Last Transmission
Pain, it was all encompassing and seemingly never-ending. Every nerve ending in Harry Potter's body was afire, sending panicked messages to his brain that he was being bludgeoned, stabbed, peeled, and burned. He thrashed wildly against his restraints, two iron manacles clamped around his wrists and attached to the dungeon wall. They rewarded his efforts by digging into his and drawing blood that ran its way down his arms, over his shoulders, and off his back.
Suddenly it stopped, though his body still twitched in remembrance. The teenage boy gasped for air. He had been screaming though no sound had come forth. Blood surfaced along with the air he had just inhaled as a series of coughs wracked his frail form; his lungs had been unable to accept such a deep breath after so much pain. The burning from his screamed-raw throat didn't even warrant attention after what he had just endured, neither did the throbbing in his wrists. He hung limply from the manacles, not quite able to sit upon the stone floor, his entire weight pulling at his shoulder joints that had become dislocated in the pointless struggle against the iron minutes before.
If one could see past the blood that caked the boy's naked body, he would notice the bruises. They spotted the boy's body with stunning regularity, though the worst were around his stomach and chest. Several fingers had been broken from his fist impacting the wall behind him and now sat at odd angles, each touch of them sent a tremor down his arm. A split lip was scabbing over, and the lack of moisture in the boy's system was causing painful cracking of the soft tissue of the lips, and the inside of the mouth. One eye was swollen shut and brilliantly purple, the other half-closed in resignation. Those eyes that had once been such a vibrant emerald green had dulled almost to gray.
These injuries made the person standing before the Boy-Who-Lived smile in sadistic joy, and she gave a shiver of anticipation for that which would come. This was a game, and Potter was a piece. The rules were simple: the boy couldn't die. There was no real ending to the game, no winners, per say. There were only the players, the rush, and the piece. It could only end if the piece was ruined.
"Wittle, bitty Potter, does it hurt?" A failed glare of hatred was cast at Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry's tormentor for the hour. The Death Eaters cycled, those that could be the most creative won more time playing the game. The game had been going for over two hundred forty hours.
"Harry," the sadist nearly whispered in his ear, "you're pathetic. So pathetic." Bellatrix giggled insanely. "Pathetic as pathetic can be, just like my traitor cousin!" Her giggles continued as she clapped her hands together and bounced on her feet. "Bellatrix does not like pathetic people, oh no she doesn't." The Death Eater leaned forward to his ear again, "Pathetic you may be, but you do look good love."
With that announcement she licked his ear and bit roughly into his earlobe. Harry's feeble squirming only encouraged her and she moved her mouth to cover his. The moisture from her mouth stung his cracked lips and Harry couldn't even find the strength to keep his mouth closed to bar her tongue entrance. He could only lie back, about to be degraded in yet another way, and barely muster up the will to care. It was all over, now. He had lost, and that was it. He wondered, briefly between spouts of pain as Bellatrix's teeth ripped into the scabs covering his split lip, when Voldemort would come and finish him off.
Bellatrix's nails ran down his chest roughly, cutting into his skin and peeling away scabs causing blood to flow once again. This she lapped up and fed to him via another kiss. Harry swallowed the plasma with effort; it was the some of the only liquid he had received during his stay.
"Tell me Harry, how does this feel?" Her fingers ran much lower than they had before, drawing across his genitals. Harry managed the strength to blow spittle at her. "Oh?" she responded before grabbing the area in question harshly, causing Harry to arc his back and struggle weakly against his binds. "You don't like rough Harry?" she asked in a singsong voice. "Do you want aunty Bellatrix to play nice?"
A soft gurgle was his only reply, the blood from his throat was attempting to slide down into his lungs; Harry welcomed it. But for Bellatrix, that would not do. After all, the game could continue only as long as the piece was alive. A foul smelling and tasting potion was forced down his throat and Harry felt his resolution die as he was revived.
"Tsk, tsk," Bellatrix cooed. "It wasn't smart to make aunty Bella use the potion, now we get to have more fun!" Her cheerful voice was muted by the despair that Harry felt at his recovery. He barely heard the word before his world was pain once more.
