Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.
---
In Terms of a Name
By Taliya
---
Chapter II: Welcome to a Nightmare
---
Harry waited with baited breath as the temporary Chief Warlock stood to address the courtroom.
"The Wizengamot has reached a verdict. After much deliberation, Harry James Potter stands, guilty as charged."
---
In the Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton, a man more widely known as Lord Voldemort sat in wait before a fire in the study. A twelve-foot long snake lay curled near his feet, basking in the warmth of the flames. He gazed into the flames silently, contemplating his future plans. The attempt to end young Harry Potter's life had ended in failure. The two Death Eaters that returned last night, Wormtail and Bellatrix Lestrange, had both been punished severely. And, yet again, his followers' numbers had dropped. His lips curled in a snarl. "Thossse foolsss botched up a fool-proof plan to kill Potter again," he hissed harshly.
The snake lifted her head to stare with beady eyes at the man. "The boy wasss unssstable and unpredictable. You of all ssshould know that, Massster," she softly chided.
Voldemort growled, his anger ebbing with the snake's words. "I ssshould kill you for your cheek, Nagini," he hissed back as he invited her to slide into his lap. She obliged, slithering up the chair legs and over the arm rest.
"I'm sssimply worried for you, Massster," she replied as she coiled into loose loops on the man's thighs.
Voldemort patted the serpent's head in an almost loving manner. "Wormtail!" he barked, straightening in his seat.
The doors opened and a short, round man came through almost at a run. He fell into a bow before the man, rasping, "My Lord."
"What have you heard of the boy?"
The rat-faced man hesitated for a moment, then said, "They have him at the Ministry. Rumor has it that he is to be put on trial for manslaughter in three days' time, Master."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed a little. "Anything else?"
"My Lord, they say that if he is found guilty he will be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban," Wormtail dutifully reported.
The Dark Lord leaned back into the armchair, ideas whirling in his mind. A malicious grin spread across the man's face. "Wormtail," he commanded, "Keep a watch out for that trial. The moment the verdict is announced, you will inform me."
Wormtail kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. "Of course, Master." He rose off the floor.
"And Wormtail?"
The man paused in his exit to the door. "My Lord?"
Voldemort casually flicked his wand. "Crucio."
Wormtail crumpled to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain.
"I am still quite angry with your failure. I will not tolerate another." Nagini hissed her agreement. Voldemort lifted the Cruciatus Curse off the unfortunate man.
Wormtail whimpered as he crawled to his feet. "I will n-not f-f-f-fail you, m-m-my Lord," he stuttered through his pain. He stumbled out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as he could considering his still-quivering muscles.
"That man," Nagini stated blandly, "Isss nothing but a pathetic coward." She turned to look at the Dark Lord. "Why do you ssstill keep him anyway?"
Voldemort heaved a long-suffering sigh that he would never do before anyone other than his pet. "My dear Nagini," he murmured as he gently stroked her head, "He hasss hisss usssesss. Few of my Death Eatersss have an Animagusss form they can ussse to ssspy."
Nagini replied with a simple, "Point taken."
---
Courtroom Ten was silent for all of ten seconds.
"That's not fair!" Harry torpidly turned his head to see Hermione Granger up on her feet, fists clenched, eyes blazing with anger. Frantic whispering simmered throughout the courtroom. Before she could add on to her objection, Remus Lupin reached out and gently pulled her back down to her seat. "But—"
"Hush, Ms. Granger," Lupin whispered, "The Wizengamot has not yet finished."
Hermione looked as though to continue arguing but Remus shook his head and turned back to the standing temporary Chief Warlock.
The temporary Chief Warlock cleared his throat, and the low murmurs died. "The sentence for Mr. Potter's crimes will be a lifetime in Azkaban Prison and the snapping of his wand."
The roar from the courtroom was overwhelming for so few people. And yet, Harry didn't hear a thing. It was as if his whole world had contracted until it revolved around one thing: he was going to Azkaban for life. He had a gobsmacked expression on his face.
He did not notice Dumbledore comforting Remus and Minerva. He did not notice his friends fighting the Aurors in a vain attempt to reach him. He did not notice the reporters scrambling to take magical photographs and flee to send their reports to their respective headquarters. He did not notice the Aurors leading him before the Wizengamot, snapping his wand, and throwing the remains in a garbage bin, then leading him back to the cell and placing different sets of spelled manacles on his wrists and ankles. Harry was then placed under a Disillusionment Charm and marched to a small Apparition Chamber. From there, they apperated to a foggy, desolate-looking shore with a small dock. A small rowboat was moored to the dock. Harry docilely sat down and watched as the shoreline disappeared from sight, cloaked by the swirling mists.
