Disclaimer;- I do not own Harry Potter and write this purly for fun. If people take offence by my treatment of Harry and others then I would ask you not to flame me or any such like but to quietly ignore my fic from now on. Thank you.

J.K. you're brilliant!

Chapter 2

Suffering in the Dark

The pain had become background. He had woken twice, only to fall unconscious before anyone could realise. He caught an argument the first time, and crying the second. The pulsing of blood was nearly gone when he woke the third time and hunger was twisting his chest. He kept his eyes shut and tried to work out where he was.

Seconds later he thought he had an idea as screaming came from bellow him. The portrait of Mrs Black. He was at Grimmauld Place. His heart sank even lower than it was and memories flooded his mind of Sirius. Some were not his own, from when Sirius was at school, a pair of eyes that were not his watching as he asked his first girlfriend out, as he cried when she dumped him three months later, as he and James Potter planned how to get back at the potions master for setting them five pages for homework. Dumbledore's memories, he thought grumpily.

Knife! He searched his senses desperately for the blade. Downstairs in a magic proof container. He was loathed to eat without it, something that seemed to be ingrained in his being now, and he was hungry. He threw the light covers off him, noticing vaguely that he wore only a pair of draws, and tried to swing his legs off the bed.

They collided with iron bars. He opened startled green eyes to see his 'bed' was in a small cage, only encompassing a small, thin mattress. He felt himself go cold with fear. Why had they caged him up? Had he hurt someone? What was he doing here alone? Why was no one here to know when he woke? Were they leaving him here to go mad with hunger? He could not die except by his own knife, not even of hunger. But what would he do without food? He would go mad, madder than he had when first infected. He would kill fly's by looking at them, straining to reach them to eat but unable to because of spelled bars…

He shook his head. This was doing nothing to help him. He stood on the mattress, holding onto the bars as his legs wobbled under him. He suspected this room was one of the many bedrooms in the house, in disuse even with the many people living here now. Other than his bed in the centre of the room the room was empty and dark. Not even carpet, wallpaper or paint. Just bare floorboards and brick. It looked as though a wild animal had lived here for a while, and the walls had chunks missing and the floorboards were bloody. The sight made his mouth water.

Something behind him growled. He twisted, gazing into the shadows in a corner. Something grey was laying there. It unfolded and made its way towards him. As it got closer he realised it was a wolf. Most likely, it was a werewolf. Lupin. He mentally worked it out. He had been here for two weeks. It had been near new moon when it had happened, and it must be full moon now, if Lupin was in his change. Harry backed up against the bars behind him, terrified of the creature in front of him. He knew the bars would hold, he knew the creature could not kill him anyway, but it could hurt him. It could make him scream and beg to be killed. And they wouldn't kill him. He knew now what they were going to do. They were going to send him mad. They were going to send him mad with hunger and fear and they would let him loose on the world to find and kill Voldemort. They would set it up and put him in a cage and let him go like a terrier in a barrel of rats.

"Let me out!" he screamed, clawing at the bars behind him. "Help! Help! Please!" the wolf snarled and was in front of him, snapping at his fingers though the bars. He screamed and fell back, landing hard and hitting his head against the bars on the other side. The jaws were there too now and he realised there must be two werewolves in with him. He screamed again and huddled in the middle of the mattress, jaws snapping centimetres from his bare arms. He shut his eyes in desperation and flung magic against the bars. All that happened was that he got a headache. They were spelled to hold magic in, even magic as strong as his. He was crying fit to burst now, screaming as the wolves flung themselves at him.

For half an hour the assault went on. the wolves eventually grew tired and slid off into the dark.

He began whispering under his breath, and a pen appeared in front of him along with paper.

"I am Harry James Potter I live at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have one aunt and she has a son and husband. I grew up in their house." The pen was rushing across the paper as he spoke. "I write this in the event that I do not survive whatever is going to happen to me. At the moment I am on a thin mattress in a cage no bigger than the mattress, and it is in the centre of a room in my godfathers' house. There are two werewolves in the room too and they keep trying to attack me. Even though I know they cannot kill me I fear them more than anything at this moment. I wish that they could kill me but it is impossible.