"Crucio."
.:oOoOoOo:.
Harry was awakened with a metal-tipped boot to the stomach. "No rest for the weary," came the sarcastic voice that Harry had come to know well. Platinum-blonde hair greeted Harry's vision as he looked upward and the trademark Malfoy smirk stood on Lucius' lips.
"Tell me Potter, what is it like to know that everyone you have ever loved, if they haven't yet, will die because of your failure?" The emotional abuse barely registered, so far gone was Harry's mental capacity. Lucius laughed, a deep colorful laugh. "They have nearly given up hope Potter," Lucius started again. Harry didn't need to be told who he was talking about, he already knew: Ron and Hermione. According to the Death Eaters that had been torturing him, the rest of the wizarding world had abandoned hope after a mere two days.
"We have a surprise for them once they do Potter, do you want to know what it is?" It was only the sound of strangled breathing that answered the question. "You," Lucius said simply. "Isn't it brilliant?" The laugh once again filled the chamber.
Harry felt his head drooping involuntarily. A quick kick from Lucius, breaking his right leg at the shin, remedied it. Short, quickened breaths were the only indication of pain; tears couldn't even form in his eyes any more. "Pay attention Potter," came the harsh reminder.
"As I was saying," Lucius continued. "Once they give up hope, we will send them you, beaten, bloodied, and dead. Along with you will be a note, and out of respect for you the Dark Lord himself will have written it, thanking your friends for keeping their hope for so long. They will be told that the only reason you were kept so long, and therefore tortured so long, was because they held out hope. How wonderful is that?" Harry's breathing increased in pace and strength.
"I'm sorry?" Lucius asked, feigning sincerity, "What was that? I can't hear you." A minute passed, but Harry was unable to form the words, so badly damaged was his body and mind.
"No?" Lucius queried, a Cheshire grin upon his face, "Well then, you are wasting my time. Let me continue with the story. So, imagine the pain they will go through, knowing that they caused you all this pain! Imagine for a second, the Weasel boy losing his mind and running away to revenge you, only to meet his demise by our hands. Or best, imagine your dear mudblood friend stepping off the astronomy tower to relieve her guilt."
Lucius was awed in spite of himself by the amount of fight that the boy chained to the wall still had in him. The intent of the glare he was receiving, though diminished through swollen eyes, was clear enough, and the fight he was putting up against the manacles was heroic in proportion to his situation. But Lucius Malfoy was not part of the inner circle of Death Eaters for nothing; he showed nothing of his feelings to the boy in front of him.
"I seem to have struck a nerve," the aristocrat said gleefully. "I was so worried that we had killed every one of them already. Time is running out Potter. They had your funeral today. It was, a heart wrenching event. I almost shed tears myself, although my son didn't quite share the same sentiments. There were those, imagine it, that objected to my presence there. The nerve of them. Pity though. It won't be long yet. Not much longer Potter, you should get your affairs in order." Another round of merry laughter came from the man.
"Oh and Potter, I don't appreciate it when you don't laugh along with me."
"Crucio."
.:oOoOoOo:.
"Get up," a rough voice ordered, booking no possible room for argument, but plenty of room for apathy. Harry Potter lay in the same position he had for an indeterminate amount of time.
There was a sickening crack as an elbow fractured his jaw. A soft moan of pain escaped Harry's lips, it was the first sound he had made since his voice went out the first night in Voldemort's hand. The guard smiled, taking sick satisfaction that he had made the boy do so. After several more minutes it was apparent that Harry was not going to be able to get up of his own power, and so the guard reluctantly forced several potions down the prisoner's throat.
Harry felt his jaw instantly mend and his throat heal. A sudden rush of energy accompanied the second potion he was forced to intake. A mental sigh accompanied this improved condition, they would once again be able to hear him scream, and that made everything so much worse.
