Hi again. This chapter is really short so it didn't take long to do. It's short for two reasons; the last one was really long and secondly I thought that this chapter should really stand alone because it is quite important.

Please enjoy.

Walking Free

The Revelation of Regrets

Every part of his body ached. A dull throbbing coursing through his veins was always there these days; the remnants of the Cruciatus curse he guessed. He was lucky though, he thought; they hadn't come for him in days. They had left him alone to recover somewhat. In some ways, that was worse. Not knowing when they were next coming. The long wait, anticipating their next move, scared him more. The long wait meant he had time to worry about the torture that would happen; there was no doubt about that, it would definitely happen. The long wait left him wanting death to approach faster, to close its grip around him, squeezing the last breath out of his damaged lungs so that he could be left in peace.

He shivered. The cold air of the dungeons was an anguish he could never escape. It was always there, waking him after an evening of torment and agony. It reminded him that he lived and breathed still. It was there, teasing him of the freedom beyond the closed dungeon door, reminding him of the cool summer breezes he appreciated so much during his holidays at Privet Drive as he worked in the garden. He recalled the harsh winter winds that sailed through the cold crisp air of the Scottish mountains where Hogwarts sat, observing each season as it came.

The constant drip of water coming from the ceiling splashed too loudly as it landed on the stone floor in a puddle nearby Harry's blindfolded figure. That was the worst part, he thought to himself often. The 'plop' of water onto the ground next to him created a monotony that drilled away at his nerves, endless, unstoppable. That, and the desire to remove the blindfold from his bloodied and bruised face, were the things Harry hated the most when he was alone. As these thoughts crept into his mind once more, he heard the uneven patter of feet on stone, a tell-tale sign that Pettigrew was on his way down to the dungeon. Harry hoped it was to bring food but the sudden increase in burning of his scare told him that regrettably, Voldemort required his presence.

Harry heard the mechanics of the door grinding loudly as Wormtail unlocked it. The door swung open with a groan, slamming against the wall and back again due to its momentum. The next thing Harry knew, the wheezing man had grabbed his arms, pulling him into an upright position. Harry let out a piteous moan and fell back slightly. The arms were there again, this time dragging him to the wall behind him, and leaving him leaning against the brick for support. Harry grunted and shuffled his tired body into a somewhat more comfortable position.

'Hello Harry.' The whisper greeting could only have been uttered by Voldemort; no one else had the ability to send such a blood curdling shudder up Harry's spine with only two words. Silence followed. The only sound that Harry could make out was the wheezing to his left.

'Bring him upstairs, Wormtail. I wish to have a talk with Mr. Potter.' With that, the Dark Lord left the room, leaving the short, chubby man to his job. Harry's heart was pumping wildly in his chest. He knew that a talk with Lord Voldemort meant one thing; pain. When Voldemort was given an answer that did not satisfy him, he let you know only too clearly. Harry had come to learn that fairly early on.

Harry whimpered as the strong hands grabbed him, around his chest this time. 'No, please.' he croaked as the man began to drag him across the floor. Harry kicked in every direction, hoping he would make contact with Wormtail's legs.

'Stop!' Wormtail called out but when the boy in his arms did not cooperate, the animagus slapped the boy's face with his metal hand.

The impact of the hand on the side of Harry's head almost knocked him out. Crying out in agony, Harry stopped fighting, and instead, focused on trying to breathe through the pain. In doing so, he couldn't recall how Wormtail managed to move him out of the dungeon and up the stairs but eventually, he found himself being strapped onto a table of sorts. His arms, which were usually tied behind his back, were now laid down on the surface with straps over each of his wrists.

'Remove the face-cover.' Voldemort snapped at the servant as he surveyed the boy on the table before him.

'Yes, o-of course, master.' the servant stuttered as he turned and yanked the coarse bag off of Harry's head.

Harry didn't know until the bag had been removed, just how much light it had kept from his eyes. The brightly lit room blinded the boy momentarily. He moaned and squeezed his eyes shut as they burnt from the light. He blinked a couple times, adjusting to the lighting as he lay on the hard table. The final time he opened his dull green eyes, the well-lit room had dimed slightly. Belatedly, Harry realised that it was due to the face hovering above his own. Voldemort looked down on his captive with a gruesome smile.