"At the new moon, probably two weeks ago, I was attacked by a vampire. He took me and made me a vampire too, against all that I had been taught about wizards not being able to become vampires. I know the ways of vampires instinctively and hope that someday they can be eradicated completely, for their own sake. I would gladly die at any moment, and if someone would come at me with my knife I would bare my chest or neck that they wouldn't miss.

"I know however why they are keeping me alive. They want me only to kill Voldemort. I am the only one who can. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not, and either shall die at the hand of the other for neither can live whilst the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, shall be born as the seventh month dies. That prophecy was made shortly before I was born. Only I can kill Voldemort." One of the wolves, who had been sitting silent for a while threw back his head and howled. Harry gazed at it fearfully as the pen continued to write. Three times the wolf howled, sending shivers through Harry as he huddled smaller, each one sounding as though the creature was having his heard wrenched out.

When silence returned Harry turned back to the paper. He was surprised to see it had written about the howling, but he continued in a dull voice.

"If it was new moon and it is full moon now, then I guess I can go two weeks without blood. I can feel the lust coming over me as I sit here, and I do not know how long I can go before I try and attack the werewolves that prowl around my cage. Even though I know doing so shall only cause me pain, and that I will still be hungry after, I know I shall try. When I woke this hunger was merely annoying. Now it is getting serious, and I have no idea how long I have been awake. It might have been ten minutes, it might have been an hour. I have no way of knowing. There is no clock in the room and my watch, along with all my clothes except my underwear, has been taken from me. I feel the cold creeping on me, and it is not the physical kind. It begins here, in the stomach, and spreads to the chest. Then the arms and legs, and then it will reach my head. Then the madness will take me and I will try to get blood anyway I can. I was lucky at my aunts house. I had bled all over and could drink that. I did attack my cousin for a second, but it tasted disgusting, a love of pain and, dare I say it, rape. I fear he has at least though of raping women. He craves dominance. But back to my tale. I drank what blood of mine that I could, then attacked Professor Albus Dumbledore, thinking he was an enemy. Seconds later I realised my mistake and backed off. I begged him to kill me then, I handed him my knife and he took it. I shut my eyes so that he would not have to look at them in that instant of death and heard flesh split. None can understand what that sound is without vampire instincts and hearing. It is one of the most erotic sounds there is, but in that moment I longed for it to be my flesh. Instead it was Dumbledore's. He cut his wrist and forced me to drink it. I tried not to; please believe me when I say that. I hate myself for giving in, I would have died rather than drink anyone's blood. I know now that he merely wanted to know how long I could go without food, that he was keeping me sedated long enough to return me here so he could control me. I can not hate him for if I do I find myself longing to rip his throat out, and I must restrain from these feelings as long as I can, for my own sanity. I long to see a friendly face, or even the sun. My gut pulses as I suddenly realise something, and tears are filling my eyes. I shall never be able to see the sun again without great pain. I shall have to live forever in darkness, in the night. Perhaps it is for the best? I have always preferred the night." at some point he had stopped talking, the pen scritching along the paper still, controled by something in his mind. "My aunt and uncle were in bed then and I could cry in peace, without them knowing. It stopped as I grew older of course but even now, at… how old am I? Have I become sixteen yet? I do not know. My birthday was on a full moon night, but is it this or one to come? How I long to see the sun again. When something is withdrawn from you, you seem to long for it all the more. A blind man longs for sight, a deaf man longs for sound, and a man forbidden to venture out in sunlight longs to see it again, even if he would die from it. I would gladly die, if it meant I could spend one day, one hour, one minute, back in my old life. The hunger has spread to my arms. It is nearly over. I can feel myself beginning to prepare to eat again, longing for the taste that I loath. Oh that I had my knife and an enemy. I would kill them in an instant and drink from them, leaving them shrivelled and empty like-

"It is creeping up my neck. I am sorry for what I may do next. I hate this, I long to die. I beg those who say they love me to prove it, and kill me now."

I will not give in easily... he promised himself.