"Get up!" the guard ordered again, and Harry, not eager to be punished again did so. Suddenly he felt very awkward as blood drained from his head due to lying for so long. The dizzy spell ended with Harry falling to the ground again, his wrists being caught roughly by the iron manacles, and his shoulders being ripped out of their sockets. Harry clenched his teeth, refusing to scream until it was impossible not to.
A second attempt at rising proved better, and Harry managed to stand on his feet as the guard stepped around behind him. Harry suddenly began to sweat profusely as panic began to set in; it was so much worse when he couldn't see what was coming. He heard the guard fooling with the chains, disconnecting them from the wall and then with a spell, fusing them together.
A shove forward sent Harry to the ground again, his legs unable to compensate for the sudden momentum after being unused for so long. With no hands to brace his fall he slammed his face on the unforgiving stone floor, smashing his nose. The guard let out a loud guffaw at his pain and roughly brought Harry to his feet again by the scruff of his neck. Blood poured out of his nose and it was all Harry could do to not fall again as the guard finally told him what was going on.
"You are to follow, you are going to see the Master."
It was Harry's turn to let out a silent laugh, the only evidence of it was in the slight smile upon his face. They were finally going to end the torment. Outside of his cell door the two were met by three other Death Eaters, Harry recognized them all from his torture sessions though he couldn't put names to their faces. The four trouped him down hallways for many long minutes, Harry stumbling along.
While walking up a flight of stairs his legs gave out on him and he fell backwards. The Death Eaters behind let him tumble. A broken arm and callous laughter rewarded him. One of the Death Eaters grabbed his forearm and threw him back into the stairs, pain from his dislocated shoulder flared and Harry barely bit back a gasp. It took superhuman effort to ascend the stairs, and Voldemort's lackeys were becoming annoyed at the length of time the journey was taking. They pushed the pace down the next hallway and as they moved along Harry's foot slammed into a raised stone tile, fracturing his toe and sending him to the ground yet again. Pain shot through his body as all of his already broken and disjoined bones were rattled.
"Get up boy, I'm sick of your delays!" growled one as Harry slowly raised himself. It wasn't easy without use of his hands, which were still chained behind his back, and Harry was forced to use the wall to help, no matter how much leaning his weight on his dislocated shoulder hurt. It seemed the walk would never come to an end, and Harry's exhaustion got the better of him. For a third time he went down, the pain from his injuries blinding him. Try as he might he was unable to get up. A few rough kicks did nothing to help his situation.
Reluctantly the leader of the group ordered, "Simon, pick him up. He makes it to the Master's chamber with no more delays. Let's move."
The Death Eater named Simon grumbled about having to help the child, and roughly lifted Harry from his place on the floor by his broken arm. A sadistic glint in his eye told Harry that is exactly what he meant to do. The pain almost caused him black out, his consciousness hung on by a thread as he was dragged along for but a minute more. Large black oak double doors greeted the troupe and the leader pushed them. They opened with a creak and Harry nearly let out a final laugh, it was almost too cliché to handle.
Before him lay what must have been the great hall of whatever structure they occupied. A long, somewhat narrow room extended outwards. At the end, atop a four-step rise, sat a throne made of human bones. Skulls decorated the crown of its back, jaws open in an everlasting scream, and sockets empty of eyes. On the throne sat what had once been a man, and was now a monster. Voldemort watched the procession with a gleam in his red eyes, the Death Eaters standing around him, six of them, looked on with smiles. Harry's resolve strengthened as he saw that monster of a man, though he would die, he would not die weak.
Harry was roughly dumped to the ground and made to kneel, the stone irritating his already raw and bleeding knees. His bindings were extended to the ground to keep him in position. The only freedom of movement he had was the ability to rotate his neck.
"Harry," came the voice of the monster. The word was drawn out and the voice was raspy. "Can I call you Harry?" Lord Voldemort continued. "I feel that I know you so well. I've been observing you Harry since you arrived. I do hope that we met your hospitality requirements..." Voldemort smiled, a smile that belonged upon the face of a daemon that had just secured its prey, the smile of a sadist in the midst of his tender ministrations. The Death Eaters around, totaling ten, chuckled at their Lord's humor.