Harry was numb. His life was over. His head dipped forwards and a single tear squeezed itself from between shut eyelids. I'm sorry, Sirius, I'm so very sorry I couldn't keep my promise. The shrouded outline of Azkaban loomed to the fore. The atmosphere grew steadily chillier and darker. The Aurors continued rowing towards the Wizarding prison.
By now, all of the Dementors had deserted Azkaban Prison. A few members of the Auror forces had been transferred to guard the remaining prisoners. A few of those assigned to that unwelcoming island gathered to greet their newest resident.
The boat was moored at the small pier and Harry was hauled onto the dock. They led him up the steep, rocky precipices and into the dreary entrance hall. After taking off his shackles and striping him naked, they roughly shoved coarse-feeling clothing into his arms, ordering him to put them on. He methodically did so with no complaints. They took magical photographs of him and gave him a dog tag on a thin chain with an identification number. He was collared with an enchanted iron ring on his neck and was led down numerous hallways and shoved into a small cell, furnished with a cot, a thin blanket, a bucket full of water, and an empty pail.
The cell door clanged shut, the lock and the wards were set, and Harry was left alone with misery for company.
---
The Ministry of Magic had been in an uproar since the conclusion of one Harry James Potter's case. People were flooing and apparating in and out of the main foyer, babbling excitedly and anxiously about what happened in Courtroom Ten and what was to become of the Wizarding world now that their icon of the Light was gone. Would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named take over, killing all Muggles and Mudbloods alike? It was a horrible future to contemplate, but a very possible future now that the Boy-Who-Lived was behind enchanted bars for life.
Away from all the commotion, in the familiar home known as the Burrow, the Weasleys, along with all of Harry's friends and professors that came to his trial, were nestled in the living room, mourning or contemplating the loss of one of their own. The atmosphere was solemn and dismal.
Minerva, Ginny, and her father, Arthur Weasley, were comforting the crying Weasley matron, Molly. Hermione was sandwiched between Ron and Remus as she cried for their friend. Dumbledore sat in an overstuffed armchair patting the arm of Hagrid, who was currently situated on the floor and sobbing loudly. Fred and George in a corner, half-heartedly plotting ways to break Harry out of Azkaban Prison without the aid of Harry being an Animagus. Snape and Moody were thoughtful and quiet, although they were stationed in opposite corners.
The weeping eventually died down, leaving everyone to their own thoughts in the tense silence that followed. But one thought remained prevalent in each mind: What is to become of us and our world?
Molly Weasley was the first the break the silence. "Poor Harry," she murmured, her head resting on her husband's shoulder. Her eyes stared vacantly into the opposite wall.
"Fate always seemed to enjoy pulling Harry's strings," Hermione said softly with a bitter laugh.
Dumbledore frowned. Hermione's comment had hit a little too close to home for his personal comfort. He himself had orchestrated a large majority of the string pulling in Harry's life. Although Dumbledore himself had not been even fractionally responsible for the events leading to Harry's incarceration, the aged Headmaster felt as though he had failed the young man now doomed to a lifetime of imprisonment.
"Fate always seemed to enjoy pulling Harry's strings."
Hermione's comment ricocheted in his mind, back and forth, back and forth, increasing his guilt tenfold. Albus sighed deeply, suddenly feeling his age rather acutely. I'll do whatever I can to get you out, Harry, he vowed to himself, I'll argue myself blue in the face if I have to. Steeling himself for the events to come, Albus Dumbledore stood up. All eyes settled on him.
The Headmaster tipped his head at his hosts. "Thank you for your hospitality Molly, Arthur," he murmured.
"Where are you going, Albus?" asked Minerva as she rubbed Ginny's back.
"The Ministry of Magic. I am in need of a discussion or two with our… esteemed… Minister of Magic," he stated with a glint in his eyes. "I bid you all a good evening." He helped himself out of the crowded room and disappeared at the Apparition Point in the Weasleys' entrance hall.
---
"Master!" Wormtail cried as he entered the study in a near-run, "Master! I bring you good tidings!" The Death Eater flopped into a groveling stance and kissed his robes.
