A/N: Alright. Suffice to say I'm a bit late with the updating. Had quite a few things happen recently. Baby brother was born, school exams came, summer started, summer job sucked up my free time, a friend of the family's died, my step-mother quit her job, and my Grandmother was being her lovely :sneers: self as usual, and her dog has bone cancer. Poor Ralphie. I'll try to be more punctual, but I'm sure you know how life just gets in the way.
Last Time
"Say goodbye to the outside world Potter. It's the last time you'll ever be seeing it."
Harry felt a pulling on his navel, and he felt sick. Bellatrix had a portkey, and it didn't take a genius to figure out where she was taking him.
Yesterlife
Chapter Two
The dungeon cell was everything he expected it to be. There were chains and manacles adorning the stone walls and stains of blood splattered here and there. The hard stone flagons underneath him were wet, and the nauseating smell of mold permeated throughout the small room.
An annoying drip drop of water grated on his ears and muffled screams of other prisoners could be heard through the thick wooden door. Moonlight filtered in through the bars up above, and, of course, there was an unexplainable draft. It was typical fashion for a dungeon cell really.
Harry pushed himself to his knees with his uninjured hand. Amazingly his glasses were still intact and residing on his face.
"Thank Merlin for small blessings," he grunted. As expected, Harry could find neither his wand nor his cloak, but amazingly the bottle of Tylenol was still in his pocket. If everything went as expected, he would definitely need this later.
Harry groaned when he thought of where he was again. He didn't see anyway out of this one. He limped to the un-moldy-est corner of the cell and gently sat himself down.
He sure hurt like hell. He was sore and tired, and he was definitely afraid, but even more than that, he was angry. How could he have let himself be caught like that? He was so bloody stupid. Muddy footprints on the pavement? If Harry wasn't afraid of permanent damage he would be banging his head against the blood stained stone walls right now.
And while he was already insulting his meager ration of common sense, how could he have allowed his uncle to do that to him? Even if he realized there was nothing he could have done, he was still angry at himself for not thinking of a way to escape that situation sooner. What had made him so susceptable to his uncle's abuse? Sure, there had been the occasional backhand now and again, but why had it escalated? And what would have happened if he hadn't been able to stop his uncle?
Harry shuddered with disgust. There were only so many other pains that his uncle could have infflicted upon him. He didn't even want to entertain the thought of his uncle . . . Harry shook that thought away hastily. No, he had better things to think of. Harry desparately searched his mind for something less gruesome, and his thoughts drifted to his friends. In retrospect, he couldn't tell if it was any better or not.
They had been distant in their letters lately. It was just pleasantries and such nowadays. Superficial stuff about school and the odd Quidditch game. Was it the Order that had stunted their friendship? Or was it just that they were growing up and growing apart. Although, he had noticed that the farther away he became, the closer Ron and Hermione seemed to grow. Not much was said between him and them on the ride home. Harry had still been moody, and his mind was still from the inner turmoil of grief. But for Ron and Hermione, they got along like hippogriffs and dead ferrets.
He was losing touch with them, he knew.. He had soon just given up trying to send letter. It was probably for the best, he reasoned. They had suffered enough because of Voldemort, and with Harry's friendship came Voldemort's hostility, but that didn't make losing their friendship any less painful.
Harry eased himself unto his back and stared at the moon up above. Would the Order even know he had been kidnaped? Harry snorted to himself. Probably wouldn't realize he was gone for at least another couple of days. Apparently the security around his house was a bit shoddy. But then again, it was kind of hard not to notice a flaming hell hole with a huge skull above it. The ministry would be called, and then the Order would find out.
Harry smiled bitterly. He almost, no he really wanted the Order to panic. Dumbledore would no doubt be nursing kittens. His poor little weapon had been spirited away right under his overly large crooked nose, and Harry half way hoped he wouldn't return.
Death didn't seem so bad nowadays. Besides, he was really curious about what would happen to him when he died. Maybe that was why the old saying was 'Curiosity killed the cat'. But then again, he could escape from this place. It wouldn't be the first time he had slipped from Voldemort's clutches, but escape routes were none too forth coming.
He knew it was a long shot, but if Harry ever escaped this place, he wanted to leave the wizarding world for good. He had come to dislike this world more and more as the years passed. This world had such fickle people. One moment they praised you to the high heavens, and the next they damned you to the lowest of hells. Not to mention the population as a whole seemed terribly dull.
"I mean this is bloody ridiculous. How do these people think a nearly sixteen year old wizard with average powers is going to defeat one of the most powerful Dark Lords the world has seen in centuries?" Harry growled to himself.
It was absolutely ridiculous. There were thousands of light wizards in England, many more in Scotland, and tens of thousands all over the world. Each and every one, minus too young and too old, could fight against Voldemort and outnumber him and his small following 10 to 1. If only the Brittish Ministry were intelligent enough to form alliances with other wizarding countries. Then the allied wizards could put a stop to Voldemort and his band of petty thugs once and for all.
