Okay, guys. This is a tad bit different from the stuff I usually write. This story is AU, Dark!Harry. If you like stuff like that, enjoy reading! If not, click away :D

THC Round 4: Out Of This World

House: Slytherin

Class: DADA

Entry: Standard

Prompt: [Trope] Dark!Character

Warnings: Mentions of torture, depressing thoughts, Dark!Harry (meaning this story is AU)

Word count: 2998

Betas: Butterflies765, Aya Diefair, Hope

And now, on with the fun! Hehe

Free At Last

That freaking name ruined everything.

Not only had it ruined his childhood and innocence, but now possibly also his chance of success. One second of lost focus, one second of not thinking before speaking, and it was over.

"Harry, no!"

But it was too late. Before they could do more than curse, the sounds of people Apparating could be heard all around them, curses shooting through the air. They were trapped.

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" A tall man sauntered up to them, sidestepping the dozen other Snatchers that had their wands pointed directly at them, making it impossible to flee. He circled them slowly, deliberately, and eyed them like prey as the tent behind them went up in flames. The tattered, very dirty cloak that he was wearing was ripped along the hem.

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to stand as still as possible.

"I have to say, Mr. Potter, it is not easy to find you," the man said somewhere to his right. "So, I have to thank you for being so generous of doing us the favour."

A whimper from Hermione had Harry clench his teeth.

"And you must be the lovely Miss Granger." The shuffling noise of the man's footsteps stopped. For a moment, the only thing Harry could hear was his own rapid breathing and the occasional giggle from one of the Snatchers. "Well, it's a real pleasure to meet you."

With one quick motion, the leader ripped his wand upwards and slashed it through the air, hissing the words that had haunted Harry ever since his fourth year, "Crucio!"

Hermione's scream echoed off the trees as she collapsed and started twitching violently. Harry closed his eyes and squeezed them shut tightly, forcing all the air in his lungs out and new air in. His right hand reached for Ron's forearm and tugged on his sleeve. They couldn't do anything to help her at that moment, no matter how difficult it was to just stand by and watch.

He felt the coarse fabric of Ron's old jacket against his skin just before the redhead pulled his arm away. "Stop it!" he yelled, taking a step towards the Snatcher that was torturing Hermione, and Harry's stomach dropped. "Stop it now, you asshole!"

"Incendio."

Harry's eyes flew open at just the right moment to see the fire curse shoot towards Ron, lighting his jacket on fire.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." The leader shook his head and looked at the horrified Ron, who had started swatting at the flames licking up his chest. "Manners, Mr. Weasley, are a virtue. As is patience. Both of which you seem to have little of."

He shot a dismissive glance at the trembling Hermione who struggled back on her feet before strolling over to where Harry and Ron stood, the latter helping her stay upright.

"Well, Mr. Potter," the Snatcher said softly and showed his yellow teeth, "as you have probably forgotten, there is a taboo on You-Know-Who's name, to ensure that only those who are worthy address him, which, I believe, you aren't."

He turned towards the other Snatchers who had still trained their wands on the trio, some calmly, some twitching with energy, and raised his arms. "So, we have come to make sure that you will not say it ever again."

A chuckle ran through the ranks of the dark wizards as the leader turned back and leant in so close that Harry could smell his disgusting breath. "However, how we will ensure that depends on who you are. Or should I say," he looked towards Hermione who was still being held upright by Ron, "what you are?"

"What do you want from us?" Ron demanded loudly before tightening his protective hold on Hermione.

Harry bit his lip to keep from yelling at the redhead. He just couldn't keep his damn trap shut, it had always been like that and Harry had never been more aggravated by it than now.

"You will see, Mr. Weasley." A wide smirk spread across the Snatcher's face as the others split into two groups. "You will see."

Six Snatchers closed in on Ron and Hermione. Two gripped one of their upper arms, respectively, drawing a pained yell from Hermione, before twisting on the spot, Disapparating.

Harry's heartbeat accelerated as he stood there, alone, in front of the burned-down tent, facing seven Snatchers. He had a very bad feeling about this, and something told him that wherever they had brought Ron and Hermione, he wouldn't go. At this point, he started to doubt that he'd ever see his friends again.

"Don't worry about your friends, Mr. Potter," the leader said in a tone that could have very well been meant to be calming but was absolutely doing nothing to calm him down. "Where we are going, you'll have other worries. Trust me."

A mad cackle escaped the man's lips as, as if on cue, the other Snatchers gathered around him, grabbed his arm, and Disapparated with a loud crack.

*~*HP*~*

Darkness. Coldness. Emptiness. Bone-crushing fear and despair.

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat as he watched yet another Dementor float past his cell.

"Harry, be safe. Be strong."

"Avada Kedavra!"

A blood-curdling scream.

He shook his head as a shudder ran through his body.

