Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.
Author's Notes: Righto. One review! :D I nearly did a snoopy dance around the room when I saw that. However, doing a snoopy dance after getting pummeled by a very disturbed horse is not generally a healthy idea, so I refrained. So Darkaus gets hero-of-the-day award.
The Flight From Death
Chapter II: Captivity
"Should...kill...avoid...."
"More...alive...fool...Crucio!"
Harry's eyes snapped open, his pulse pounding in his ears. The jumble of conversation he could make out sent him into temporary shock.
What had happened? Emerald eyes closed for a moment, shutting out the distant murmurings as he strained to recall the events that had occurred. A nightmare...his Uncle ordering him out of the house...IWormtail./I He jumped mentally, eyes forced open once again, taking in the blurry surroundings. If only he had remembered to bring glasses! Squinting furiously, he was nonplussed to find that there was no one nearby, no one standing guard over Harry Potter.
Something wasn't right.
Perhaps he hadn't been captured! Like a balloon the hopeful thought inflated rapidly to the point where he half expected Albus Dumbledore to stroll on over, and he craned his neck around to search for the cheerful Headmaster.
And then he saw them.
They surrounded him, like a flock of towering shadows, distanced enough to prevent the nightmares from plaguing him, yet close enough to instill a horrifying fear in his heart.
Dementors.
The hair rose up along his arms and neck, frozen to the spot. Tentatively, he moved his left arm to prop himself up.
The dementors didn't move.
Feeling slightly heartened, he moved to prop himself up with his right arm as well, when a sharp, unexpected pain made him draw in his breath. His wrist was broken - he had forgotten. Seeing that he was awake, the dementors stirred restlessly.
The low murmuring he had noted vaguely, located some distance behind him, ceased. He heard soft, muffled footsteps, and was caught between the impulses to feign unconsciousness and wheel to face the one approaching, causing him to remain rooted to the spot, feeling the eyes boring into the back of his neck, resisting the urge to shudder.
"Stand aside." A cruel hiss of a voice sounded, making him start. The dementors in his range of vision glided backwards. This retreat caught his curiosity, until a bone chilling cold swept by him. Five dementors made their way past him from behind, and this time he was unable to repress the shudder. Sensing his weakness, a single dementor hesitated, drawing a long, shuddering breath.
"You worthless killer...I'll never let you touch my family..."
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
"MOVE!" The hiss had risen to a threatening volume, and Harry flinched involuntarily. The dementor glided mournfully away, the warm summer air enveloping Harry once again.
"Harry Potter..." It hissed, and gathering his courage, Harry forced himself around with his left arm, and stared back into the red eyes of the man - no, the beast - who would kill him.
"Voldemort." He was pleased to discover that his voice sounded far braver then he felt, and remarkably calm.
"Tell me...what was the Boy Who Lived doing all by his lonesome without a wand?" The voice. It was the same voice that had escaped his mouth in the nightmare, the same voice that had haunted him since he was thirteen years old, "And with a broken wand arm? Tut, tut. That senile Headmaster of yours isn't taking proper care of Famous Harry Potter?"
"Dumbledore is not senile. He is brilliant." Harry growled. His own courage - or stupidity, in this case - amazed him. He was hardly pleased with Dumbledore at the moment; if he had never sent him to live with the Dursleys, surely he wouldn't be here right now. If he had only -
"Crucio."
Unbearable pain flooded every part of Harry's being, intensified by the broken wrist and swelling bruises from his Uncle's violence. He screamed, writhing as unending agony invaded his mind so that he could not think - pain was all that he knew.
It seemed like hours before Voldemort raised his wand and Harry fell limp to the ground, gasping for breath as Voldemort simply chuckled.
"Not senile? Tell me, Harry Potter, are you proud of the blundering fool who sent you to live with those who would sooner break your bones then offer you a greeting?"
Harry hesitated, for suddenly there was a voice in his very mind that seemed to agree with Voldemort, agree that Dumbledore was a fool for sending him to the Dursley's. No. This wasn't Dumbledore's fault. Harry told the voice firmly, and Voldemort seemed to have heard it also.
