clutching his face, and screaming bloody murder.
“Potter! Potter! What the devil!” Someone yelled.
“Vernon! Do something! Stop him! Make him stop!” Another voice said.
“Holy crap! Holy crap!” Said another voice.
Harry can feel large hands grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him hard. But that doesn’t matter, The Dark Lord is in his head.
“STOP!” Harry screamed. “STOP. LET ME GO!”
“He’s got the devil!” A voice whimpered.
Harry’s body twisted as he tried to contort himself away from whoever touched him, and the outrageous pain pounding around in his skull worsens and Harry screams and screams till his voice cracks. He falls over, hitting the floor hard and starts to convulse and his eyes roll back into his head. All he can see is that face, Voldemort’s face, with eyes that stare deep into Harry, piercing him, taking something from him and giving something back. There’s a popping sound in Harry’s head, one only he can hear.
Harry’s mouth moved without him wanting it to and a gravelly voice came out. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...." Harry gasped and then continued. “How foolish to think that it is you. I promise to be the death of you, Potter. The boy who lived will not live for long.” And then, Harry looks at Vernon with eyes that cannot see and he smiles at him. “How is your secretary, Vernon? I hear she loves your little bitty drill.”
Just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Harry returned to himself, regained control of his body, and the pain in his scar receded to nothing but an ache. Harry is sprawled on the floor. Vernon stands over him, hands on his hips, turning a disgusting shade of purple. Petunia and Dudley huddle in the kitchen, though they look at Vernon in shock.
“What did he say about your secretary? Vernon?” Petunia whispered.
“Linda has nothing to do with this.” Vernon said, his voice low. “What the devil got into you, boy? There’s something wrong, deeply wrong, with you. What is it?”
“Voldemort.” Harry said. “He took over my body.”
“And why did he make you say such… vile things?” Vernon asked.
“Because he’s planning something and he wanted to upset me. Upset all of us.” Harry said, rubbing his forehead in thought. “I don’t know.”
“So you were being possessed?” Vernon hissed and then he gave a sharp laugh. “So this… this bloke can just take over your body whenever he likes? And we’re just supposed to live here with you? What if he makes you murder all of us?”
“This is the second time.” Harry said.
“I want him gone, Vernon.” Petunia said shrilly. “I want him out right now.”
“Indeed. Too much right here, young man, too much for us. We should’ve sent you away long ago.” Vernon said.
“If I could leave, I would. Believe me, I want to.” Harry hissed.
“Then be my guest!” Vernon said, grabbing a handful of Harry’s shirt and yanking him to his feet.
“You don’t understand- magic- I can’t-” Harry started.
“I’m tired of hearing about your blasted magic! You are no longer welcome here!” Vernon said, dragging Harry toward the door.
“Fine! Make me leave! This damn house was never my home anyway!” Harry said as Vernon ripped the front door open.
“GO!” Vernon huffed.
“Let me get my things!” Harry argued.
“You're a wizard, aren’t ya boy? You figure it out!” Vernon shouted, pushing Harry out the door with nothing but the clothes he wore and his wand to his name.
Before Harry can say anything, the door slams shut in his face and locks. Harry bangs on it and gives a cry of anger before setting off down the sidewalk.
***
Harry walked to the park, taking a seat on one of the swings. He’s thankful that he’d sent Hedwig away before all of this had gone down, god forbid she get stuck with the Dursleys without him. Now, Harry would have to figure out what to do with himself. Should he wait for the knight bus? Take it to Diagon Alley? Should he try to make his way to Ron’s house? He knows one thing for sure, he’s never going back to the Dursley house, even if it kills him. Most of all, he wants to know what Voldemort is up to? Why possess Harry just to repeat the prophecy and make a few taunts? What was the point and what was Voldemort’s bigger plan? What exactly did he want? It couldn’t be good. Memories of years prior pop up in Harry’s mind. Professor Quirrel with the grotesque face of Voldemort plastered to the back of his head. Young Tom Riddle and the basilisk. Wormtail and his lies. The Triwizard Tournament, Professor Moody turning into Bartemius Crouch, and Voldemort being brought back, with Harry forced to watch. Then, at the ministry when they tried to save Sirius but it had been a trick and Sirius had died. It’s too much, all of it. Harry can’t stand how messed up his life is because of Voldemort.