He didn't know how long he'd been here already, but he knew that he wouldn't last long. Whoever was in charge here - oh, who was he kidding? Voldemort was in charge of everything by now - had made sure he wouldn't have one single second of breathing time. Dementors were outside his cell at all hours. Every minute, every second that he breathed, they were there, lurking, feasting on his emotions and memories.

But this couldn't be his future, could it? Voldemort wanted to weaken him, there was no other explanation for throwing him into Azkaban otherwise. The dark wizard knew he wouldn't have a chance to kill him in a fair fight, so he tried his best to ensure that he'd win; that blood purity and supremacy would win.

Harry was sure that his incarceration was all over the news by now. After all, it was something that could be used to elicit even more fear and desperation in people, pushing them to join Voldemort's ranks instead of fighting them. It also meant that the Order knew. They knew he was trapped, and since the prophecy said that he had to be the one to vanquish the Dark Lord, they'd do everything in their power to get him out of here. Right?

Yes. The Order would come.

They would come.

*~*HP*~*

"You are nothing, Harry Potter. Pathetic. Unloved. Weak."

"Harry, no!"

"Be safe. Be strong."

A violent cough shook his body as he rolled into a tighter ball in one corner of his cell. The dark shadows of the Dementors were moving slowly along the bars, their slimy, grey hands touching the metal time and time again. Their rattling breaths echoed off the cold walls.

It felt as if he had been here for over a month now. He couldn't be too sure about that, obviously. His cell or the corridor leading to it didn't have a window, so he couldn't count the nights. The guards barely came to see him to bring him food, fearing the Dementors. The soul-sucking beasts were still around and would start feeding on the guards. Eventually, at least two of them had ceased to bring him food altogether. Their shifts weren't regular either, so he couldn't say for sure when the only one who still brought him a stale slice of bread and a jug of water would come by.

In short - he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been here, wasting away, with barely any food or water. If Voldemort were to come by now, he'd have no trouble in finishing him. He probably wouldn't even need to focus too much, as Harry could barely move as it was.

"No, not Harry! Please, I'll do anything!"

"NOOOOO!"

Another cough ripped itself through his throat, leaving his lungs feeling raw and aggravated.

Where was the Order? They had to know by now that he had been taken. Where were they?

*~*HP*~*

They wouldn't come. Nobody would come. He'd die here, soaked in sweat and urine, weak and defenceless.

Nobody cared about him. He should have known sooner; he should have accepted it sooner.

"You're nothing."

Why had Dumbledore brought him to the Dursleys otherwise? If not to show him just how unwelcome he truly was? How much of a bother he was? Why had he never done anything to get him out of there - he had seen that he'd come to school malnourished and weak!

Dumbledore hadn't cared. He had lied to him all his life, used him to his advantage. He'd never been more than a pawn in a sick battle of prowess.

A lone tear ran down his cheek as the realisation sank in. He was alone.

"Get out of my sight, boy!"

"Admit it! You put your name into the goblet! I know you did it! Piss off!"

"How would you know? Your parents are dead!"

They'd never come. Never.

*~*HP*~*

The rattling breathing of yet another Dementor pulled him out of his restless sleep. He didn't know whether he'd dreamt anything, but he felt even more exhausted than the last time he had woken up.

He blinked open his eyes and, through the mucky, bent glasses, he could see a slimy hand slowly, longingly reach for him.

"There isn't anything left," he wanted to say, but although he moved his lips, no words came out.

"Be safe. Be strong."

He wasn't safe. He wasn't strong.

He felt like a complete and utter disappointment. Here he was, not even able to talk. How was he supposed to win the war? How was he supposed to…

Harry blinked and rolled onto his back.

No-one had come to save him. None of his friends, none of the Order had bothered to get him out of there. All he had been doing all his life had been because of some form of responsibility - a responsibility that Dumbledore had planted into his mind and made him believe that it was his duty.

He had been the one who had made sure that Voldemort didn't receive the Philosopher's stone. He had been the one to save Ginny and Sirius. He had been the one who had had to witness Voldemort come back to power, who had been lured into a trap and had had to watch the only father figure that he'd had die. It had been him that had had to live with so much on his shoulders, so much responsibility and fear, without being able to count on anyone.

So why in the name of everything that was holy should he still do what everyone wanted him to do?

Dumbledore had only told him what he'd felt like, Ron had left him at the first opportunity, not only during their time in the tent but also back in fourth year. Hermione, the girl who he had always been able to rely on, to talk to, had given up on him as well. Even the Order… No, especially the Order…

Harry was supposed to be the Chosen One. But how could he do all the things the prophecy named if nobody was there to help? If they dropped him at the first sign of weakness? The Daily Prophet had been a wonderful example for that, and if he'd had the clear mindset that he had now, he'd have known that what they had done was the true side of the wizarding community.

Harry Potter was only good enough until the dark side got the upper hand. Why bother afterwards?

