WE HAVE HARRY POTTER

Part 4

Who was he?

He remembered two little black haired boys. A red haired little girl … and every time he thought of them he felt the same sense of love and grief. They must be important to him. He would not be feeling the same gut wrenching pains in his heart, had he not have clearly loved them so inexplicably.

And then, he remembered a woman. She had red hair, like the little girl, and had sparkling, happy brown eyes that he just wanted to stare into. She must mean a lot to him, too.

Sometimes, he saw random flashes of green light, and he knew that that light could mean nothing good; the way he felt whenever he saw it. Anguish. Despair.

He did not even know his name, and nor could he find it in himself to try and find it, in the depths of his ravaged mind. Not when he was in constant, excruciating pain.

Gin. There it was, again. Why were his thoughts constantly rewinding, retracing their steps back to an alcoholic drink? He had no affinity with Gin. Why was he always - what was Gin? A drink? Or was it a food …

He could not make sense of his scrambled mind. He had no clue of how long he had been in here, where he was, how he had gotten here … the only thing that he truly, truly remembered clearly was one word -

Crucio.

That word. That word. It brought a sudden surge of terror pulsating through him, and it made him lock his limbs to brace himself - even though that action hurt excruciatingly.

He thought, perhaps, that his leg was broken. Well, probably more than just his leg. More like his whole body. And his mind. And him.

That was when he wondered. Was he important to the world? Or was he just some other random person?

For some strange, inexplicable reason, he felt as if he wanted to be a nobody. He could hardly fathom his own wants, needs, loves, hates, but all that remained of him were these little feelings, hunches, that gave him the scattered clues towards his lost, long forgotten personality. His ghost of a person, a personality.

He heard a clatter, and then a squeal of rusty hinges, as the heavy wooden door opened up, letting some light leak in through the crevices.

A man walked in, and look at him almost speculatively as he surveyed him. He saw a wooden stick in the hand of the man, the man was garbed in silly black robes, and then he felt a sort of icy surge of terror, the same type as whenever he heard, or thought of - that word.

He clenched his weak, limp hands into fists - or as much as he could, anyway - as the man walked leisurely towards him, staring at him - or, at least he thought that he was; for he was wearing an eerily, almost glowing white mask - all the way that he walked towards him.

The cell - dungeon, really - that he was in was so small, that the man seemed to be leering over him by the time that he was just two small steps away from the place where he was curled up - all dignity was now long forgotten - and he was so very thankful that the man stopped when he did. He might not be able to contain a flinch if he got any nearer.

'Potter.' The man said, presumably by way of greeting.

Potter? Who was Potter? Was that - was that him?

He blankly stared up at his captor, and he could almost feel his eyes go glassy, mist over. He thought, vaguely, that he might look quite insane and dreamy, with his eyes fogged over like this; but he could not find it in himself to care. This was his natural state. He was probably insane. The only thoughts and feelings that kept him going were those images of that red haired woman - and the little red haired girl, and two boys. Sometimes, a woman with brown, puffy hair emerged thought foggy nothingness that was his mind, as well as a red haired man. He seemed to feel happy, when they visited him.

Did they visit him in his dreams? He did not know, nor could bring himself to think about it, to mull it over in his damaged mind.

This was all one big, long nightmare to him. He just wanted go to sleep, for the final time, and leave it all, to sink into that final, blissful abyss.

Meanwhile, the stranger in the creepy, unyieldingly black clothes and presence, was talking, and it was not until something was thrust into his burnt and uselessly weak hands that he had the heart, or the embodiment to listen.

'I wonder what the world will say, when their hero, their saviour -' the man snarled, and spat on him with an alarming amount of fervour, as though he had wanted to do that for years. He did not notice though, for he was covered in so much grease and slime, muck and dirt. Not that he really would have cared, anyway. He got the feeling that he might of, once upon a time, but now, with his brain undoubtedly turned into a mushy sort of substance …

'- has been turned into a vegetable.' Continued the captor, cackling wildly, sounding enraged, hysteric, insane.

That was the last thing that he heard before he suddenly felt like he was being sucked into some sort of excruciatingly tight tube, his bones, - the ones left that were not already broken - felt like they were going to shatter, his head pounded, his body trembled -

And then, he was on solid ground once more, though it was soft, comforting, and a delicious breeze whipped through his disgustingly dirty hair, and he fell back against a cold sort of stone, barely noticing its glowing white pallor before he leaned over it and wretching.

He did not get sick; he had nothing left in him to throw back up.

Leaning back against the cold stone, he blearily glanced at the writing etched upon them; he had to squint - he seemed to be missing something that he could not remember, something that should be perched on the end of his nose and surrounding his eyes.

J - James? He could not remember where he had heard that name before, and why it meant so very much to him, held such a strong place in his exhausted heart.

He barely had time to register, and recognize the Lily carved into the unrelenting, glowing white stone, before he sunk into an abyss of darkness, not knowing whether he would ever emerge from it again.

- Due to the fact that so many people liked the Harry perspective, here's another one. Thank you for your comments! I should have probably given you more time to say your opinion, but I'm sort of trying to combine them. Phew.

WHO DO YOU THINK CAPTURED HARRY?

Please read/review/subscribe. It's so brilliant! Warm and fuzzy and all.. By the way, google the Blob Fish. I'm not even joking, that fish is real, and the coolest - if most weird and creepy thing - you will ever see. I guarentee it.

- Spellmugwump97

Punzie the Platypus- Thank you! James, Albus and Lily are going to be so close, they just have to be, especially in the times like they are in now. Who do you think the Death Eater is? I'm incorporating the 'bursting into Hogwarts' idea, don't worry. It just may not necessarily be with the captor..

Page-394-Always1- I'm not even joking, I love all of your guys' names. 'Turn to page 394.' LOL. What the world needs is a Snape SatNav. 'Reverse or do a U-Turn, you ignorant buffoon.' Anyway, the story. Thank you, I spent ages trawling the internet for one of these, so, I just decided to write one! Thanks, again. As you can see, I've gone with your idea, but the other two will come in, though slightly modififed to fit with the plot. Hope that's alright with you. I see, and agree with your cliche comment.

MuggleHarry16- I'm incorporating Harry's saving! Do not worry! I completely agree with you, Harry definitely needs to be saved sometimes, too. Well, here it is! Amazingly quick, too, may I add!