Harry swings himself, back and forth, back and forth, just thinking. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on what had come out of his mouth when Voldemort had possessed him. The prophecy, but Harry already knew about that. Threatening to kill Harry, when had Voldemort passed up a chance to do that? Mentioning Vernon’s secretary Linda? What did that have to do with anything and how could The Dark Lord know the nature of that relationship? Why would he mention it anyway? Harry’s head feels like it’s spinning on his shoulders, ready to unscrew from his neck, fall off, grow legs, and scuttle far away from his body. This has to be the worst birthday Harry has ever had besides the one where-
Someone clears their throat, loudly.
Harry’s eyes snap open. He’s swinging high, so high the swing gives a little each time he goes forward. When he sees who had made the sound, his heart drops in his chest.
“Well, fuck.” Harry whispered.
Death eaters surround the swing set, standing shoulder to shoulder wearing black robes, and masks with snake-like slits for their eyes. Each has their wand pointed at Harry. They must have apparated silently. How long had they been here, watching Harry.
“Harry Potter. The boy who lived.” A man’s voice says. Harry recognizes it as Lucius Malfoy.
Harry stops swinging, stopping in an instant. He watches the death eaters, itching to whip out his wand and hex all of them, though he knows he wouldn’t be able to. They would take him down. Now Harry is really in a bad place with no idea how to get out of it.
“Malfoy.” Harry said. “Chance seeing you here?”
“We won’t hurt you, not yet.” Lucius promised.
Harry ripped his wand from his sleeve, pointing it at the closest death eater and started to say a spell, but it was already too late.
“ Stupefy!” Lucius cried.
The spell hits Harry in the chest and everything goes dark.
***
Harry Potter wakes up in the dark. At first he can’t sit up, frozen in fear, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know where he is or why he is in the dark. He can hear the faint sound of running water, like a trickling stream, and the faint echoes of voices, and even fainter he can hear screaming and crying. Someone is begging for their life. Harry can taste the air, it has a sweet tinge to it, like decay, with a crisp aftertaste. The pitch blackness around him closes in, threatening to suffocate him. His breath comes in faint gasps, as if his lungs wish to quit working, like he’s already dead and he just hasn’t realized yet.
The distant screams cut off and the silence after them is deafening. People are being killed, either by death eaters or Voldemort himself. This gives Harry the courage to sit up and when he does there’s a clinking, like metal against stone. There is weight added to his arms and when he tries to lift them they fall back down. He feels his wrists and finds that he’s been chained with heavy iron manacles, they rub his skin sending a sick chill up his spine. He uses all his strength to pull at them, hearing a groaning sound. Harry feels around him. The ground is damp and mossy. Some of the loose rock is sharp and he cuts his finger. So, he’s in a cave from his guess, probably deep underground. Harry stands up, slipping on the wet moss under his bare feet. He holds his chains to keep upright. First, he searches himself for his wand and finds it missing. Second, he feels around blindly, trying to figure out as much as he can about where he is. The walls of his cell aren’t far apart, all he has to do is put out his arms and his hands touch each side. He shudders, the walls are slick with slime. He walks forward a few feet and runs into thick iron bars, the entrance to his prison. Harry takes hold of the bars, leaning his forehead against them. His eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness and he figures they won’t anytime soon. This kind of darkness can’t be penetrated.
As the shock wears off, Harry can feel the pounding in his head. With each beat of his heart the pain in his head throbs. He knows that only Voldemort would construct a place like this. A creature of the dark feels right at home in a cave.
