Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Justice was a lie. Dead. The corrupt use justice as a cloak for their actions. They use government and laws to hide their power. Power that surpasses even monarchs of old. Instead of an individual who could be overthrown, it was now a collection of cabals who were no longer centralized, no longer vulnerable or accountable. They were faceless now, and in that facelessness they were free to do as they will as long as they allowed others to do the same.
Harry was in shock. His wand was just snapped.
It was like a limb he didn't know he had was severed. His magic was no longer in his grip. He tried to keep hold of it but it just slipped through his fingers like water. His mind followed down the well of darkness where his magic was falling until splashing into the freezing cold.
Cold. Cold and emptiness. That's all he could feel.
Then the laughter started. He knew that laugh. He's heard it in his dreams. The darkness parted to reveal the dark stone walls of his cramped surroundings. He tilted his head and saw him. Voldemort. That disgusting noseless face smirking at him through the bars.
"Welcome home, Potter," he said before lifting his wand. "Crucio!" And Harry screamed. Oh he screamed. Screamed until his throat bled. Until he couldn't breath. Until the cold emptiness reclaimed him.
Potter… something whispered to him. Potter … someone repeated. He couldn't think clearly. It was so cold. Potter … he recognized the voice. Potter … this one he didn't recognize, how odd. Potter … now he was annoyed as more voices, more whispers tried to reach him. He was so cold.
Voldemort came back, time after time, cutting into him with his dark spells. Sometimes he would change things up and flay his skin or boil his blood when the crucial got too predictable. He would always fall into that cold emptiness again and when he did the whispers returned.
He was sick of those whispers. He was so tired and cold. Too weak, without his wand, his magic. He didn't know how long he had been there or where he was. It looked similar to pictures of Azkaban he supposed but he couldn't be sure. Why would Voldemort be able to visit Azkaban and wouldn't there be Dementors? The place felt cold but he hasn't heard his mother since he got here so it couldn't be Azkaban right?
He was tired of thinking. And the voices kept calling his name. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't hope. Despair was choking the life out of him slowly, sapping his will to live, his will to fight back. Potter! The voice was crystal clear this time, sending a jolt of awareness through him, and for a second, he forgot about the cold and the despair.
"CRUCIO!" And then he remembered.
He would be reminded a few more times before he tried to focus on the whispers, to hear them more clearly, to crawl up to his cell door where they became louder as he grabbed the bars. Potter! He could hear from the hall and as he focused on the sound the darkness in the hall receded a bit and came into focus.
He was in some kind of cell block and he could see other prisoners in their own cells. Death Eaters! And across from him was none other than Lucious Malfoy himself. As he looked around he could see other members of the Inner Circle, the ones who helped resurrect Voldemort that night.
"Potter! Get us out of here!" Lucious hissed, confusing the teen. He must have seen the expression on his face as he elaborated, or tried. "You're the only one who can!" Well, not very hard.
"He can't help us you fool he's as clueless as ever!" Now this was familiar, both in the voice and in the attitude. Snape was expelling air again in the only way he knew how, with a stench of something awful.
"What are you talking about Snape? I don't have a wand and why are you here too? Aren't you both Death Eaters?" Harry asked, not understanding why Voldemort would be imprisoning his own servants along with him.
Black smoke suddenly began filling the room and Harry backed up into his cell as he could hear some gasps and whimpers from different cells. The dark fog pooled in front of his cell and drew inward, rising into a humanoid figure. The shape formed robes and limbs before growing a head. Pale colouring was added as Voldemort was revealed and walked from the center of the hall to his cell.
"Well, well, look who finally decided to open their eyes. Looks like I might actually have to put some effort into this from time to time after all." Voldemort said as he came up to the cell.
"W-what's going on?" Harry questioned.
Voldemort smirked, trying to decide if he should tell him now or let him figure it out on his own. In the end he decided to make sure he saw the look on his face when he did so he would have to be here to tell him to do so.
"You are my prisoner. Isn't it obvious? The fact that others see you as my equal really is pathetic. Haven't you noticed there is no toilet? You haven't drank or eaten anything since you got here, now why is that? Do you feel hungry? Thirsty? Any bad dreams?" Voldemort questioned as if speaking to a much smaller child, shaking his head after seeing no recognition in Harry's expression.