The door opened. Harry lifted his head slowly, looking dully at the old man there. The wolves came up to him, sniffing him and wagging tails. Wolfsbane, Harry thought slowly, trying to hold the rage back for a moment longer, they must have taken Wolfsbane potion. That's why they let him enter. Part of the cage was sinking into the ground, and Dumbledore was sitting on the mattress in front of Harry. Harry shook his head and tried to push him away, back out of the cage and away from him in his near imminent blood lust. Dumbledore held his knife in one hand. Harry's eyes were drawn to it like a magnet. He picked up the paper and pointed out the last line.

I beg those who say they love me to prove it, and kill me now.

The old man took the knife and placed it gently against the boys upturned and exposed neck. Harry smiled longingly and shut his eyes again, imagining he was laying in the sun at Hogwarts with his friends. He was sorry he didn't have a chance to say goodbye, but he hoped the little he had written would show them how much pain and suffering living would be.

The knife was removed and the sound of sliced flesh entered his hearing. His eyes filled with tears as the wrist was placed against his bloodless lips. Neither eyes nor lips did he open. The other hand, now knifeless, came to his hair again and yanked it back, causing him to gasp again and be forced to drink from the man he thought had loved him once. He struggled more this time, but the old hands had hidden strength in them and he could not wriggle from them, as the blood poured onto his tongue. It was driving him mad, sending exotic sensations to his loins that excited and disgusted him. This was not normal, this was not right! Why would Dumbledore not listen to his longing to die? Did the man not care at all? Eventually he lost control, bruising the mans arm as he bit deep into the flesh, taking the blood that fed his body and destroyed his soul. Tears fell in copious amounts as he dragged the blood into his system, and he fought when Dumbledore eventually pulled away. A blow to the head knocked him away though, and he watched, dazed from the blow, as Dumbledore left without a word to him, the wolves laying back down to rest.

"Please," he said, not realising that the pen had written all through his feast, and continued now. "Please kill me. Leave me my knife at least. I cannot sleep without it, I fear."

He did not sleep for two days, while during the night the wolves kept him company and during the day he screamed in fury and despair. He could hear Hermione crying outside the door once, Ron shouting in his room a lot too. Meetings in the shut off kitchen were open books to his ears, and the tears of his loved ones struck deep within him. Through out this all the pen continued to write, never running out of ink or paper, telling people what he was feeling and thinking, all about his life that he had never told anyone, until the present day. He worried about his aunt. As his blood no longer resided in his veins, would the protection on her and her family still be there? He hoped someone had thought of that.

When the wolves left on the last night of the full moon Harry cried again. They had been the only way to keep track of time in this place. He knew he must be sixteen by now and that night he had sang happy birthday to himself sadly. The larger wolf had lain close to him that night, keeping him company. When he left he looked back at the small boy in a cage and had left with a dejected tread.

Harry was desperate for sleep. He hadn't slept for five days and his eyes were red. He had kept track of time roughly by the times he had needed to go to the bathroom. Every two hours wasn't it? So he had marked the floor outside his cage each time he had gone. At least that was still regular. As soon as he had finished it was cleaned again. He felt degraded, having to do it like this, but no other way was forthcoming. He created a nest for himself in the mattress with his thin cover and hard pillows.

He lay there unspeaking, dictating to the pen through his mind. He was facing the door, looking under it to see when people went past. It was always light outside, so it was no way to tell the time of day or night. People sometimes walked softly past or stopped for a few minutes, but he had long ago stopped crying out to them. When someone stopped this time he ignored them, his eyes unfocused and concentrating on the pen. The door began to swing open and he focused on it at once, sitting up, dishevelled, smelling of his own extremes and old blood, stale sweat and fear. To the person who walked through the door it must have caused them some distress, for they cried out and turned away. He shielded his eyes from the light and pulled a cover over his head, hiding from the light and distress.

"Oh, oh," the person protested into another's shoulder. Female, male, his nose identified. He hid deep within his nest and waited for them to look at their pet monster and go away. They didn't have his knife, they weren't there to kill him, therefore they were not welcome.

"Harry?" under the covers Harry bared his fangs in distress. It was Ron! Why? Why torture him in this way? Why were they sending his two best friends to him now? He wondered how to stop their visits forever, to stop the light and longing to die, which seemed to have dulled over the two days alone.