“Voldemort.” Harry says. “Voldemort! I know you brought me here. Where are you, you fucking bastard!”
No answer.
“TOM RIDDLE! TOM! TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE! WHERE ARE YOU! IT ISN’T NICE TO KEEP YOUR GUEST WAITING!” Harry shouts at the top of his lungs. “COME ON! I JUST WANNA TALK!”
No answer.
“Are you going to kill me? Lock me up and kill me? Like a coward?” Harry whispers.
No answer. But there is a sound. Boots clamping on rock. The rustling of a robe in the wind.
“After I die, are you going to feed me to your little snake? Are you going to kill me? ARE YOU?” Harry says, going from a whisper to a shout.
The boots get closer, till they’re right outside Harry’s cell.
“Who are you?” Harry says. “Death eater?”
There’s a creaking as the cell doors are opened. Rough hands grab Harry, shoving a wand under his neck.
“This is a lot of work you’re doing.” Harry says when another pair of manacles are slapped around his wrists behind the first pair. The chain between them is short, only a few links. Another pair go around his ankles. Another groan as the chains connecting him to the wall are removed. Harry is yanked forward with no love and a wand is shoved into his back between his shoulders. Walking is awkward as he can’t make his usual stride, the manacles won’t allow it.
“You know, I’m only sixteen. Just a kid. You guys don't have to go to so much trouble over me. It’s not like I can run away in this darkness.” Harry says.
His chains are yanked hard and the skin under them rips from the pressure. Harry cries out in pain. He nearly trips over a large rock and it takes him a moment to realize he’s at the foot of stairs. Up Harry goes, climbing higher and higher, till he can see light at the top, and the silhouette of the man in front of him. Definitely a death eater.
“Are you taking me to a parade?” Harry asks, giving a chuckle. His stomach twists with nerves and all he wants to do is vomit.
Harry steps into the light and feels another cool shiver go down his spine. He’s in a cave, for sure, and definitely deep underground. He must have been in the dungeon, because the floor he’s just entered is totally different. Lit by hanging orbs of a dull green light, with no moss or slime or wet covering the walls, and the floor is made of a jade green marble with silvery streaks through it. The ceiling is high above him with stalactites hanging from it. He stands at an intersection between three seemingly infinite hallways. The one to his right is full of open rooms, with more masked death eaters milling about, the one to his left has iron doors placed at intervals and that is where the screams come from, the hall in front of him is bare, leading to another set of stairs. That is the one the death eater leads him down. They take the stairs up and up until they reach another hallway with a huge set of double iron doors at their end.
It’s getting hard to breathe the closer Harry gets to those doors. Once they reach the door, the death eater flicks his wand and the huge doors flick open. Inside is something like a throne room, humongous with high ceilings, rows of pews lining the room with a path in the middle. Death eaters fill the pews, all masked with their wands out. At the head of the room is a dark throne made of obsidian with six death eaters on either side of it. Seated in the throne is Lord Voldemort with nagini the snake around his neck. He wears velvet robes of pitch black, leather gloves cover his long fingers that grip his wand, his skin is milk white and his head bald, his lips are thin and curled into a sneer, his crimson eyes watch Harry intensely, and his snake-like nostrils flare out in hostility.
The ache in Harry’s head pounds like a drum and he can hear his heart in his ears. The death eater jerks Harry’s chains, forcing him to walk the path through the pews. The death eaters around him are silent but Harry can feel their burning hatred of him. Harry is stopped about twelve feet from Voldemort and his throne and forced to his knees and his chains are quickly connected to loops in the floor. The death eaters that had escorted him bow to Voldemort before taking a seat on one of the pews.
Voldemort watches Harry. While Harry would love to glare at the vile man, he can’t, his scar hurts too much. Finally, Voldemort leans forward.
“Harry Potter.” He says in a high voice that’s smooth as velvet. “The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. We meet once more.”
“Go to hell.” Harry hisses.