Had Harry been wearing his glasses, he would have recoiled, but his poor eye-sight, coupled with the adjustment his eyes were making because of the light, meant he could barely see anything in front of him. He squinted at the face only inches above his, his heart drumming at his ribcage, banging sickening fear.

'We need a little talk, Harry. I will get straight to the point.' The Dark Lord moved away from the boy and walked slowly around the table. 'I trust you will cooperate this time. You remember what happened last time you displeased me.' The last part was not a question. Lord Voldemort knew Harry remembered, he had made sure of that; however, Harry remained silent. He knew he had to be strong. He would not let Voldemort break him. 'I think, we shall start from where we were last time.'

Lord Voldemort placed his mouth next to Harry's ear and whispered softly, 'You remember where we left off, don't you?' Harry shuddered and as the man moved his face from him, he raised his hand and delicately stroked Harry's cheek. Harry jerked away and cried out as the pain from Voldemort's touch rippled through him.

'The prophecy, Harry.' he said expectantly. 'The prophecy says you have the power to vanquish me, Harry. What power is this? What power do you have, that I, Lord Voldemort, do not possess?' Harry remained silent. 'Answer me!' When Harry refused to speak, Voldemort slashed his wand down, creating a long cut from Harry's shoulder all the way down to his hip. Buckling and grunting in pain, Harry turned his head away from the wizard and took a couple of gulping breaths. The intense stinging from the bleeding wound across his front made his eyes water, something he wanted to keep from Voldemort. 'Tell me! Tell me what you know!' But yet again, Harry refused to speak. He didn't know what Voldemort wanted from him. Dumbledore had told him the prophecy but that was where Harry's knowledge on the matter ended. So the process continued. Voldemort questioned Harry but received no answer. The punishments grew in intensity each time the teen failed to answer the Dark Lord. By the end of it, Harry could not have said how many times he had been whipped, cursed and stabbed. He was left gasping for breath, on the brink of losing consciousness, when Voldemort asked a final question for the night.

'Look at you!' he spat. 'Weak, pathetic! And to think,' he said as he strolled round Harry and passed Wormtail, who had remained in the corner for the entire time, 'you believe you have to power to vanquish me, don't you Harry?'

'Yes.' Harry's reply was almost inaudible. Voldemort turned a piercing glare onto the boy and was about to punish him once more when Pettigrew spoke up.

'Master, what, what i-if the boy is right? W-what if he has the p-p-power?' he stuttered.

Harry yelled out as his scar seared with pain. He heard Voldemort scream in anger and shout a spell at the servant before Harry was sucked in the wizards angered thoughts.

'The boy cannot kill me. I cannot die.' he thought to himself. 'They will keep me safe and whole. I cannot die!' Had Harry not been in such a state, he may have questioned himself, later on, as to what exactly it was he was seeing; however, the pain from the torture he had just endured and the agony of being inside Voldemort's head left him dully watching and listening to the wizard's thoughts.

In a rush of colour, Harry watched in Voldemort's mind as a series of thoughts and pictures flashed before him. A small run down shack came into view for a moment, followed by a ring with a delicate stone placed in the centre.

'The ring is hidden safely in the Gaunt's old house. No one would ever come across the ring; it was well hidden.' he thought quickly, before the images changed onto another object. A very familiar black leather diary came into focus. 'Destroyed years ago in the Chamber of Secrets.' he thought, 'No matter. It is only one. There are plenty more to protect me.'

The next image Harry saw was a small golden cup, decorated delicately with an engraved badger and a few jewels. 'Helga Hufflepuff's cup; hidden in this very building, Malfoy Manor, protected by Bellatrix.' he thought and as he did so, the image of the magnificent manor with peacocks running free in the grounds came to mind. 'Nagini, as well.' The great snake jumped into the forefront of his mind. 'Nagini will forever be safe. I will not let her be harmed.'

'Slytherin's locket.' he thought as the image of the gold necklace with the intricate pendant flashed through his mind. It was quickly followed by thoughts of the cave in which it was protected. 'There is no way anyone will find the locket. It is too well protected. As is the Diadem, Ravenclaw's Diadem.' he thought to himself as the crown popped into his mind with the quote 'Wit before measure is man's greatest treasure' engraved across it. Just before Harry lost consciousness, he found himself standing before an old, stone wall, watching intently and with an immeasurable amount of glee as a large wooden door grew before him, allowing him entrance into the room where he could hide his precious object.