"I have waiting a long time for this day, Harry, the day it will all be over. This time, it will end in my favor."
Voldemort rose from his throne and walked down the steps to the broken teen, his blood red eyes staring into Harry's own. The vile, piercing glare seemed to penetrate to Harry's very soul, spreading corruption and evil there, and yet Harry refused to give quarter to the man who had killed his parents and unflinchingly stared back.
"I know the prophecy now Harry. It is interesting, is it not? I must say I'm surprised the old man shared its knowledge with you after holding out so long. Perhaps he didn't think that this could happen and I would become privy to the knowledge." Voldemort suddenly brandished his wand and a memory, Harry's memory, flowed forth, displayed for all to see.
The ghostly image of Trelawney began to speak, "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 approaches...born as the seventh month dies."
As the memory ended Voldemort looked at Harry, more specifically at his scar. "What is this power Harry? Do you even know? I have gone through so many options, it isn't anger, and it can't be love." Harry jerked his head up to look at Voldemort as he said this, Dumbledore had been so certain.
"Does that surprise you Harry? It shouldn't. We have all loved someone at one point or another." Voldemort paused. "I loved my mother as a child, didn't you?" Voldemort's sarcastic remark cut into Harry's resolve to remain even-headed and he spit at his parents' murderer as the Death Eaters mocked him. The saliva didn't even make it to Voldemort's boots, but it caught the attention of the Dark Lord.
"I thought we had beat all the fight out of you already," Voldemort remarked. "No matter, let me continue. I had been hoping as I have watched you over the past three months that this 'power I know not' would manifest, or that you would somehow show it. I want this power, and it has piqued my curiosity to know that some power I do not know exists. For some time I thought that it had to do with the willpower you possessed, but finally, even your will broke. I watched as Bellatrix finally snapped your will to live." The woman in question was giving a bright smile at the Dark Lord's praise. "It was one of the most – amazing – things I've ever witnessed.
"I watched as your eyes changed from displaying despair, to radiating a need for it all to stop. I have to admit that I felt truly alive, and even shivered, as I saw your attempts to get her to torture you to death. But every one of my loyal Death Eaters knew what you were trying to do. We have seen it done many times before. Every one of us is an expert in the game."
Voldemort stepped and his long, pale fingers ran over the curse-scar on Harry's forehead and then ran up and through Harry's knotted, oily hair and forced Harry to return his gaze to his own. The contact initiated a burning pain throughout the boy's body and Harry fought to maintain control of his pain. Once again the two pairs of eyes met.
"Do you know why, Harry, I had forbid my loyal followers from killing you?" Voldemort lowered his face to Harry's. "I thought that it would be poetic justice for me to kill you myself." Voldemort released his grip on Harry's head, letting the boy's gaze fall back to the floor. It was too much effort to keep his neck upright; it didn't matter anyway.
"That is why you are here today Harry. I have just received word that your friends have finally given up hope. They were granted special permission to visit your grave today for just that purpose. I watched them from afar as they put flowers on your grave and cried over your headstone. I am surprised that they held out for so long. Certainly they had to know that nobody survives the hospitality of Lord Voldemort." The man paused before studying Harry's face again.
"Are you relieved Harry? Do you welcome death after living in constant pain for so long?"
A sudden tingling in the Harry's mind alerted him to the use of legillimency, but Harry didn't bother to fight it, he couldn't had he tried. There was only one battle left that he could win, and Harry chose to conserve his strength.
Voldemort pushed his fingers together before exclaiming exuberantly. "Ah, it is!" The tingling suddenly disappeared. "Oh this memory will be fantastic for their gift!" The raspy voice exuded glee in the worst possible way.
"Did Lucius tell you about our plans for your friends? Yes, I know he did. The letter Harry, do you remember? Well, I decided that a letter simply wouldn't be sufficient for the task. Behold!" Voldemort strode a few steps to Harry's left and ripped a black velvet cover from a metal bowl sitting upon a pedestal of black marble.