"Report, Wormtail," Voldemort growled.
"Potter has been sentenced to life imprisonment and his wand has been snapped, Milord." Voldemort remained silent for a length of time, and Wormtail tensed in anticipation of the Cruciatus Curse.
"You have done well, my loyal servant," the Dark Lord hissed at last.
Wormtail nearly sagged in relief. "You are too kind, Master," he simpered, kissing his robe hem yet again.
"Gather the Dementors. Tell them it is time they feast on the island they once inhabited. We will make good use of the pandemonium no doubt engulfing Wizarding Britain courtesy of their Boy Wonder," Voldemort sneered. "Wormtail, after collecting all the Dementors, you and Bellatrix are to storm Azkaban, release those loyal to me, and do whatever you wish to with the rest. However," Voldemort paused in thought, "Do not kill the rest. Let the Dementors have their feast. Find Potter, but do not have him Kissed. Offer him the chance to join me. Should he refuse, make sure—personally, Wormtail—that the Potter brat is brought to me. I want to see him when he refuses me and dies." A dark smile spread across the pale face.
"Of course, my Lord. It will be done immediately." Wormtail rose and departed, surprisingly, without being cursed.
---
"FOR THE LAST TIME, DUMBLEDORE, I REFUSE TO OVERRIDE THE JUDGMENT OF THE WIZENGAMOT!" roared Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge as he stomped around his office. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore observed the enraged Minister with resolve.
"Cornelius, please! Now that you have hard proof that Voldemort is back, you must take actions to prevent our side from losing hope of winning the war! Harry Potter is that hope, and if you lock him away you are dooming the rest of us to a future of slaughter and misery!" Dumbledore argued, hating every word that left his lips. Harry was more, so much more, than just a tool in this cruel game of war.
"Dumbledore, you fully expect me to pardon a boy that killed over seven-hundred people in a single night? Are you MAD?" the Minister hissed, eyes flashing furiously.
The steely glint in the Headmaster's eyes never faded; they only hardened even more. "Yes, Cornelius, I expect you to. Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived! He is the only means we have of defeating Voldemort forever!" Disgust welled up inside him, but he consoled himself with the fact that he was, at least, arguing for Harry's freedom.
"Preposterous, Dumbledore, simply preposterous!" Fudge threw his hands up in the air. "Potter's only a child! Why in Merlin's name would he be able to complete a task a fully-trained Auror squadron could not do? Potter's only a spoiled, fame-grabbing—"
Fudge's rant came to an abrupt halt as he eyed the wand pointed at him. Dumbledore's usually twinkling blue eyes smoldered with barely-suppressed fury. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge," he stated, his voice rumbling with tightly-leashed power, "This is not about publicity or fame. This is about the lives of the Wizarding populace. If you fail to liberate Harry, not only are you condemning our side, you are condemning all of Britain—and possibly the continent—to a future of bloodshed and chaos." Dumbledore's magic rolled from him in waves, causing the fine hairs on the Minister's neck to stand on end. "Release him. Give us a fighting chance."
The Minister shook himself out of his stupor, visibly gathering steam. "Now see here, Dumbledore! I—"
Fudge was interrupted by a knock on his door. Without waiting for permission, Rufus Scrimgeour entered. "Sirs," he greeted, "We have an emergency situation on our hands. We've just received word that Azkaban has been stormed by both Dementors and Death Eaters."
Fudge paled and Dumbledore took a calming breath. Seeing as how Fudge had been shocked one too many times—literally, Albus asked, "What is being done about the situation, Rufus?"
Rufus straightened. "We are dispatching two-thirds of our Auror force to drive away the Dementors and to take down any and all Death Eaters. The remaining Aurors will stay here to protect the Minister and other Ministry officials."
Dumbledore nodded distractedly before departing with a hasty, "Good day." Apparating out of the Ministry foyer, he Disapparated at the Burrow. Almost running inside, he found his peers and students where he had left them. They all took in his pallid countenance and tensed in apprehension. "Azkaban's been broken into by Dementors and Death Eaters. Minerva, Severus, Alastor, Arthur, gather up the Order. We need to help the Aurors. Molly, stay with the children."
The living room of the Burrow exploded in a dizzying whirl of activity. Amidst it all, Albus Dumbledore stood, head bowed, praying that one Harry Potter was still there, alive and unharmed.
