Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any kind of profit. Otherwise, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction...nor would I be working at Wal-Mart...
Cold.
He was in trouble, he concluded as his mother's dying screams faded from his mind. The hard metal shackles bit into his wrists as he lay shivering on his side on the filthy stone floor. They were bound behind him where a short rusted chain connected him to a bolt in the center of the floor. His harsh breathing reverberated around the room as a sliver of pale moonlight filtered in through the bars on the only existing window and caressed his pale, sweating face. The dementors had finally decided to give him a reprieve, he concluded; either that, or they had been ordered to retreat, in which case there were several pros and cons.
Pro: He wouldn't be so damn cold.
Con: They'd likely be back.
Pro: He would finally stop reliving all of his worst memories, at least for a short time.
Pro: The 'someone' whom had ordered the dementors away likely did so for a reason. That reason would likely be that they were coming to visit him.
Con: Said 'someone' likely didn't have his best interests at heart.
Con: There was only one person he knew who could control a dementor.
Con: If this was the case, said 'someone' really didn't have his best interests at heart.
Con: The cons were starting to seriously outweigh the pros, and his chances of getting out of here– wherever here was– alive were dwindling.
As his mind further came back to him, he assessed himself for injury. Other than feeling weak and a massive headache that made him feel like his brain was leaking out his ears, he seemed relatively uninjured. Now for the next pressing issue, where the hell was he, and how did he get here? Things began to fall in place as he desperately searched his memory...
Several cloaked figures seemed to exude darkness as they stood in front of a moderately-sized house with a flawless lawn and immaculate garden. Everything about this house screamed uniformity and normality, as did every house on the street.
It was a shame that they knew better.
For living in this house in the smallest bedroom where his only remaining relatives reluctantly allowed him to stay, was an extraordinary young man. This young man was about as abnormal as one could possibly be, for he was a wizard (and a rather exceptional wizard at that). It was a shame, therefore, that this wizard hadn't remained awake for just an hour more. Perhaps then he might have noticed the ominous group of wraith-like beings silently standing on his doorstep, preparing to intrude.
The tallest intruder, surrounded by an air of authority and with the slightest whisp of platinum blonde hair escaping his cowl, raised his hand, paused for a rather dramatic flair, and then let his arm drop in a signal to enter the silent house. The party made their way swiftly through the bottom floor to the lone staircase where they again paused to listen for any sign of movement. Hearing no indication that anything was amiss they scaled the staircase. Just as they reached the top, a large groan emitted from the third last stair and the blonde man spun around and furiously regarded the careless fool whom had been the cause of such a mistake. The cowering man recoiled and stood there shaking, wishing to be somewhere else as the livid gaze burned a hole in his skull. After several tense moments had passed and it seemed that the occupants of the house had not been disturbed, the leader sneered at the quivering waste of flesh and spun around to continue down the hallway.
As the unwelcome houseguests reached the padlocked door with a catflap (presumably for sliding in food), a long gleaming stick of wood was placed at the lock. A whispered word later and the lock clicked open to admit entrance to a small, dark room that contained only a bed, a bedside table, a damaged wardrobe, a small desk, and a rickety chair. The leader cautiously and silently proceeded into the room, his smoky gaze sweeping the room, and landed on a small lump tossing fretfully in the center of the bed. His face was illuminated slightly by the moon through the slats of the bars on his window, giving his pale appearance an ethereal glow.
The remaining members of the party remained in the hall as there was hardly enough room for just the one person. The sinister shadow advanced upon the restless young man and hovered above him. As if he could sense the imminent danger, his eyelids shot open and connected with those of his abducters. Immediately, he flung himself to the floor on the opposite side of the bed and brought the sheets down with him in a tangled mess while overturning the bedside table. The man wasted no time in bringing out the gleaming stick of wood and muttered a couple words, shortly followed by another stick of wood shooting towards him from the direction of the disoriented youth.
"Come out, P–"
The man was interrupted mid-taunt as the young man suddenly darted up from where he had fallen with the bedside lamp in hand. He reared back and let it fly with all his strength towards him. This was so unexpected that he barely threw himself out of the way hearing it collide, or rather hear the curses of those in the doorway it had collided with. As he attempted to right himself, he was violently pushed aside as the youth collided with him, attempting to make a run for it. Just as he was about to reach the doorway, where he was no doubt about to take his chances with ramming through the others in their disorientation, the blonde raised his arm clutching the stick, and fired a jet of red light into his fleeing back. The young man immediately dropped to the floor landing at the others' feet with a muffled grunt while they stood scowling at him.
Said young man was abruptly shaken out of his thoughts at the approach of footsteps and the increased pain pounding in his head. He gritted his teeth so as not to cry out. This was not looking good, anyone but him...
The footsteps halted just outside his cell and the door was wrenched open. Two pairs of feet marched in and roughly grabbed him and hoisted him up by his shoulders, restraining him from moving. 'As if I'd have the energy to run after who knows how long I've spent with the dementors bringing up every unpleasant memory I have,' he scoffed. His wrists remained shackled behind him, but the rusted chain became unfastened from the floor so as to give him enough leeway to stand. His chin was grasped by long, abnormally cold fingers and his head jerked upwards to meet the red eyes of Lord Voldemort.
"Harry Potter," he greeted, an extremely satisfied smirk twisting his serpentine face.
Though the pain in his scar was intensified with the contact, he refused to scream. 'I'll not give him the pleasure!" he thought savagely.
"Welcome to my humble abode! I hope you find your lodgings...comfortable."