The Death Eater's reputation proceeded them. By leaps and bounds. It was their reputation for being all powerful that froze many wizards in their tracks, and them being too afraid to defend themselves fell prey to Death Eaters with average or below powers. Just look at Wormtail, Crabbe, and Goyle. Seriously, the spells cast by Death Eaters are predictable and easy to cast by anyone of average power and emotional problems. Wizards may have magic, but the muggles got all the intelligence.
Harry swore to himself that if he ever got out of here he would leave. The Wizarding world created this problem, not him. Let them deal with the byproduct of their narrow-minded society. He had nothing to do with it. This war was the death of his family, but it wouldn't be of him. He just happened to have survived, and he wanted to continue doing so.
However, before he left there was something he had always daydreamed about, usually in Divination. He really wanted to get a gun and shoot Voldemort right between those freaky red eyes of his, just for shits and giggles. He wondered if it would work.
"It just seems so simple," Harry chuckled to himself. The power the Dark Lord knows not. The power of muggle arms! Harry couldn't help it, despite the pain, despite the fear, despite the hopelessness of surviving this place, he laughed. Long and hard. And suddenly he felt better than he had in a long time.
It was at least a couple of hours since he had woken up that he heard from his captors. In the meantime, he knew that it took approximately eight hobbled steps from one wall to the other, and seven from the wall with the barred window to the door.
There was eighty-three drops of water per minute hitting the floor in the far right corner, and he found that he couldn't remember his multiplication tables all that well. He also found that pulling each hair from his head individually hurts worse than a handful.
In other words he was bored. So bored in fact, he was relieved when the Death Eaters finally showed. Of course, this relief was short lived when his scar bloomed into head splitting pain and fell down clutching his scar. He tried to keep from screaming, but painful gasps excaped from his throat.
It was then that the door opened to reveal the serpentine monster that had haunted his footsteps since birth. The room's torches lit as he entered. He gave a cruel, barking laugh when he saw Harry on the floor, clawing at his blooded head.
"Well well, who do we have here?" Voldemort kicked Harry unto his back, and then gestured to one of his Death Eaters beside him. The Death Eater preceded the kick Harry repeatedly. The pain in his scar and the physical pain inflicted upon him made Harry yell out. Voldemort laughed in delight.
"Why if it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived come to stay in my little playhouse. Having fun Potter?"
Pain, the common commodity. So common in fact, that demand was limited to a select few. Those who enjoyed giving it, and those who enjoyed recieving it. The former was rarer than the latter of course. Suddenly the pain, both of them, vanished leaving a heaving, bloody mess of a boy panting in pain.
Harry squinted his eyes. His vision was blurry even though he could see outline of the black frame of his glasses. He coughed, and drew back his hand to see specks of blood. He felt dizzy and distantly noted that this didn't seem to be a good indication of his health.
"Avery!" Voldemort gestured to Harry. The other Death Eater with Voldemort, there were only three, nodded and pulled a vial of some sort of potion from his inner robes. He stepped forward and presented it to his master on bended knee, offering it as one would offer homage to a god. Voldemort delicately picked the vile up my its neck, removing the cork as he did so. Avery, never his back turned and always a head lower than his master stepped back, bowing, into the line with the other Death Eaters.
Voldemort smiled maliciously. "Do you know what this potion is dear boy?" Harry made no move to answer. He was failing potions. He hardly knew anything about the subject, so he couldn't very well identify it now could he? And besides, the potion in that vile probably wasn't legal enough to be on Hogwart's curriculum.
"No? Well then I must tell you what a rare potion I have here. It takes months of careful brewing to produce even one batch and only a Potions Master would have the ability to brew this specific potion. I've been saving it just for this occasion."
Harry's heart started to beat faster, and a light, sick feeling settled itself in his stomach. He did not want to find out what that potion did. No doubt it would be very painful, and no doubt it had been brewed by a certain Potion's professor of his. He wondered if Snape even knew who that potion was going to be used on. Would he have still made it? Probably.
"I think I'll leave you guessing on what the potion does. Guessing is always have the fun. Nott! Restrain him! No need of any unnecessary spills."
Harry struggled, he really did, but with one well place charm he was bound by ropes to a newly conjured chair. He tried to say something, anything, but he just ended up hacking out more blood. Apparently something must be injured in him somewhere.
He felt a burning touch on his chin, and it lifted his head upwards. Voldemort's red eyes bore into his, and Harry felt a tickling sensation in the back of his mind. He immediately closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of every thought pertaining the Order or the Prophecy. Instead he focused on the memories of his early childhood. Not overly the best subject to dwell on, but dwell he did none the less. Voldemort laughed and roughly pushed Harry's face away.
"Silly boy. That may work this time, but believe me, by the time my Death Eaters and I are through with you, you won't even have a mind anymore."
Harry glared with all his might, but it was probably a pretty pathetic sight anyhow. Voldemort grinned. "You know Harry, you and I aren't so different. We could be great if you joined me. We could conquer Britain and then the world!"
"I would never join my parent's murderer!" Harry spat. This vehement declaration did not seem to deter the Dark Lord in the least.
"Just imagine! You could have anything your heart desired!"
"My heart desires peace! It yearns for the innocent lives that you stole from this world! Can you give me those things Tom Riddle?"