Voldemort laughs. “From what I’ve heard, you don’t like to be kept waiting and god knows we all must keep Mr. Potter happy. Such a spoiled young man you are, weak willed, impatient, hot headed. That is your downfall.”
“Why am I here?” Harry says. “Are you going to kill me? Cause if you are just get it over with. Killing me won’t do shit though, there are plenty more where I came from and they won’t stop till you’re dead.”
“Mister Potter, so rude. Didn’t your mother teach you manners? Oh… I forgot.” Voldemort says, sneering at Harry. “I killed her. Can you remember it as vividly as I? Her screams? Offering her life for yours? Begging and pleading? Running like the little bitch she once was.”
Harry stands and charges at Voldemort, but his chains jerk him to a stop. He’s full of rage, murderous rage, that boils under his skin. Like an animal, Harry fights against his bindings to get closer to Voldemort. He’ll strangle the man with his bare hands if he has to.
The sight of Harry so distraught fills Voldemort with glee. “Have I struck a nerve? Harry? And what of your dear Godfather Sirius? Word of his demise reached me and I must say I am truly heartbroken.” Voldemort says with a smile, touching one gloved hand to his chest.
“Fuck you.” Harry whispers. “Fuck you.”
“Come now, Potter. Certainly, The Chosen One has more than that to say? You do have the power to vanquish The Dark Lord don’t you? That is what the prophecy said. Unless the prophecy was wrong and you are merely a pitiful little weakling used as a pawn for others to push around.” Voldemort says, smirking.
“Where’s my wand? Let’s find out?” Harry hisses.
“I think not. We have dueled before. Such a mess isn’t needed. I already know you use only one spell? What is it? Remind me?” Voldemort says with a chuckle. “Oh yes. Expelliarmus, the disarming charm. That is not how one wins, Harry.”
“Why am I here? Tell me, Voldemort.” Harry says. “Tell me or kill me. Get on with it. I’m tired of waiting.”
“I plan to do both.” Voldemort says. He leans forward. “Kidnapping you was a great feat. I’m quite proud of it, if I must say. Dumbledore has you under tight watch as if you mean as much as he claims you do. This conversation is months in the making. Would you like to hear how I got you? Or will that take too long?”
“You had to find a way to get around the charm Dumbledore used-” Harry starts.
“A blood bond. So long as you call the Dursley house your home… I simply could not find you. You had to say the words ‘this is no longer my home’ as you did mere hours ago for a window to open to me. Then you had to leave, far enough to get out of the magical range before I could truly detect your location.” Voldemort says. “But that isn’t the end of it. The trace marking you is a strong one, thanks to the ministry. I knew within hours of you going missing that the wizarding world would go into a frenzy looking for their precious golden boy. That is why I used certain magic, dark magic, to hide my new home from those I wish to never find it. A magical vortex, that’s what I’ve nicknamed it. Here and only here, the trace that marks you goes dead. You can’t be found.”
“All that work for what? Just to kill me? You could have done that hours ago.” Harry mumbles. “You don’t make anything simple, do you? Huh snake-face?”
“Killing you is not the point. Getting you is the point. I stole the most important part of the order… and right under Dumbledore’s nose too. It gives me great pleasure, you know. I have waited for this day for… sixteen years… to the day.” Voldemort says, a light comes in his red eyes. “Why, Harry, it is your birthday, is it not? Has anyone wished you a happy one?”
“Why? Do you plan to?” Harry asks.
Voldemort chuckles. “Indeed, Harry. What a lovely birthday you’re having.”
“Rot and die. Eat my shit.” Harry says. “You killed nearly everyone I care about. You are vile and evil and one day you’ll be put down like the dog you are.”
“Do you know what I plan to do with you once I kill you?” Voldemort asks.
“Feed me to your snake?” Harry asks, trying to sound nonchalant. “She looks a little hungry. You should give her something before she starts looking at you with those beady eyes of hers, animal abuse is against the law.”
