*** 2001 ***

Darkness swallowed their faces, that was all Harry could think of as he stared up into the black holes that were supposed to be his pursuers eyes. They stared at him, their wands aimed at his chest.
There was no place left to go, his wand had been taken from him, there was nothing left to use as a weapon.

With their wands aimed at him, the boy pushed himself up against the wall, trying to at least be on his feet as he died and look his executionars in the eyes or the masks, whatever. He refused to let fear rule him, even now.

"Ava ..." but the words were broken of. There was a frozen shock in the Dead Eathers movements as he grabbed for his chest, feeling the blood that started pouring. He tried to turn around, but it was to late and he fell over. The man was kneeling, muttering something, his friend held on to him, turning his wand the other side. Harry could hear the curse. "Ava Kadavra." but the attacker didn't even seem to notice and kept on coming. "Crucio." the man tried. "Expelliaramus."

But whatever curse the wizard used, none of them seemed to grab hold of the man as he pulled out a sword as out of nowhere. The wizard called on for more and more curses, but nothing stopped the swords descent towards his neck.

Harry couldn't keep his eyes of the mark of Voldemort on the attackers arm. It showed clearly as his sword came down. The boy could do nothing but stare at the bloodied blade. Unable to understand what was going on. He wanted to stop it, but the man grabbed his arm, putting a finger on his lips.
"Be quiet, there may be more."

Harry could see it as the man touched him. The fire playing in his body. Lightflashes, how could he not have seen it before? He stood there unable to move, just staring at the lights.

This couldn't be a Muggle. But what was he? Not a wizard either, but what kind of magical creature would dress like a muggle but glow like a fireworm?

A few more of the dark lords servants died as they tried to grab them. Harry was left no choice but to be pulled along, staring at the bodies on the ground

He sat in the back of the car, staring ahead of him, half in shock. The man threw something at him. It was his wand. "You'll have to have it fixed or something." Harry still stared at the back of the man in front of him.

*** 1983 ***

Cold.
Pain.
It all joined up in a bundle of insane images of experiences.
Methos eyed the demon in front of him.
It had to be a demon, what else could and would keep killing and bringing him back to life like this?
He touched the blood, only moments ago the demon had slit his wrists, using his blood for some kind of dark ritual. Methos kept staring at them. Terrified to touch the skin, worried it would open again.

The demon turned back to him, Methos cringed but didn't dare to move. Luckily it left him... well luckily? There were five of the lesser demons in the room. He didn't really mind being a slave. He'd been a slave for most of his life. In all honesty, he couldn't even remember a time that he hadn't been a slave. The pain didn't much bother him either. It was all par for the course. Sure it wasn't pleasant, but it was a master's right and he'd had worse. Only days ago his former master had been beating him, he'd been so sure he'd finally died and then the new master had loomed over him.

How had he gotten here?
When had old Mauri sold him? And why?
Master Mauri didn't believe in getting rid of bad slaves, it gave a person a bad reputation.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he had died and this was the afterworld, his punishment for his disobediance. The gods knew that he'd stolen from the masters breads, they knew that he'd taken pieces of fruit that he was supposed to serve. They had seen him as he flirted with Oona when he should have been minding the herd.
This had to be his own fault. His penance.
But what was missing, wasn't there supposed to have been some kind of judgement, or didn't that exist for slaves?

Was there any way that he would not displease his new master?
Maybe if he knew what he did wrong, the master would stop punishing him?

He curled up, holding on to his legs, trying to ignore the cold.
"Methos."
He jumped up, obeying to the name that wasn't his, with the speed that was expected of him.

He kneeled next to his master, bowing his head on the floor and trying to get as low to the ground as possible. The demon enjoyed it when he did that, when he kissed the mud. It smirked, Methos could see his eyes as the demon pressed its claws in his skin. His long nails leaving a red trail. Some sort of magic played around them and Methos screamed as he felt his life drained out of him.

The air surrounding him seemed to grow colder with every increasing second and Methos trembled under the magics. His throat grew hoarse, but the master was laughing, enjoying his torment.
And Methos feared he knew exactly what would please the master.
It was not a good thought.

He could hear words coming from the masters lips, but he didn't understand, didn't know what the master said. He didn't dare utter his confusion.
But the sounds weren't aimed at him.
One of the masters servants grabbed his leash and got ready to take him back to the cage.
Methos truly tried to get up and follow, but he was to weak to get up.
The master yelled something again.
Methos wanted to plead for mercy, but found himself pulled of his feet and floating in mid-air. He spartled, trying to get free of whatever had grabbed hold of him.
Nothing helped. This was unnatural.

The master glared at him. Anger raged over his face.
Methos froze and held back any sound he could make.
The servant seemed to hurry. With good reason.
Methos fell to the ground mere seconds after they arrived in the cage.
He cradled his limbs and stared at the servant.
The man just nodded and locked the cage, leaving Methos shivering in the cold.