Chapter Text
The pain is a surprise, although it shouldn't be, seeing as the blast has sent him careening into the brick wall that makes up the castle of Hogwarts. It radiates through his head, down his neck and spreads through the rest of his body, momentarily stunning him as he crumbles to the ground by the wall. His wand goes flying off somewhere. He really can’t see through the haze that is clouding his mind. It is not like he hasn’t been injured before in battle, but it has been a long time, decades really. He had forgotten how much a hit to the head could hurt. There is also a feeling of something wet on the back of his head and he suspects he is bleeding.
He tries to shake his head to clear it, but that only makes everything worse. He knows he should get up, kill the boy and be done with everything. It really shouldn’t be this hard to kill a child. Not for a wizard of his power and age.
A hand closes around his arm and he looks up, ready to kill whoever dares to lay a hand on him. His glare falters immediately as he looks into blue eyes. Eyes that sometimes twinkled when looking at his precious Gryffindors, but never when directed at him. He blinks and thinks he must have hit his head a lot harder than he thought. Apparently he is hallucinating. There is a wand in Dumbledore’s hand. The elder wand. The one that never worked as it should have.
Perhaps not hallucinating, he thinks as he is yanked to his feet. Hallucinations are usually not corporal.
The movement does nothing to elevate the pain in his head and he can feel his stomach turn.
He stumbles as he is half dragged, half carried across the courtyard towards what he thinks is the castle. His vision has not cleared and his thoughts are a jumbled mess.
At some point he realizes that he should probably do something about the pretender dragging him along. He still has to kill the child and get his followers in order.
He lifts his free hand and tries to muster enough concentration to call his power. He hits something with the curse but not who he intended.
"For Merlin’s sake," the pretender mutters and he feels himself being shoved into the nearest wall, face first. He blinks as he feels something lock around both his wrists.
Something cold and solid.
At once he feels something change. It’s like a door closes. And he can feel the glamour flicking out of existence.
Before he can contemplate too much about that, he is dragged off again.
This time he tries to resist. His mind is still too scrambled to make sense of the situation.
All his resistance accomplishes is a burst of pain that makes his stomach revolt.
He should kill the pretender and go back and look for the child. He reaches for his powers but metaphorically runs into a locked door.
Right, the cuffs.
Vertigo overtakes him and he sways.
If the pretender had not been keeping a hold of him, then he would have ended back up on the floor, he thinks.
As it is, he remains standing, but the movement stops.
A hand cups his jaw.
He tries to move his head away but the grip is too strong. Once more he tries to blink but his vision is still swimming and he can’t get a clear look at the person in front of him.
"You really did hit your head pretty bad, didn’t you?" the pretender says. "Perhaps that was for the best."
The voice is familiar but he can’t place it. Then he is dragged along again.
I really should put an end to this, he thinks, confused as to why he hasn’t.
Before he can ponder more, the pretender lets go of him with a forward shove.
Unprepared, all he can do is try and catch himself as the floor comes towards him.
He is somewhat successful. He lands on his knees and manages to put his hands out in front of him. The stone floor is cold under his hands.
The hand from before is back, this time in his hair. A chair and blue robes come into view. Not clearly, but better than before.
He looks up into those strangely familiar eyes as the pretender sits on the chair without breaking his hold.
The legilimency prob takes him by surprise and his natural occulmency shields locks in place automatically, blocking the intrusion. The slight prob turns painful as it deepens and presses.
If he had been feeling better, then he might have been able to resist more, but in his current predicament and with his magic out of reach there isn’t really much he can do. He tries to move but magic holds him in place.
It’s extremely painful. There is no other word for it. He has never had someone force their way into his mind before and the pain is quite spectacular. It adds to the other pain from the head wound and makes everything go even more hazy.
A distant part of him feels a tad bad for everyone he has exposed to this. He has never had the patience for long interrogations when he can simply pluck the information straight from their minds. Of course, his approach most often left the poor mind broken.
It gets harder to think as his mind is turned upside down and sideways. He tries to follow what the man is looking for but quickly gives up. The pain is too much.
Then, suddenly, it disappears and the hand in his hair lets go. He falls sideways, catching himself on one arm.
The headache has risen to new heights and his stomach is now threatening to empty for real. He swallows and blinks.
There is a darkness threatening at the corner of his eyes and he can feel himself starting to lose consciousness.
For a moment his vision finally clears and he looks up at Dumbledore.
It can’t be, he thinks distantly. The man is dead. Snape killed him.
The darkness edges closer.
Dumbledore watches him. He looks angrier than he has ever seen him.
"You probably have a concussion but the wound will not kill you."
Fear. Cold, unrelenting fear hits him like a bucket of ice cold water. It clutches at him in a way it has not done since he was a child.