---
Nary four hours had passed since Harry had been roughly shoved into his cell and locked up. He sat on the edge of the cot, staring listlessly at the dirty, mold-blackened stone under his feet. The hallways faintly echoed with the inarticulate screams of its inmates; most of them had been driven to insanity by the Dementors' presence before they deserted the Wizarding prison. Harry had barely noticed the passage of time. He had only roused himself from his position on the cot to sip some of the provided water in the bucket. From what he had gathered in his daze, the other pail was used to store bodily waste, if the rank smell throughout the prison was any indication whatsoever.
Evening had settled in, and a cool breeze swept through the poorly-insulated prison. Harry clutched the thin blanket closer about his form as he remained perched on the side of the cot. His eyes drooped and every now and then he would start, shake himself, and slowly begin to doze off once again.
He awoke with a jerk some time later to an eerie silence. His senses were alerted by that same strange feeling of wrongness he had felt the night he had—
I can't think of that now, Harry chided himself as a cold, dismal feeling settled in his bones. The images of that night's events played itself in his mind more forcefully than before. His heart rate increased as he gulped in air. The Dementors are gone… Why are they coming back? Harry clumsily scooted into the back corner of his cell, as far away from the door as possible, all the while clutching the blanket around himself with a sort of desperation. His chest heaved despite his efforts to control his escalating fear.
Anguished screams met his ears as his fellow inmates began feeling the effects of the former Azkaban guards. Amidst the screams were the yelled commands of the Aurors as they organized themselves. The yells stopped; it seemed as if the Aurors were laying in wait. The prisoners' shrieks continued.
Harry shivered with the imagined cold as he waited. All became quiet as the entire structure shuddered with a resounding boom. Harry involuntarily sucked in a breath and held in terrified anticipation. The boom came again with another wave of vibrations. The last boom came with the resonating sound of splintering wood. The echoes of curses and hexes being cast floated to his ears. Harry let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. The battle had begun. The inmates once again initiated their chorus of wails, but Harry detected raw, unfiltered fear in these fresh screams.
The Dementors were in Azkaban.
The Boy-Who-Lived trembled from the frostiness that had settled in his core. A high, feminine scream resounded in his ears, echoing in his mind. Harry squeezed his eyes shut in a fruitless attempt to stop the pained screaming. The screaming in his mind did not stop, but a cold, high laugh joined in the cacophony in Harry's head. The additional scream he heard did not help, but it was not until he had to gulp in air that he realized that he was that additional scream.
The iciness and the shrieks and laughter of his memories increased in intensity tenfold. He then felt the effects of the Dementor taper off slightly. A bit confused, Harry nonetheless pried an eye open before pressing himself as far as he could into the cold stone wall behind him, his fear temporarily forgotten in his anger and hate towards the man he saw. His lips pressed together to form a thin line.
Wormtail stood before the door to his cell, mask off and hood lowered. "Hello, Potter," Wormtail sneered, "Fancy seeing you here of all places. If only Black were here with you. You'd be… happy… I daresay."
There mere mention of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was more than enough to make the youth lunge out to strangle the traitor. It felt as though a corrosive poison was being dripped into the still-bleeding wound that Sirius' absence had left in Harry's heart. Still, Harry struggled to pull his emotions under control and managed to keep himself from attempting the murder of the rat before him.
"What do you want, Wormtail?" Harry snarled through gritted teeth.
"Now Harry," Wormtail simpered, "Is that the correct manner to address your liberator?"
Harry scoffed. "Liberator? You're no liberator—unless you liberate souls from their bodies. You're a bloody Death Eater!" he mocked with a sarcastic, scornful tone.
"Now, now, Potter, I have a proposition for you from my Lord Voldemort. He is once again offering you the chance to join his ranks as his right-hand man in his Inner Circle. It would be wise to take up the offer," Wormtail suggested. The little brat will have higher standing than I, Wormtail thought touchily.
"Well, tell your dear Lord," Harry spat, "That he can just bugger off. As if I would join that madman and his merry band of murderers!"
The Dark Lord's servant stiffened. "You know, Potter, that I am under orders to personally supervise your visiting my Lord. This Dementor here," Wormtail gestured to the cloaked being at the end of the hallway with his magical silver right hand, "Is here to ensure that you are on your best behavior."