"Harry? Oh Harry, please say something to us!" Hermione now, tears in her voice, though not on her face yet, he could tell.

He opened his mouth to beg them to go or kill him, but it wouldn't work. A croak was all that came out, parched from water for so long. Though the blood gave him all he needed, it did not keep his eyes, nose and mouth moist. He gasped at the realisation that he was dehydrating and created a new piece of paper and sent the pen running over it, before sending it magically through the bars, along with his five day diary.

I cannot speak. I do not remember the last time I drank anything but blood. Please, bring my knife and kill me. If you knew what I was going through you would kill me in an instant. You have no idea. This is worse than Cruciatus, if that is possible. Please, take this with you and read it. I wrote it since coming here. Get it published after I am killed, if ever, so people have no qualms against killing vampires in the future. Keep it safe. I am sorry I could not speak to you. Please go, or kill me. I prefer the latter. If it is you who killed me, I would be at peace, I feel. But I would not wish it upon you to have to do if you do not feel you can. Could someone give me a clock, or a calendar, or both? I have no idea what the day is. I celebrated my birthday the last day Remus and the other wolf was here. I did not know the day, you see. If it was the 31st, then today is the second. I have not slept since the 28th, if that is the date. I hate this place. Please, ask someone to kill me. I do not want to live, even if I am the only one who can- I will not say. You will read it in these notes if you do read them. Tell everyone I love them, please? I do not know if I shall remain sane for long. I feel the madness at odd times. It has been growing in me though.

I have asked for very little as your friends. I ask only this now.

Kill me. End my suffering. Stop it all.

Please?

Hermione was crying by the time they finished reading it. Ron began to speak but the air in the cage became full of shreds of cloth that had once been Harry's cover. He was screaming, his voice raw with pain and suffering, trying to get rid of them now. He threw himself at the bars, trying to get through the magic to claw at them, begin thrown back again and again as the power resisting him grew stronger each time. Hermione began to go to him, then more people were in the room. Someone dragged his two friends out the door whilst more people entered, wands pointed at him as he tried to find a place to hide against the lights from their wands, shielding his eyes, grown accustomed to the dark, whilst at the same time distressed with all these people around him, their smells closing in on him and their eyes boring through him. He howled, burying his head under a pillow as a spell was sent through the bars at him. It hit and the pain, which had before been a dull ache, flared up, causing his assaulted throat to emit a scream that was strangled and broken.

"FOOLS! TURN THOSE LIGHTS OFF! GET OUT!"

No, Harry thought weakly as he collapsed against the mattress under him when the lights were extinguished. He began to sob dryly, his throat protesting again and again, his whole body ringing with pain. Some of those around him left, some remained. He could recognise the few. Dumbledore, Moody, Mr Weasley, Snape. He couldn't even bring himself to think up a way to hate Snape in his new form. It would become a murderous intent to kill him, and he refused to kill anyone.

The door shut and one wand remained lit. The cage opened but he lay there as though dead, not reacting when Dumbledore lifted him into a sitting position and helping him drink some water. He gulped it down, gasping as it soothed his parched and raw throat, and wishing there was more when the glass was empty. He choked on the last mouthful and was settled gently back on the mattress, a new, clean, thicker cover placed over him as he lay still and unresponsive, letting this happen, hoping that whoever had the knife he could sense would take it out and kill him. The cage was sealed again and he tested his voice, muttering under his breath a children's rhyme. It was sore, certainly, but bearable.

"I think his mind must have gone already, Albus, if he is singing children songs to himself," Snape sneered. In a second Harry was on his feet and lunging at Snape through the bars. The magic gave slightly and his arms were through the bars and clawing for Snape, longing to sink his fangs into the white skin and-

A spell hit him and he was thrown away from the bars to hit against those behind him. He shuddered at the loss of control and hid his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking in the cold air as he sobbed silently. He sensed Mr Weasley reaching a hand to him through the bars and flinched away, eyes wide, knowing it was him who had his knife.

