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Challenges listed at the bottom.

Word Count: 1107


Deal With The Devil


The world was dark. Even the sun seemed to have given up trying to add a bit of light, and was instead hiding behind the clouds.

It rained more these days, or at least it seemed to.

Maybe he was just noticing it more, since he had little else to focus on. If thinking about the weather saved him from thinking about his failures, then the weather was an excellent topic.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn't hiding, living day to day in a tent that had once housed three but was now his alone. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what else he was supposed to call it.

He was moving around the country in the woods, reminiscent of the way he had with Ron and Hermione, except this time, there was no aim. No end game. He was just… trying to stay alive, for whatever that life would be worth.

It hit him sometimes that he really had failed at his task. Despite knowing, inherently, that the task set to him by Dumbledore had been practically impossible for a seventeen year old—or even three seventeen year olds, as the case had been—it still surprised him sometimes that he hadn't finished it.

How many impossible things had they pulled off before? How many times had he been so sure that his number was up, only to pull through at the last second by the skin of his teeth and whole lot of dumb luck?

And yet the one time it mattered…

Harry sighed and looked out of the tent flap to the sky. It looked like the rain was in for the night. Maybe he'd be able to listen to the drops on the canopy and pretend that the noise meant he wasn't alone.

He was caught on a frosty morning, the dawn barely peeking through the darkness. He tried to fight, but they'd been ready for him, and it was almost like a small army had surrounded his tent before he'd even opened his eyes.

They were excited, carrying him between four of them, his whole body bound by thick ropes and manacles for good measure.

There was apparition, in which he tried to slip from their grasp, and a portkey, which made him vomit on a masked person's shoes and earned him a kick to the ribs, so he had no idea where he was.

When he was dropped unceremoniously on a marble floor, it was to a voice he had nightmares about and a wand digging into his cheek.

"Harry Potter."

"That's my name," Harry muttered. "Don't wear it out, will you?"

The wand pressed harder against his cheek, and he tried to move his head, only for it to be held in place by a sudden tight grip on his hair.

"The boy who lived to escape me," Voldemort mused. "How many times have you managed to get away from me, Harry?"

"Always once more," Harry said, shifting on the floor as he tried to free himself from the ropes binding him. If he could just get a hand free, then maybe he'd have a fighting chance.

Part of him wondered if he should just surrender. What did he have to live for anyway? His friends were dead, the resistance crumbled. Voldemort had already well and truly won.

What was he even fighting for?

"Put him in the dungeon."

Harry was lifted from the floor roughly, and thrown over a bony shoulder. He didn't know who was carrying him, but they were strong, whoever they were. He was jolted multiple times as they made their way down stairs, and then dropped once more on to the floor, his hand banging back onto the bars of a cell.

As the cell was closed with a sharp clang, he closed his eyes against the throb in his head.

Why was he still alive? What could Voldemort possibly still want with him?

Harry wasn't sure how long he was held before he was brought food or water. It seemed to come at random intervals, likely to make sure he couldn't track the time, but he was never spoken to, never touched.

The ropes had unravelled around him an hour after he'd been dropped into the cell, and the manacles had fallen from his arms, uselessly laying on the floor.

He thought of using them as a weapon, but when he tried to lift them, they resisted him. Sometime while Harry was sleeping, both rope and manacles disappeared.

Finally, after what felt like weeks but could have been mere days, Voldemort visited him. He conjured a comfortable looking chair and sat down, looking down at Harry, who was huddled in the corner of the cell on the floor, his arms wrapped around his legs.

"I cannot kill you," Voldemort said, tone almost soft, if he'd been capable of such a thing. "But I cannot allow you freedom when you're the one threat that stands a chance against me."

Harry swallowed hard. His throat was hurting. "So you're just going to keep me here until I go mad?"

"That depends on you," Voldemort replied. "If I were to allow you a room, books, company… would you behave yourself?"

Harry didn't answer.

"I'll require an unbreakable vow from you, Harry Potter, before I allow you even a measure of comfort. You could have an excellent life, if only you'd accept me as your Lord. If you do not… then I suppose madness is what you have to look forward to."

It took four visits for Harry to agree to make the unbreakable vow. Severus Snape—the traitorous bastard—was their binder, and Harry glared at him with far more fire than he did Voldemort.

He'd always expected Voldemort to be evil, but how many times had he been told to trust Snape?

Not that it mattered in the long run. Harry was sure, had he won, Snape would have had plenty of evidence for his being light sided all along, because the only side the greasy bastard was truly on was his own.

After promising to behave—and to never go against the Dark Lord again—Harry was led to a plush room, with a bed, and a fluffy carpet, and an attached bathroom that had a shower and a bath.

He flinched when cold, long fingers cupped his cheek. "You're going to be happy, Harry Potter. I'll make sure of it."

When he was left alone, Harry looked around the room and bit the inside of his cheek.

He'd just made a deal with the devil, and what was worse? He knew he was going to enjoy it.


Written for:

Auction: Gryffindor Prompt: Day 24, Auction 2: Voldemort Wins!AU

365: 215. Rain