It was cold. The air hung heavily around anything living.
He sat crouched with his feet on the cold, stone floor against an equally cold stone wall with his hands behind his back. They were bound together by rope that didn't seem to budge no matter how hard he tried to free himself, and so they made deep friction-induced burns on his wrists. His whole body was nearly frozen as he was only wearing crudely sewn rags to cover his lower half. His glasses were long gone, and he hadn't held his wand for what seemed like decades now. All he had was himself, the ropes binding his hands, and the rags that barely covered him which did nothing for the chilly air.
He didn't actually know how long he had been in this desolate place, for it seemed like an eternity to him. He had no clue how the raging war outside the walls around him was progressing; whether it was more in his favour or not. He could only hope that someday he might be freed from this place and he could feel warmth again. Warmth from someone's touch... the sun... or anything. He had been so cold for so long.
The only thing he did know, was he was sat inside the enemy lines. He had been captured not too far into the mess of the world, and he wondered how anyone could survive without their precious 'boy who lived', he thought bitterly more than once. Since the beginning of his life, his years at Hogwarts, or in anyone's eyes at all, he was only that: the boy who could somehow, someday conquer the Dark Lord. How was he supposed to even do that, bound by magical rope in the enemy's dungeons?
Harry Potter, the supposed saviour of both the wizarding and muggle worlds, was tied up in a cold dungeon, far from any other life.
How had he managed to get himself caught? What was his fatal mistake? Harry had asked himself these questions as many times as time itself permitted, and still the reasons were hazy. He had been searching for another bloody Horcrux with Hermione and Ron – he often wondered what the fate of his two best friends were after his capture – and before any one of them could foresee it, they had fallen into a trap. A trap that would be impossible to get out of. Luckily for them, Harry was the only one the enemy was interested in. Hermione and Ron were supposedly sent to tell the world how the Great Harry Potter had been captured. Harry couldn't be sure, but he didn't think their job was that easy to just spread the news. He could hope it was, however.
Even hope seemed to be slipping away from him as he sat day after day in his tiny cell. It was rare anyone came down to either feed him pointless 'meals' or question him about their opposing side's motives. He rarely spoke, resulting in his throat closing itself. He surrendered to the mute willingly.
Today, whether it was day or night he could not tell, he would have a visitor. The owner of the house the dungeons were buried underneath would make his appearance. Lucius Malfoy, in all his blonde malevolent desires, would grace his presence upon poor, helpless Harry Potter.
Harry was jarred from his thoughts has he heard the creak of the door from far away it seemed. He imagined he was going deaf as well from being kept in silence so long.
The door opened and from his blurred vision, Harry made out the blonde head bobbing his way at a moderate pace. A Malfoy couldn't possibly rush, or walk too slowly he thought, mentally rolling his eyes. Even if Harry was trapped for all eternity, he refused to give up on life completely, so he chose to humour himself at any chance he got.
Lucius finally arrived at Harry's door in all of the grace his family stood for and stopped to look down at the grungy creature he was keeping beneath his pristine home. From his slightly clearer vision now, Harry could almost see Malfoy's sneer on his face. The lines were blurred, but he was almost positive the trademark facial expression of all blonde Malfoys was there on the face before him.
"Hello Mr. Potter," Lucius said with silky venom dripping from his very core, "it seems, surprisingly enough, you have not died yet. For again, you seem to be evading your demise."
In the past, Harry might been infuriated at his statement, but right now it really did not bother him at all. Before, he would have even retaliated in defence, but his throat was far too dried and tight to say anything at this point in time. He just shrugged as lazily as he could and returned his gaze to his feet.
Lucius had actually been hoping for some daring retort from the boy, but was greatly angered at the sight of him shrugging his shoulders and breaking the stare in which he was trying to break the boy with. How dare he simply shrug away like he thought higher of himself.
If Harry could, he would work his mouth into a smile, feeling the raging battle beside him. He knew Lucius would be enraged at a simple shrug of the shoulders at a comment he meant to burn. He knew Lucius wanted Harry to snap back with some futile remark or insult from his cell.
Lucius seemed to have visibly calmed himself down, reminding himself that it wasn't appropriate for him to show anger. He turned to leave, abandoning his plan to break him today seeing as it would be useless. He turned and stopped abruptly, with a new plan in his wicked head. If he could not have an effect on this useless child, perhaps another could. He shoved his hand in his rope pocket, withdrew a stale piece of bread and tossed it just outside the cell's barred doors. He turned again and briskly walked out of the chilly rooms below ground.
Harry looked up from his spot on the floor and followed the bobbing blonde head out again. He cocked a brow, wondering what the decision in the man's head could have possibly been. He shrugged again, placing an 'unimportant' tag on this thought and rolled on his side to fetch the bread left for him.
The outside world was suffering. The Dark Lord and his followers had swallowed up all the light and warmth in the world and there was no where left to go for the good. Wizards and clueless Muggles had given up hope long ago, and were certain the very near future was a world shrouded in a heavy blanket of darkness. Ever since their Saviour was lost, they lost all hope. All their problems rested on one child's shoulders. He was no longer a child, but still a child of the rest of the world. Harry Potter, the only one who was believed to be able to rid of the world of darkness forever, had been swallowed by the very thing he was meant to extinguish.
The war of the century had brought many deaths and prisoners of war. Prisoners who were later placed under the Imperious curse and made to add to the death count with their very own families. It was a horrible sight to witness, and most just hoped they would be murdered quickly to get away from it all. There wasn't even a point in fighting anymore - it was clear which side had won.
The wizards and witches of the Light believed Harry Potter was gone for good; killed the day he was captured. A majority of the Dark believed this as well, since none except the Dark Lord's innermost circle knew where the Potter boy was. The only people that knew for sure that Harry Potter was indeed still alive were the Malfoys and the Dark Lord himself.
Thanks for reading! There will be a part two someday. (I'm busy...)