A/N: From the album Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin. Written by Benjamin Burley and Jason Rauch. Released August 11, 2009 on the Hollywood label. Produced by David Bendeth. I make no money from this story.

I WILL NOT BOW

Now the dark begins to rise

Save your breath, it's far from over

Leave the lost and dead behind

Now's your chance to run for cover

Harry huddled in the small cage in the dungeon, waiting for whatever would come. He'd been captured months ago, and still no one seemed to come for him; to rescue him. Malfoy had been to his cell many times, gloating over the fact that no one cared where Harry was. Ron and Hermione were with the Order now, and were reveling in all the attention they'd received for their 'invaluable' help, according to the Weasel's bragging.

They were even helping Dumbledore groom Neville Longbottom to be the new Boy Who Lived. Never mind that the clumsy Gryffindor didn't even match the prophecy; the Dark Lord hadn't marked him in any way as his equal. That was Harry Potter. Draco had laughed long and hard over that, telling Harry that Longbottom couldn't fight his way out of a nest of kneazle kittens.

Nevertheless, Severus' information on the Order meetings gave the Dark Lord hope, so Harry's days were certainly numbered. The prophecy itself had been pulled painfully from Harry's mind by Severus, who seemed to derive a great deal of sadistic pleasure as he did it. He'd also pulled other memories from Potter's mind, memories surrounding the boy's upbringing, which made the Potions Master smirk gleefully, malicious intent in those dark, dark eyes. Those memories were given to the Dark Lord, who watched them impassively. Still, Harry was surviving, albeit not comfortably, in the dungeons, and no torture or obvious abuse of any kind was aimed at him. Small mercies, but mercies nonetheless.

"Where'd those scars come from, Potter?" Malfoy asked as he slowly prowled around the hunching teen. Harry's flesh had pebbled into goosebumps at the frosty air in the dungeons; the meager, moth-eaten blanket lay undisturbed in the corner of the cell. Harry had lost his shirt a while back. Apparently, Bellatrix Lestrange had wanted to look at the supposed strength of the 'defeater of the Dark Lord', and had spent long hours poking, pinching and pulling at his chest, trying to get a rise from him. Voldemort had specifically decreed that no one was to use any means of magic on the boy, so she resorted to the hands-on approach, but soon grew bored with his unresponsiveness.

"Why don't you ask Snape, Malfoy?" came the tired reply. "After all, he spent a few hours mind-raping me for information. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to share what he learned with you."

"I want you to tell me," was the snotty response, while cold, elegant fingers stroked along the long, thin marks that crisscrossed his back. Harry flinched away from those cold digits, before settling back into his hunch, shivering. There was a rustle of sound before the blanket, which didn't feel scratchy anymore, was flung over his shoulders. Harry's hands grasped the edges, feeling the soft material under his fingers, and pulled the blanket more firmly around his frame.

"My muggle relatives hate me," the raven answered in a monotone voice. "They use any excuse to hit me, or treat me badly. The marks on my back are from my uncle. He has a willow tree in the back yard, and when he feels the need to 'let off steam', he pulls one of the thin branches, strips it of bark and leaves until the green is showing, and uses it to whip me."

Behind him, Malfoy's eyes had grown wide with shock and rage, but Harry was sunken into his own mind, his memories playing painfully before his eyes. "Dudley and his friends like to beat me up, too, and they sometimes use the knives they carry with them. Aunt Petunia never lays a finger on me, but she ignores everything her family does to me. She works hardest to pretend I don't exist, until the chores need doing."

It was the slam of the cell door that alerted Harry that Malfoy had left, and he let his chin fall to his chest, fighting not to release the tears that stung his eyes. I wish they would kill me already. I don't want to be here anymore.

I don't want to change the world

I just want to leave it colder

Light the fuse and burn it up

Take the path that leads to nowhere

The clanging of the cell door startled Harry; it had been several days (weeks?) since Malfoy had visited, and Harry was expecting to be left to rot on the cell floor. Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape strode into the cell, grabbing the teen by his arms and hauling him to his feet. Food had come very sporadically to the cell during his stay; he had learned from the Dursleys how to conserve small bits of it for later; so he was weakened by the lack of food and nutrition.

They dragged him through the dungeons and up the stairs, the teen trying to get his legs to work enough that he didn't have broken toes, then threw him to the floor before the Dark Lord. So, Potter, he hissed in parseltongue, have you changed your mind yet about joining me? Harry raised his head and looked at Voldemort. The older man was hard-pressed to suppress the gasp at the deadened gaze that met his eyes.

Watch the end through dying eyes

Now the dark is taking over

Show me where forever dies

Take the fall and run to Heaven

Harry stood at the parapet in the astronomy tower of Hogwarts, watching with dead eyes as the Dark Lord's forces overran the weak attempts at resistance from the Light. Every now and then, one of the Order would look up at him, betrayal in their eyes, before turning back to the battle. It was because the Light refused to use any magic even bordering on the Dark that they were being defeated as badly as they were. Harry couldn't care less. They had abandoned him as soon as he had been captured, and, once he returned, they fell at his feet, begging for his help. Voldemort had given the teen the option to either join him, or die. Harry chose to die; however, he wanted to see the Light fall before he went to meet his parents in the afterlife.

And I'll survive, paranoid

I have lost the will to change

And I'm not proud, cold-blooded fake

I will shut the world away

"I've changed my mind, Potter," Riddle hissed as he entered the rooms in which the raven was staying at Malfoy Manor. "I've been convinced by the young Malfoy that you should live, despite your desire to end it all."

"Why should you care if I live or die?" Harry questioned in a deadened tone. "After all, you have the world now. There's nothing left for me to give you."

"That's not true," Tom told the teen as he stalked angrily up to him. "Are you really set on satisfying the Light-minded fools and just give up? Are you so ready to hand them such an easy victory over you?"

Emerald eyes lit up with power as the Dark Lord spat those words at him, and he stood from the bed, glaring at the other man. "No," he barked harshly, teeth bared in a snarl. "They've taken everything else from me. They won't take my pride."

I will not bow

I will not break

I will shut the world away

I will not fall

I will not fade

I will take your breath away