Combined with the darkness creeping closer and closer, he can feel himself panic. His breathing becomes uneven and then he can feel himself falling.
(---)
He does throw up when he finally comes around again.
The pain is still there. Worse than before, which seems impossible.
For a moment he believes he must be dreaming. This can't be real. The old man can't possibly be alive. He just can’t.
You know it is possible, a part of him says. After all, you managed to resurrect yourself. And Snape was never the most trustworthy spy.
The thought of the old man alive makes him throw up again.
His head is pounding and his mind is still shaken by the legilimency attack. Correction, the whole of him is shaking, he discovers.
He lifts his left hand and tries to stop himself. It doesn't help much.
The bracelets or manacles around his wrists catch the light. They simmer with light and familiar magic. His own magical signature. He can feel it, even though he can't feel his own magic.
These are of his own design. He made them. He had forgotten about those. Unfortunately he knows they work perfectly.
How ironic a part of his mind says.
The room is bare, except an open doorway that seems to lead into a small bathroom. And a door that he doesn’t even bother to check if is locked or not. It will be locked.
There is no window but there are some torches placed high on the walls that do cast some light into the small room.
“For Heaven’s sake”, he mutters to himself, resorting to the words from his childhood. “Get a grip, you have been through worse than this.”
That was true. He had survived the muggle war. He had survived Slytherin. He had survived his travels and two wars of his own making. Lost both wars though. To the same child.
He gives a horse laughter deprived of any humour.
Then he sobers. What now?
One thing was losing the war with Dumbledore dead and buried. It was quite something else to lose the war with the old man alive and kicking.
The fear comes back with a vengeance. Fear of dying. The prophecy. He is mortal now. The bloody golden trio took care to destroy all his horcruxes.
Ironically the shaking becomes worse, as does the headache.
It is just pain, he tries to remind himself. You have had worse.
Actually, he isn’t too sure about the last one. The pain truly is excruciating. It consumes his thoughts and makes it difficult to think.
The door opens and he blinks against the much brighter light that floods in from the corridor. It makes pain bloom behind his eyes, adding to the rest of it.
He really should stand, make a fuss, fight. Something.
Only he doesn’t have the energy for anything.
The legilimency prob is just as painful as last time. Probably because he really tries to keep his shields up this time. He is a natural at both legilimence and occlumency but without his magic to help, the shields are not as strong as they should be. Still, he does give Dumbledore a bit of a fight. Which, unfortunately, only results in Dumbledore using brute force to get his way.
By the time the door closes behind the man, he is breathing hard and he can feel himself shift in and out of consciousness. His head feels like it’s splitting open and he can’t concentrate. He knows the danger of using extensive legilimency on a person. Too much could destroy the mind.
Only, he is pretty sure that Dumbledore wouldn’t care much if that happened.
The fear comes again, this time accompanied by an overwhelming feeling of helplessness.
It is easier to just let the darkness claim him.
(---)
He concentrates on breathing. Anything else proves too much. In, hold and out. Repeat.
His body is shaking with pain. His head is pondering and he has periods where he blacks out. He has long since lost track of time.
Dumbledore has been back several times, each one as painful as the next. At some point he has lost count. He almost doesn’t bother trying to resist anymore. He has no energy to do so and it is rather pointless at this time.
The fear is there constantly at this point. Dumbledore doesn’t seem to care if he breaks him and he can feel himself slipping further and further away. At some point he is afraid that he simply will not wake again. Or the body will wake, but he will be gone.
He retches but nothing comes up. Just painful cramps as his stomach tries to.
The cold floor feels like a blessing against his heated skin.
He curls up, hoping to elevate the pain in his stomach and goes back to concentrating on his breathing.
Eventually he falls into something of a slumber.
(---)
A kick to his midsection wakes him. The pain brings him back into reality.
He has no energy and as such he doesn’t put up a fight when he is hauled to his feet and dragged out the door.
He blinks against the bright light of the corridor and tries to look at the two Aurors that are escorting him. They look familiar but he can’t concentrate past the pain to remember who they are.
Darkness creeps him from the edges of his vision and he can feel himself black out.
(--)
He comes to and finds himself on the floor, laying on his side. At first he thinks it is the cell, but there is a carpet under him. He blinks and movement somewhere makes him aware that he is not alone.
Red robes come into view in front of him and he can barely contain a flinch. Fear of another round of legilimency takes a strong hold and for a moment he struggles to breath.
Please, he thinks.
Not sure what or who he is pleading to.
Someone crouches down in front of him and he closes his eyes. Like a child trying to hide from a monster that is real.
“The cuffs seem to work,” the person in front of him says. “I have to admit, Albus, I did have my doubts.”
There is a rustle and he assumes the man has risen. The darkness comes again and he can feel himself starting to drift off.