Agitation flashed across the Dark Lord's face, but then settled into a grim smile. "But Harry, think about it. We could be great. We are both so powerful . . . so similar. Orphaned at such a young age, forced into the so-called care of vicious muggles, powerful, yes very powerful. Abused by the hands of the ones supposed to protect us from such things. . ." he trailed off.
Harry's eyes widened. How did Voldemort know that the. . . Did the Death Eaters tell him that . . . Vernon had never been so abusive until this summer. What if Voldemort had done something? What if his uncle had been under the Imperious curse?
"What do you mean? You put my uncle under the Imperious cuse, didn't you?" Harry wheezed.
Voldemort laughed. "Smart boy. But you are only partially correct. I had him put under a spell similar to the Imperious, but yet different. You see, your uncle did everything of his own free will, but the spell that was on him fostered all his hatred towards you and simply directed it to a more physical manifestation. It was the sheer loathing that you uncle possessed for you that brought about such extreme actions. I was mildly surprised to see just how much the man hated you."
"Well at least I was only abused because my uncle was under a spell. At least he wouldn't have done anything to me if otherwise. I wonder how much the people at the orphanage must have hated you then?"
Voldemort narrowed his eyes to slits. He raised his wand and hissed, "CRUCIO!"
White hot knives again assaulted his body. Liquid fire flowed through his veins. The pain was worse than when Bellatrix had cast it on him. He couldn't help but scream. Voldemort lifted the curse.
"Ah, sweet screams of agony. Music to soothe the soul. You should learn some respect boy."
Harry spat the blood in his mouth at Voldemort.
"What soul?" he wheezed sarcastically as he could.
"CRUCIO!" Voldemort once again put Harry under the painful curse, this time longer than before, and Harry screamed louder than he thought he could. Then the pain was gone, but the echoes of that great pain still lingered and tingled throughout his body.
"Didn't your mudblood mother ever teach you when to hold your tongue boy? Oh, dear me, I just remembered I killed her as she begged for mercy!"
Harry growled. "Didn't your mother ever teach you how to play nice with the other children? Oh, I forgot, the bitch died bearing a muggle's bastard!"
Harry immediately regretted his words. He had never seen any man, even Voldemort, as livid as the serpentine man was before him. The paper white face gained a an angry flush, his red slitted eyes narrowed, and his nostrils (however small) flared. Harry noticed Voldemort's grip on his wand tightened. Even the Death Eaters took a couple of steps away from the Dark Lord who radiated anger and hate.
'Ohhhh Shit.'Harry thought as Voldemort raised his wand.
"CRUCIO! MORSUS! ABSIDO! INIURIA! CRUCIO!"
The curses came in quick succession, one after another. Pain beyond pain. Harry had never experienced the amount of pain he was feeling. It was worse than the Cruciatus curse. Ten times worse. It was everywhere. His skin was tearing, his blood was boiling, the knives were stabbing, his muscles spasmed and tore. And then blackness crept slowly around the edge of his vision, and he blacked out.
But this peace did not last long.
"Ennervate," hissed the deadly voice of his enemy. Harry slowly came too. He was still tied to the conjured chair. Wounds, cuts, and blood littered his body. His head hurt and he couldn't quite make out what was going on or what had happened.
"Avery!" Voldemort handed the vile of potion to his Death Eater. "Make sure he swallows at least half. Save the other half for tomorrow."
"Yes my Lord," murmured Avery as he kissed his lord's hems of the robes he wore. Voldemort kicked the man away and stormed out of the door, barking order at the other two to stand guard.
"I believe I will enjoy this," said the Death Eater that Harry recognized now as Malfoy Sr.
"So will I," agreed Nott.
Avery said nothing as he forced Harry's mouth open. It wasn't really that hard considering how weak he was. Harry had no choice but to swallow the potion or choke. His perception of everything became even more hazy within moments, and the last thing he heard before the cold dark enveloped him was the sadistic laughter of three very disturbed men.
A/N:Yep, there you go. Anyway, drop a line and tell me what you think criticize, praise, whatever. You know how much reviews mean to people. Make somebody's life happier today.
Review Responses:
Unseen Watcher:I always have trouble with summaries. Thanks! ApocSM: Wow. What a compliment. Thanks! HarrySlytherinson: Looks like Harry's heading for some dangerous water. And yep, I agree with you. DAMN THE BASTARDS! zzlostdreamerzz: Thanks! Hair Brush User: I hope you get crackin' on your story too! :winks: Localfreak: THANK YOU! I appreciate your recognition of what I'm trying to accomplice. Wolflady: Here ya go! Dens Serpentis: Thanks! momocolady: Thanks! Dragon Sword Master: heh heh heh. You ain't seen nuthin yet! The Magic Bringer: Err, not to quick anymore I guess. sorry. And it'll be within the next three chappies or so. Maybe sooner. Writh: Thanks! Grayswandir: Thanks! Wait and find out! kagomepotter: Thanks!
ALRIGHT, THIS IS THE REVISED VERSION OF CHAPTER TWO. PLEASE REVIEW!