"No? Not his fault, wasn't it? Dumbledore is a fool who believes in second chances. He would send you back to the Dursleys before he took into consideration your safety."
"And you're really one to voice an opinion on my safety." Harry remarked dryly. He was going to die, he was certain. He might as well make it interesting.
To his enormous surprise, Voldemort chuckled.
"I'm not going to kill you, Potter," Voldemort hissed, and then, as though reconsidering the thought, added, "Yet."
Harry said nothing, simply glared back into the red eyes.
"I want you to tell me what was in the prophecy." He hissed calmly.
"No." Harry said simply.
"Crucio."
The pain had returned, and Harry screamed his throat raw, writhing in agony, occasionally agitating his broken wrist, and more pain rose to the surface...
And then it was over. Harry lay panting, tears running down a pale and clammy face. He could not continue this, this was torture.
"What was in the prophecy, Potter?"
"I - I c-can't..."
"Crucio."
Harry began to lose track of how many times Voldemort had asked the question, knowing only that each time he replied in the negative, there was pain. Endless agony. He could not move, he lay sprawled across the ground, sobbing.
"WHAT IS IN THE PROPHECY, POTTER?"
He had to say something, the pain would not end! What harm could it do to tell Voldemort?
"It...it said..." He choked, and for a moment Voldemort looked almost eager. Yet the words that escaped him were nothing he had planned.
"That you're a slimy, half-blooded - "
It was, perhaps, lucky that Voldemort performed the Cruciatus Curse before Harry had finished the insult entirely, or he may have lost his patience and killed him then and there. The defiance, however, earned such a long spell of the pain that Harry could feel his mind slipping, could feel his consciousness draining away.
"You will tell me what is in the Prophecy." Voldemort drew back his wand.
"W-w-why? Y-you'd just k-kill me as soon as I t-told..." He gasped, yet soon grew quiet, for the lingering pain was taking his breath away.
"Imperio!"
And Harry slipped into blissful peace.
Tell him what's in the Prophecy...
What's the point?
What could it hurt? Just tell him.
"The...The one with the power..."
That's it, tell him.
I can't.
DO IT!
"I CAN'T!"
And the remaining will in him slipped away, leaving him to fall into unconsciousness.
When Harry next came to, he immediately wished he could simply fall back to sleep. His entire being seemed to radiate pain, and he dared not move. A low grumbling in his stomach alerted him that he was hungry, however he could not have eaten had food have been provided anyway - there was no trusting Voldemort.
Emerald orbs blinked open wearily, squinting into the surroundings in a futile attempt to gather his location. The first difference he noted was the absence of the biting cold from before. A small bubble of hope worked its way through him. Had the dementors finally left?
Slowly, Harry extended his left arm, instinctively searching for his glasses. He was thoroughly surprised as his fingertips met with the cool metal frames. Nearly poking himself in the eye with the hurry to put them on, the world suddenly came into focus around him.
And his stomach dropped.
While he had not seen the inside of this room for two full years – and even then, it had only been in a dream – he would have recognized it anywhere. It was the room in which an old man had met his death, the room in which Wormtail had, with the assistance of Nagini, nursed his master back to health. Craning his head slightly to the right, Harry could even see the worn, leather armchair Voldemort had been seated in throughout the nightmare.
The location did nothing to improve his thoroughly pessimistic mood.
And then, as though fate had heard his muted sigh of frustration, a cold, icy voice broke out from somewhere to his left.
"Your unending stupidity will never fail to amaze me, Potter."
Feeling as though the day could not possibly have gotten any worse, Harry turned his head slowly to glare back into the unforgiving eyes of Hogwarts' least popular Potions Master.
Really sorry for the delay, the horse I take care of wasn't feeling very good. Anyway, I'm back now, and Chapter Three will be up as soon as I can edit and post it to make up for the long absence! Thanks a million to everyone who reviewed!