A/N here is the second part in the series. I have often asked myself why no one writes a story were Harry loses. Well I decided to write it. Warning character torture and death, nothing graphic this one might only warrant a T rating.

You Have Failed!

Three words, just three simple yet utterly damning words. These three words shaped my existence and continue to torture me when I am supposedly in oblivion. Pain beyond measure. No relief nothing to stop the torture. Why should three little words cost all this suffering? To some one else anyone else it wouldn't but no. I am Harry James Potter the boy-who-bloody-wouldn't-die.

My failure caused death and pain to rein on the magical world. It was my destiny prophesized from birth. If I couldn't stop Lord Voldemort then no one could.

Turns out I couldn't. I was trained to fight from the moment I was told of the prophecy. They stressed my body tore at my mind in the vague hope I could save them. To bad all their effort was in vain.

At the end of my sixth year at Hogwarts I faced off against my nemesis. We fought long and hard, until my body could not take any more. They had placed too much stress on a still developing body. They had me fighting a war no child belonged in.

My magic couldn't cope anymore with the stress. I collapsed letting the Dark Lord capture me. He tied me up and forced several potions down my throat. What they were I still have no idea.

The dark lord kept me at his manor for a week. Torturing my body. He healed me at the end of each session just enough for me to keep living. Then the torture would continue the day after.

They used whips and knives curses and fists. Nothing was off limits as long as it caused suffering, pain, and blood. Oh Voldemort revealed in the blood. If I didn't know better I would say that man was half vampire instead of half muggle. But alas that would only be insulting the vampires. They never killed if they could help it and only hunted enough to survive.

The amount of blood Voldemort pulled from me each day would have kept a fledgling vampire feed for a month. He collected the blood and ran experiments. He was stealing my power bit by bit and adding it to his own.

Some of the experiments were force fed too me and it caused my blood to boil and sear. It altered me into some inhuman looking blob.

I was kept in shackles no food and just enough water to survive. It was a miserable existence. The pain wasn't the worst part over the years I had learned to deal with pain. What was worse was the daily updates the dark lord would bring. He would give me the body count off those he killed. If he happened to kill one of my old friends he lorded it over me for days.

On the Seventh day of my imprisonment Voldemort took the last of my magic. With nothing more to feed the potions they wouldn't heal me anymore. Voldemort let his death eaters have one last shot at me. Those few hours were the darkest and most painful hours of my life.

Finally when I was taking my dieing breath Voldemort leaned down and whispered three words to me. "You have failed."

That was the sentiment that brought me into this hell. The prophecy said neither can live while the other survives. Well apparently nether can die. I just stay here in limbo watching as everyone that was important to me dies. They were tortured to death or just killed in cold blood. Not a single person was spared who showed me any form of love.

I had to watch helplessly as all these things occurred. Waiting for the one who put me here to join me. Only then will I move on to heaven or hell. Untill then I wait here watching and feeling pain with three words echoing in my head.

You Have Failed