"Please," he begged, grasping the mans hand in both of his. "Please, please," he could say nothing else, and he didn't know what Mr Weasley thought he was begging for. The hand was withdrawn by Dumbledore, who fixed Mr Weasley with a stern look. The man nodded and the knife appeared in Harry's vision. Gritting his teeth the man drew the knife over his wrist, blood falling from the cut. Harry cried out at the waste at the same time as he cried out in disgust at what his body felt upon seeing the blood. The cage was lowered again and Mr Weasley advanced as Harry retreated, shaking all over as he fought with his body for control. Cornered he watched with revulsion as the new wrist came towards him, hiding his face in his knees. Hands grasped his hair from behind and he screamed, cut off suddenly as the wrist was thrust upon him. He gagged, nearly throwing up, as the blood rolled down his throat. Tears fell down his face as he kept his eyes shut, trying to block everything out, the taste, the smell, the feelings, the lust, the loathing. He tried to get rid of the wrist but hands were holding his wrists against the bars that burned against his back. He struggled, he fought, he tried to get away, but the blood was calling to him and he eventually gave in, collapsing in the grasp of whoever was holding him down and sucking on Mr Weasley's wrist, drinking the blood down between sobs. As soon as they would let him he stopped drinking, spitting the taste out of his mouth and trying to ignore the memories of Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, Bill, Percy and Charlie as children, Mr and Mrs Weasley's first date, meeting Harry for the first time round the breakfast table at the burrow. Memories flashed through his mind as he rolled over and retched, bringing up much of what he had just taken in, all over the floor outside the cage. He collapsed onto his back once he was done, laying in the vomited blood that pooled beneath him. Looking up he focused on Snape. He let a tear fall from his eye and begged the man who he used to hate.

"Please, please," his knife was in his hands, holding it up to the man. "Please," Snape's face twisted with revulsion but took the knife. He held it to his wrist and Harry howled. Why were they doing this? Were they trying to send him mad with all these memories flowing through his mind. The flesh was cut and blood dripped onto his face.

Harry rolled over and covered his face, summoning the knife to his hand. He held it to Snape again, who was confused now, looking at Moody in puzzlement as he took it again. Harry then took the mans hand and placed the knife in it, then bringing it upon his own neck, his hands shaky.

"Please, please," he begged, looking Snape in the eye as the man realised what the boy before him truly wanted.

"Peace, pain, sleep. Please, end it all," he shut his eyes, relaxing as the knife remained on his neck, smiling for the first time in days, hoping this time it would happen. He could not do the deed himself, but Snape…

The knife was removed and he collapsed, his mind spinning off to some hidden place as he raged and cried, not noticing as the cage was locked again and the men stood round and watched him suffer. Eventually he quieted and lay there, motionless. The sticky taste of Mr Weasley's blood was still in his mouth and he spat weakly, not trying to clean away the red drool that dangled from his mouth. Tears fell and he knew them to be made of blood too. There was an argument happening. Mr Weasley and Snape were arguing at how Harry was being kept. The other two men were silent. It seemed to Harry though, that Snape and Mr Weasley were arguing for the same side.

"Why?" he asked in a moments silence when the men took breath. "Why?" no answer. "Let me go. Please, let me die," his voice filled with longing and he felt two men turn away at his obvious pain.

The door shutting behind them was answer enough, though they left him some water.

No one slept that night as his screams filled the house.

A/N

Ok, i'm putting these down here for politeness. As I gain more reviews then I wont be able to thank people personally and it will be the ones I like most and those who get in first. Thanks to everyone who read this though, and even more to those who reviewed. I LOVE REVIEWS!!! I GET HYPER WHENEVER I GET ONE!!! My Boyfriend thinks I'm nuts :P:P:P

morwen24- Thanks, I am glad you enjoyed it :D I am planning on continuing and appologise that I haven't uploaded in a while.

Lightning Rain- Thank you on behalf of my description. I sometimes get bored of writing description and leave bits out but hopefully I wont do that on this or my other fic. Wait. Scrap that. I KNOW I have loads of description on my other fic because IT IS MASSIVE!!! 100 pages now!!! I feel a bit sorry for Harry too but (Spoiler possible warning you now) at least he gets to have a little bit of revenge later on with all his enemies :P

Mika- No, Harry didn't die as you can see. But he wishes he had, and that doesn't go away for a while, if ever. Heres the next chapter, as requested :D