“They should,” Dumbledore’s familiar voice says from somewhere. “Tom did, after all, design them himself.”
(---)
“-could be dangerous.”
He keeps his eyes closed as sounds start to filter in. It’s a girl’s voice this time.
“I am well aware of the risks, Miss Granger.”
“Is there no law against torturing prisoners?”
Stuipd girl. Of course there is, but in times of need, they will be ignored. Dumbledore isn’t that much of a moral man.
A sigh.
He can remember those sighs. Dumbledore would often sigh when addressing a young Tom Riddle. He never had anything to pin on him, but he always suspected him.
“There is, of course. But, the first hours and days after the war are crucial to make sure we get as many of Tom’s followers as possible to make sure they don’t try to rally to free him. The only one that knows all of them by name is Tom. And I can assure you that he would never have told me this information, no matter how polite I asked.”
“He looks half dead. Can he even stand?”
He wonders if the girl remembers that he has tried to kill her on numerous occasions. Such concern for the man who tried to kill her best friend as a baby.
“I am not going to lie and tell you he is perfectly fine, but he is not mortally damaged.”
“His body no, but his mind?”
“Hermione,” another familiar voice said. Harry.
Harry Potter. The boy who lived.
He wondered what ridiculous title he now has.
The darkness comes again, like a wave crashing towards the shore.
(---)
“She gets a bit carried away.”
The girl must have left at some point but apparently the boy is still present.
“Hermione has a good heart,” Dumbledore agrees.
“What are you going to do with him?”
His breathing stops for a moment. Do the two of them know he is awake? The darkness dragges at him but this time he fights to stay conscious. He quickly loses that fight.
(---)
The room is silent when he next wakes.
He blinks and tries to lift his head. It takes two tries before he can manage to lift it a couple of inches.
The pain in his head and body comes back with full force. As does the nausea.
He tries to breathe through it. When everything settles he tries to sit up. His body is stiff from laying on the side for however long he has been there, and protests against any movement.
To his surprise he finds himself alone in the Headmaster’s office. Only the phoenix is present. Staring at him from its perch. Bloody thing never liked him.
The room still looks like it did when Snape had been Headmaster.
Before you killed him.
He manages to push himself into a sitting position, but he can feel that trying to stand would be impossible. The body is so weak, that even the arm supporting him is trembling with effort.
A sound alerts him to the fact that the door is opening.
The fear hits with renewed force as Dumbledore enteres. He closes the door behind him.
He looks like he did that day in the Ministry. Tall, white beard. Horrible purple robes. Blue, hard eyes. His face is serious with anger simmering just below.
“Coming around, I see,” he says as he crosses the floor.
It takes most of the energy he has left to not flinch as the man approaches.
He has never feared Dumbledore as many people seemed to think. He has respect for the man’s powers however. Dumbledore is a powerful wizard and not someone to be underestimated.
His body, on the other hand, does fear the pain Dumbledore has inflicted on it so many times in the past hours? Days? And his mind seems to be in agreement.
And one thing is facing Dumbledore when he himself has full access to his powers. To face him powerless and a captive however, is something quite different.
He draws back as Dumbledore crouches in front of him.
“Look at me,” the voice is soft.
That is the last thing he wants to do.
You are being childish.
Slowly he does look up and feels himself freeze in place when pinned by the cold, blue eyes.
He feels the legilimency prop. Gentler than before. He blinks and it’s over.
Dumbledore nods, mostly to himself it seems as he stands.
“It seems like I haven’t done too much damage.”
That’s comforting. Or perhaps not. He is sure there is more information Dumbledore would love to gain.
The man walks over to his desk before returning with paper and a muggle pen. The paper is attached to a hard cover, making it possible to write on. He crouches back down again and puts both items on the floor.
“I don’t think your mind can take much more at the moment, so I will offer you the chance to give me information voluntarily. I suggest you take it.”
He looks down at the pen and wonders if he will be able to hold it, not to mention writing. Carefully he picks up the pen.
“We have lead on Nott, but earlier this day he disappeared. We believe he has an unplottable house somewhere. I want to know the hideouts he might use.”
Betraying his own followers.
You never cared about them.
That was not true. He had cared about Bellatrix. Rodolphus had been someone he did appreciate.
Nott however. He had been useful but not much else.
Still, it doesn’t matter what he thinks or how much he cares, or doesn’t. Dumbledore will get the information one way or another. The only question is if it is given or taken. He starts writing. His hand shakes too badly for the first words to be readable but it becomes better.
He doesn’t bother to try and lie or leave something out.
Dumbledore goes to sit behind his desk but he can feel the blue eyes watching him.
He holds out the paper and the pen when he finishes. He feels exhausted from the little he has done.
“I assume this is complete?”
He tries to glare at the man, but it simply takes too much effort.