"Unloved. Weak."

"Your parents are dead!"

The coldness that had surrounded him for so long now, the one he had struggled to keep away from his very soul, surrounded him.

"Get out of my sight, boy!"

"Oh, Harry. How could you?"

He didn't feel anything as the reality of that epiphany hit him. All he could feel was a growing emptiness inside. There was nothing left of the Harry that had been pushed into this dingy cell all those months ago. All that was left was a shell filled with cold determination.

He was done with them all. He couldn't rely on them. Why should they be allowed to rely on him?

*~*HP*~*

By the time something happened, he'd lost all sense of time. To be completely honest, he'd lost the will to care. He sat slumped against the back wall of his cell, the one furthest away from the wandering Dementors, as he felt something he hadn't in a while.

Painfully slowly and with an immense effort, he raised his head and glanced towards the left side of the bars where he had come from all those months ago. Or had it been years? The distant shouts he could hear over the usual moaning of his fellow inmates were coming closer and closer until the dark brick walls lit up.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and lowered his head to rest against his drawn-up knees to shield himself from the bright light. A wave of warmth and calmness enveloped him, and he felt his heart give an excited double beat before going back into its usual slow, lethargic rhythm.

He knew that feeling from somewhere. He knew that strong light, and he knew what it meant, but…

"Oh, my God, Harry!"

Harry couldn't bring himself to lift his head. He had stopped caring a long time ago, and although he'd never thought of hearing his name again, he didn't feel excitement or… relief. Just the welcome emptiness that had kept him company for such a long time that had helped him keep his head clear and his intentions strong.

"Harry, can you hear me?"

He knew that voice. He'd heard it before; he was almost certain of it.

A warm hand touched his cheek, another one came to rest on his shoulder. "Harry, please look at me. Say something."

The voice was annoying him, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't stop bugging him if he didn't listen, so he slowly opened his eyes and raised his head. The person crouching in front of him was a young woman with brown, bushy hair, and brown eyes. She looked familiar. Her voice sounded familiar. Was he supposed to know her? Couldn't she just leave him alone?

"Harry, do you recognise me? It's Hermione."

Hermione. Huh. That name sounded familiar. Wasn't she one of those who were supposed to have picked him up ages ago - someone he couldn't trust, someone who had dropped him like a stone?

His neutral, slightly dazed glance turned cold as he glared at her. He felt a small spark of something exciting as he saw her flinch away from him. He hadn't felt anything in so long, he didn't want to lose this now.

Knowing he could barely talk, he tilted his head slightly further and looked at the people standing behind her, all of which he had the feeling his past self would have known, maybe even respected. All he could feel right now was the sweet sense of anger blossoming in his chest, filling the huge hole with an enticing spark of energy.

"Potter, we need to get you out of here," the dark-skinned man in the middle said and motioned for Hermione to pick him up and follow him. "The Horcruxes have been destroyed. It's only him that needs destroying now."

"Why now?" His voice was so weak that even his ears barely picked it up.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione's hold tightened on his upper arms as she tried to lift his unresponsive body up.

"Why bother now?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter!" The man scoffed and marched forward. He pushed Hermione to the side, reached forward, and lifted Harry off the ground. "We need you to kill You-Know-Who. Then we can all relax and pity ourselves but before he's gone, we can't allow ourselves to do that."

"Kingsley!" Hermione's affronted gasp filled the tense silence as Harry's sluggish brain caught up with the meaning of the man's words.

Pity ourselves? Oh, how wrong he was. Harry felt his lips twist into a mad grin as he looked the man in the eye. The slight flash of insecurity and fear that he saw in the other's eyes was balm for his soul.

"I will not do anything of the like," he whispered softly as he stared into the shocked, brown eyes before him. "I. Do. Not. Care."

"Excuse me?" Kingsley baulked and pulled his hands away from Harry's fragile body as if he'd been electrocuted.

Harry's knees hit the stone floor with a dull thud, but he barely felt any of the pain. All he felt was the sense of rightness as his suspicions proved to be true.

"You heard me," he mumbled softly as he forced his legs out from underneath him. His skin scraped across the rough floor, tearing open in the process. "For all I care, Voldemort can go and kill each and every one of you. I won't help anymore. I've done enough."

"You don't mean that, Harry."

He turned towards the red-haired boy standing next to Hermione and laughed. He couldn't help himself. He just laughed and laughed and laughed and allowed all of the energy he'd possessed to leak out of him like poison.

Their shocked faces were hilarious and filled him with even more sparks of… of something nice. It felt powerful. He felt powerful. He kept laughing, even as he felt his wasted body collapse into an unresponsive lump.

He was free at last. If that meant every one of the good guys died, so be it. He didn't care.

Okay, I really enjoyed writing this. I might write more Dark!Harry fics in the future, so keep an eye out for that :D

Until next time - see ya! :D