Harry's eyes snapped open as he turned to his side and vomited over the edge of the bed, his stomach churning, flipping in circles. Tucking himself into a ball, the teen took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. A film of sweat covered his forehead, which burnt fiercely, and his whole body shook, not from the cold but from the horror's he had witnessed. He whimpered as another wave of nausea swept through him. Clenching his stomach with his hands, he again moved his head over the side of the bed and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and remained in the same position, curled up tightly on his right side, rocking himself slightly on the bed for what felt like an age. A small trickle of blood had begun to make its way out of his nostril and down his chin; he ignored it, choosing instead to stay in his current position which gave him a feeling of protection.

Upon opening his eyes a while later, Harry found himself in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. The dreary curtains that covered the grimy windows let in some of the early morning light and the chatter of birds that met Harry's ears from outside told him that the sun had just risen. Harry did not move. He was a mess, he knew it, but he just couldn't force himself to move. The memory, and Harry was positive it was a memory and not just a dream, confirmed what Dumbledore had spoken to him about down in the kitchen a while ago. The last Horcrux was the Diadem and Harry knew where it was, he knew where to find it.

The triumph that Harry would have felt about this astonishingly lucky gain of information just did not exist; instead, Harry was left thinking about the connection between Lord Voldemort and himself. It was convenient, was it not, that Harry had been able to see into Voldemort's mind. Convenient that Voldemort had accidently shared with Harry, the whereabouts of his Horcruxes, the key to his destruction.

'Connection' Harry whispered to the empty room as he subconsciously rubbed his burning scar. That was what Dumbledore had called it. The aged Professor said that there was most likely a connection between Voldemort and Nagini because of the Horcrux. Surely, that was what Harry's connection to the Dark Lord also meant? Harry had asked the Headmaster how a living creature could have contained part of someone else's soul. The Headmaster's answer was a simple one; there was a connection. A connection that allowed the Dark Lord to have access to his mind? That was what Dumbledore had said about Nagini; Voldemort had possessed his snake. And isn't that what Voldemort had done to Harry all those years ago in the Ministry? Voldemort had possessed Harry just as he had done with his snake.

Harry closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. If Nagini had to be killed in order for the Horcrux inside of her to be destroyed, surely Harry would have to die too. He was a Horcrux, one of the seven. The last one, unintentionally made by Voldemort when the Dark Lord tried to kill him as a baby. It had to be. When else could it have happened? And it must have been a mistake on Voldemort's part otherwise, why would he have tried to kill him- one of his own Horcruxes? The prophecy did say that Harry had the power to kill Voldemort, but surely if the Dark Lord had known about the Horcrux inside him, he would have been more careful about keeping Harry locked away, keeping what was resting inside Harry safe? That way he could keep that part of himself alive and strong and prevent Harry from destroying him at the same time. It was obvious- he was the last Horcrux- the Horcrux Voldemort never meant to make.

The headache that had plagued Harry since he had woken intensified and the nosebleed refused to cease, blood continuing to tumble over his lips, but still, Harry did not move. He lay there, cocooned within his blankets, appreciating life while he still lived, listening to the birds chirruping to one another, serenading each other with their own song. He had to die. He had to die. It had always been a possibility that one day Voldemort would kill him but Harry had never imagined that he would hand himself over to the man, let him steal the life he had tried so hard to protect, fought for, for all these years. It seemed unreal. The day before had been Christmas. He had spent the day with friends, enjoying time with them languidly, looking forward to a possible future with Ginny. He had promised her that he would find her once the war was over, promised her that they could be together, and now, he was planning his death. How could his life have changed so suddenly? It seemed unfair. Yesterday he had been given false hope that one day he would be happy, safe and with someone he loved but now? Now he had been left with the cold, hard truth that he would never enjoy the things in life that other people planned for, wished for, couldn't wait to grow up and experience. His life had come to a sudden stop. This was it - his life – and what did he have to show for it but a body littered with scars and mind full of pain and regrets. He was ashamed to admit it but he had never felt so sorry for himself in all his life.

Another chapter up! Thank you for the reviews.

jafr86- Thanks. I'm glad you like it. :)

xTheBlondex- Good old Malfoy. :) I thought that it would be quite funny if he actually got on with one of the Weasleys and thought that it would have to be Arthur because he's so funny and he works in the Ministry so he and Draco have something in common.

Phoenixx Rising- Yeah, the trio are almost back to how they were, maybe the battle will bring them even closer. :)

Please review!