"You know what this is, don't you Harry?" The teenager's eyes widened in recognition, a pensieve sat there. Harry began to shake his head slowly. Voldemort pressed his advantage.
"Oh yes, we have a plethora of memories to deliver to your friends. Let's see, the memory of your welcoming to the castle. Oh yes, your first crucio here. Then we have Bella's brilliant sexual degradation, that wonderful scene where your will to live finally snaps, your facial expression as Lucius tells you our wonderful plans, and of course, this. Our last meeting; and your demise. Of course, what would this be without a few festivities?"
At this Voldemort walked over to one of the men that had delivered Harry to the room and grabbed his Dark Mark. The man hissed in pain but stood fast. It wasn't long before the pops of apparition assaulted Harry's ears. Minutes after it had begun, it was over. They had all arrived. Harry turned to look out at them; there were hundreds in the crowd. He briefly wondered if Snape was out there, smiling, knowing what was about to happen next.
"My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort welcomed his legions to the hall. "You are called here to witness my victory. Some of you already knew, and some of you did not, but I have had Harry Potter in my possession for some time now. Today, he kneels here before me ready to die." A whispering shot through the crowd of Death Eaters. Voldemort knew to let it go on for a little time. He was not labeled a charismatic leader for not knowing how to cater to a crowd.
"As you all well know, this boy has evaded me for many years, but it has all been in vain. Nobody escapes from me when I want them." Voldemort walked back to Harry and bent down, whispering in his ear.
"I thought I'd be honest with you in the end Potter." Voldemort spat out the name. "I hate you. I hate you for taking thirteen years of my life away from me. I hate you for almost destroying the one thing I have worked so hard for. My immortality. Today Potter, today all those wrongs against me will be righted, and my hate will triumph."
"You know nothing of hate, Tom," Harry managed between coughs, the venom in his voice causing Voldemort to draw back quickly. Had the Dark Lord been able to see his captive's eyes he may have given an involuntary shudder.
Voldemort stepped back from Harry and then in front of him. The boy raised his head until his eyes found Riddle's. Slowly, Voldemort removed his wand from its holster attached to his forearm and lowered the tip to the scar on Harry's forehead. For nearly two minutes there was nothing but silence, the scene held still as if by a photograph.
Suddenly Harry Potter's voice burst forth with a laugh, much stronger than it should have been, hatred of the monster in front of him crystal clear. "KILL ME YOU COWARD! I'M ONLY A MAN!"
A sneer grew upon the face of that monster and as a tear slid down the Boy-Who-Lived's cheek for all those he failed, Lord Voldemort screamed out those two deadly words.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The spell erupted from the tip of his wand as if in slow motion, and immediately impacted the forehead of the Boy-Who-Lived. The result was instantaneous, Harry James Potter's head was flung back from the force of the spell and a shockwave ran through the room, disturbing the cloaks of the Death Eaters and putting out every light. Voldemort let out a primal scream as the bond that had been forged by that same spell many years before was ripped apart by the magic. The oaken doors split with a terrifyingly loud crack as the wave of pressure impacted them and tapestries were pulled down from the walls atop the crowded Death Eaters below.
Everyone was left in darkness, fear coursing through their veins. What had happened? Was Potter dead? What was the matter with their Lord?
"Surely this one was beloved of the fates. What have we done?" one Death Eater was heard to comment before turning his wand upon himself and whispering those fatal words. His body dropped to the ground.
As quickly as it started, it was over. The fires of the torches flickered back into existence, and the screams of Lord Voldemort ended. The Death Eaters cautiously looked up to where their lord had been only to see him laid out flat on the floor. Several of the inner circle members ran to Voldemort's side from their positions to check his vitals. Bellatrix Lestrange could be seen hyperventilating.
"No, no, no!" she yelled out. "This can't be! Potter was broken! He had nothing!"
Lucius Malfoy confirmed what Bellatrix's words implied. "He is dead," he whispered, fear evident in his voice. Panic spread like wildfire amongst the present Death Eaters.
The second war was over, and they had lost.