“No. You will not be fed to Nagini. I believe I will display your corpse somehow, near Hogwarts? How does that sound? Can you imagine how heartbroken your dear friends will be?” Voldemort asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. “The boy who lived now finds himself on his knees before The Dark Lord, his life in the hands of his enemy. Which of us is truly all powerful? Tell me?”
The death eaters give a small laugh, as if Voldemort had said something funny.
“You’re a coward for killing an unarmed man.” Harry hisses.
“But you aren’t a man. You’re a boy, Potter. No one in this room cares to see you have a fair death. Least of all me.” Voldemort says and he stands. “Plus, your wand was broken into pieces. Had to be done.”
“You will die. If not today, then someday.” Harry says. “Kill me if you want.”
“I am immortal. Death will never find me, Potter. That’s where you’re wrong.” Voldemort says. Elegantly, he lifts his wand, pointing it at Harry’s chest.
The death eaters have started chanting softly in a language Harry recognizes. Parseltongue. It’s an ominous sound. Harry’s heart jumps into his throat. He doesn’t want to die, not today. Only when one is about to die do they realize how much there is to live for.
“Do it, then. Kill me.” Harry whispers. “Do it. End this.”
Voldemort sucks in a sharp breath, his red eyes staring deep into Harry’s green ones. The world moves in slow motion. Harry can feel each breath he takes in and each exhale he lets out, an eternity between each breath. The Dark Lord opens his mouth to speak. Harry stares at him still, their gazes glued together, and the foundations that hold Harry up seem to shake. He feels as if he’s falling, falling into The Dark Lord’s eyes and somehow he knows that Voldemort feels the same exact thing looking into Harry’s eyes. It isn’t a pleasant feeling, in fact, it burns Harry’s chest. Harry’s heart beats fast in his ears, but there’s an echo to the sound now, as if his heartbeat bounces off Voldemort’s heartbeat. Voldemort opens his mouth, his thin lips forming words.
“ Avada-” Voldemort starts, but then he stops, freezing.
The death eaters quit chanting and everything is silent. Things aren’t going to plan. Harry stares at Voldemort and Voldemort stares back, both of them completely still as if in a trance. It dawns on Harry that not only do their hearts seem to bounce off the other, but each breath they take is at the same time. An emotion passes from Voldemort to Harry and then back to Voldemort, it’s a dark thing, electric in some way, and sharp like a knife. It cuts both of them down to the bone in the sweetest way possible. Harry has never felt such an emotion before and he’s sure Voldemort hasn’t either.
The Dark Lord puts down his wand and reclaims his seat. “I’ve just had a thought.”
“What?” Harry whispers, leaning forward to hear.
The death eaters are confused, they mumble to each other, not understanding what just happened.
“Killing you is moot. Why do that? At least, why do it so soon? The Boy Who Lived is right here, in chains, helpless, under my roof. Why, I didn’t see the possibilities till just now. You’re like a circus animal, Potter. So many would love to see you in my clutches. I shall not take such joy away from them.” Voldemort says, smirking. “You will stay here. Untouched and alive.”
“Why?” Harry whispers. “There must be some reason.”
“The Dark Lord does what he wants.” Voldemort says. He regards his death eaters. “Potter will be staying with us. He will be our most esteemed prisoner.” Voldemort looks at one death eater in particular. “Malfoy.”
The death eater to Voldemort’s right steps forward. “Yes, my lord.”
“Find The Boy Who Lived a place to stay. Not the dungeon. Elsewhere.” Voldemort says. “And make sure he stays there. He will be more helpful captive than dead.”
“Of course, my lord.” Malfoy says.
“Put him somewhere private.” Voldemort says.
“Kill me instead.” Harry whispers. “Do it. Don’t keep me here.”
Voldemort gives Malfoy a sneer. “Do it now! Get this muggle-lover out of my sight!”
Once again, Harry had escaped death and instead he found himself a prisoner of the worst kind.