"I see I have to spell it out for you even further. Hogwarts really has gone down hill since I attended. I suppose I will have to use smaller words. You see Harry, your physical body now belongs to me. What you are seeing here is the inside of your mind, or at least the part I reserved for your soul and the souls of my Death Eaters." Voldemort explained to the confused and frightened youth. "Clearly this will take multiple sessions before you understand your situation so I'll finish by saying this… CRUCIO!" Voldemort yelled as he jabbed his wand forward, laughing madly as Harry once more screamed until the darkness claimed him.
Voldemort came by again and again to taunt Harry about him no longer being in control. About him being a prisoner for the rest of their now eternal lives. How the souls of the other Death Eaters have granted his new body what he has sought all these years, true flight from death, a blend of power and immortality.
"When you had your wand snapped, something in you snapped along with that connection and you sought a new one. You found an old connection created the night I visited your parents. I was too consumed with the pain of my first body's destruction to notice. But after my fourth body became dust, and I entered your mind; I found another me, an older me. And as we came together, I learned. Not only about that night; but also about this place, this palace. Once built by a small fragment of my immense power, it has grown with the souls of those connected by my dark mark. With the combined power of thousands of followers across the globe now in one body, I will conquer this world. And you, young Harry, will be my witness." Voldemort laughed at the horror stricken face of Harry that formed little by little with every word he spoke as the truth set in.
He only used a bone breaker and bludgeoning spell to knock him against the back of the cell wall this time. Laughing as he disappeared in black smoke. Harry was left broken on the floor and in pain. But at the back of his mind came a thought. Pain. Voldemort wanted him to feel it. It's why he was taunted. If this was his mind it explained why he wasn't simply killed. And if he somehow drew in the other souls from some connection the night his mother died and Voldemort's dark mark, fine. But why is he just telling, and not showing. Voldemort has shown him things before, gotten him to believe and do things to get his plans in motion. Why would he not show his body being used?
This thought would repeat itself time and again as Voldemort would visit to taunt him. It would strengthen his resolve as he would torture him. It would plant a seed in his soul that would grow after each visit. After each failed showing of proof, after each missed opportunity to fully break him. He would begin to hope. Hope that Voldemort did not truly have control just yet. That if he did he would have shown him images of his conquest, of harming or fooling his friends or family. But all he used was pain and lies. He knew the truth.
Harry and the Death Eaters weren't the only ones trapped. Voldemort was too. He just made himself a bigger cell. This isn't a palace made by Voldemort at all. This was a prison that kept souls. Kept them from taking over his body, and Voldemort was just another inmate. This was his mind, his body. And Voldemort would not claim it from him.
Harry turned from the bars and faced the back wall of his cell. Raised his hand and commanded the stone to move. And it did. The bricks moved apart and receded into the walls, the ceiling and the floor to reveal a long hallway with double doors at the end. Freedom. He began to walk forward only for a cell door wrapped in chains to appear where the wall once was, barring his escape.
Harry spun around in anger to see Voldemort outside of his cell door. His wand was out. "Potter. You surprise me, but it won't be enough. There is no escape and no way for you to beat me. I am the strongest wizard here. Stronger than my followers and stronger than you!" Voldemort yelled out as he sent a crucio at Harry, once again filling him with pain.
Pain turned to righteous anger and determination as Harry rose one knee at a time before standing straight and gritting his teeth in a grin. "You're absolutely right, you are the strongest here," Harry said as he waved his hand and all the cell doors of the other prisoners opened, letting them spill into the hall in which Voldemort stood. "And l believe it's time I used that."
As the other prisoners conjured wands into their hands, Voldemort spun around to raise shields. He immediately felt the impacts of magic from his former followers. Those he now is in direct competition with for the host body. Where he once stood as the usurper he now would unwillingly become the gatekeeper. They would need to get through him and he, through all of them.
Harry turned around and tapped the chains with his finger, shattering them and walking through the opening door, closing it behind him. Looking back to see Voldemort and his followers all fighting for their ambitions, preventing each other from ever achieving freedom. Justice may be a lie, but punishment is real, and it's only the first. Not all those who deserve punishment wear dark marks.