“Good.”
(---)
He is left alone for what feels like a long time and he uses that time to sleep.
Sometimes when he wakes he finds food. Water is accessible in the bathroom. If he can muster enough strength to get there.
Most of the food is left untouched because he can’t manage to keep it down. Which doesn’t help his overall form. He remains weak and that annoys him.
When he does have some strength he tries to unravel the magic in the cuffs. They are after all made by him and logic implies that he should therefore be able to open them.
Time. He needs time.
And he needs to keep his mind intact.
Which in turn means he needs to cooperate with Dumbledore for the time being.
Luckily the man is not one for revenge.
He is not so sure about the aurors but so far he has been left alone.
It is almost surprising that he has not been cartered of to Azkaban. He knows it is because Dumbledore wants information and Hogwarts is almost more secure than Azkaban. He would never have attacked the school if he had known that Dumbledore was alive.
(---)
The door opens and two Aurors from the colour on their robes, enter.
He has managed to push himself into a sitting position but he is pretty sure he can’t manage to get to his feet just yet.
“Get up, scum,” the closest snarls and kicks out at him. The kick connects with the soft muscles of his tigh. He gives it a try but fails and ends up back on the floor.
The Auror, Dawlish is it, raises his wand but the other one puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t. He will not be walking any better if you curse him.”
“Should kill him,” Dawlish mutters but he does lower his wand.
Instead they drag him to his feet and out of the room. At some point he finds his balance but he is well aware that if they let go he will fall back down.
He expects them to drag him back to Dumbledore’s office for more interrogation, and is such surprised to find himself in the Great Hall.
The large room is empty. The four tables moved to the sides, leaving the large open space in the middle empty.
They shove him to his knees in the middle of the room. He manages to catch himself before he lands with his face against the hard stone floor. When he looks up he sees Dumbledore, Potter with his two sidekicks and a man he recognises as Kinsley Shacklbolt.
“It is your choice, Harry,” Dumbledore is saying, a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
He is really just a boy.
Why did I become so frightened that this child could ever hurt me, he wonders. He can’t remember anymore. At some point he had become obsessed with the prophecy.
“Why me?” The boy asks. He is clutching his wand and looks like he wants to be anywhere other than in the room.
“The prophecy,” Shacklebolt answers. “We can’t afford for him to get away like he did when you were a child. We can’t take the risk. It is either you or we will find some other solution.”
“The Dementors?” The girl asks, her tone sharp.
“Doubtful. They were his allies.”
The conversation is confusing for a moment until realisation hits hard. They want the boy to kill him. To finish the prophecy.
He feels cold and a panic he has not felt since he was a child creeps up his spine.
The boy steps closer and he feels like one of those deers caught in the light of a muggle vehicle. Frozen in place, waiting to die.
Another step and then another and the boy is in front of him.
“Harry, you don’t have to do this,” Dumbledore assures him from behind.
“It would be preferable if you did,” Shackelbolt replies forcefully.
Green eyes lock with his and he is sure the boy can see the fear in them.
There is anger there.
It would be strange if there wasn’t, he thinks.
Adrenalin shoots through the body and before he can really plan, he uses what little strength he has left to launch himself at the boy. His hands close around the boy’s throat and he squeezes.
It as stupid thing to do in a room with six other wizards but he doesn’t care.
They both fall to the ground and then he can feel himself being thrown backwards. He hits the floor and sees Dumbledore closing in on him. His face set in anger.
“That was completely unnecessary, Tom,” he snaps and his wand appears.
It really was, he realises as the red coloured cruciatus curse hits him. He manages to register his surprise that Dumbledore uses an illegal curse, just before the pain drags him under.
The pain can not be described. He has used the curse plenty of times himself and has experienced it once og twice himself, but that was child's play compared to the power in Dumbledore’s.
“Leave us,” he can hear Dumbledore instruct the rest over the ringing in his ears.
The blackness appears at the edge of his vision once more. It’s becoming familiar by now. A part of him wants the darkness to drag him under, to give him relief from the pain. Another, stronger part of him, is scared of what could happen while he is unconscious. He struggles to stay alert and tries to focus on the world around him.
A voice. Potter. “I am sorry, Professor.”
“There is no reason to be sorry, my dear boy. It is a noble thing to choose to spare a life, even someone who has caused so much suffering as Tom has. Taking life is hard and it stays with you.”
Oh, thank Merlin or God or however that listened.
“Will you be able to keep him contained?”
A small chuckle. “Tom isn’t the first Dark Lord I have defeated. It will not be a problem. Go with your friends. I understand you are leaving for the Burrow today.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I do hope you will enjoy this summer.”
The relief of hearing that the boy could not stomach becoming a murderer gives way to exhaustion and he loses the battle with the darkness once more.