Harry clenched his hands until they were pale and trembling with his anger. Had it not been for the spelled collar wrapped about his neck, Harry's innate magic would have exploded in the same manner as that one condemning night…
As it were, the ring fizzled and sparked as the enchantments restricted both Harry's conscious and unconscious efforts to use magic. Harry was, effectively, a Squib. His mind reeled with the stark certainty that his life was now in his enemy's hands.
Harry choked as the ring applied pressure to his throat—a clear warning not to use any form of magic. Probably developed since Sirius' miraculous escape, he thought bitingly. After ten seconds' worth of suffering, the ring released the pressure, leaving the young wizard gasping for breath.
Wormtail sniggered, thoroughly enjoying the unexpected little bout of punishment the Light's precious Boy-Who-Lived had received. "Tut, tut, Potter," he snipped, wagging his silver index finger at the youth. "You only got what you deserved."
Harry bit his tongue to stop the barrage of words that threatened to flow from his lips. He would not give the git the pleasure of knowing he had riled him up.
"Now, Potter, I'm going to open the door. Do anything funny, and you will be introduced rather intimately to my cloaked friend here." The Dementor merely stood where it had been, a thick but diaphanous layer of black fog surrounding where its tattered robes met the cold stone of the floor. Wormtail proceeded to undo the wards and locks with a complicated series of wand movements and incantations that Harry suspected someone had to have taught it to him—repeatedly.
At length Wormtail opened the cell door and strolled in, his wand trained on the youth. "Make this easier for yourself, Potter, and touch the portkey," he commanded, producing a wooden stick from his robes. He held it out as far as he could, as if trying to keep the proximity between Harry and himself at a maximum.
"Dementor," he barked over his shoulder, keeping both eyes and wand still pointed at Harry, "Back to the Manor."
The Dementor dissipated in that same black fog. The fog, acting like some sort of writhing liquid, streamed up and out of a thin, long window in the hallway near the ceiling.
Wormtail produced a wooden stick from his robes. "Grab on," he hissed, "We are going to see the Dark Lord."
Harry was in a quandary. He could either:
A.) Go with the cowardly git and die by the hand of Voldemort; or
B.) He could make a run for it, considering said cowardly git forgot to close the cell door, only to be shot down.
He barely managed to suppress a disgusted groan. Either way I'll be shot down like a pig, all things considered.
Apprehensively, he grasped the stick. The familiar jerk-behind-the-naval feeling always left him feeling slightly sick. Both he and Wormtail spun dizzyingly through space. Harry stumbled a little as their ride came to an end. Glancing around, the dark, gloomy interior of a room met his eyes. Once a vision of opulence, the room had fallen into sad disrepair—the furniture was coated with a layer of pale dust, the crystal chandelier was home to a multitude of spiders, the walls were veined with cracks and hairline fractures.
All in all Harry did not like the look of this place. The fact that his famed lightning-shaped scar was throbbing was not helping his case. Wormtail had commanded that the Dementor go back to "the Manor", so it was probably a safe guess that he was in "the Manor" as well.
"Come, Potter," Wormtail said as he none-too-gently jabbed his wand into Harry's back, "Milord awaits."
The Boy-Who-Lived was frog-marched to what seemed to be a study. Death Eaters sneered and spit on him as he was pushed forth. The decrepit doors to the study were opened, and he was roughly shoved in. Harry, becoming increasingly blinded by the pain, tumbled to the floor with a grunt.
"My Lord," Wormtail announced as he bowed, "I have done your bidding and have brought to you the Potter brat."
Harry struggled to get up, wavering once he was on his feet. It was then that he noticed that there was a single armchair placed before a large fireplace. He noted through pain-glazed eyes that an ashen, long-fingered hand rested on the armrest that he could see. A black snake slithered over said hand and hissed, "It isss a young human I sssee, Massster. Isss he the one you want?"
The pallid hand gripped the armrest as a face just as pale peered from above. As Voldemort rested his cool, calculating gaze upon Harry, the pain in his scar increased threefold. Harry clenched his teeth, pressing his lips together to stem a weak moan.
Voldemort smirked. "Yesss, my Nagini, it isss indeed the Potter boy." To Wormtail he spoke, "You have done well, Wormtail."
"You are kind, my Lord," Wormtail responded, bowing even lower.
"And Potter. So… kind of you to visit," Voldemort welcomed in a dry, sarcastic tone. With his heavy gaze, he forced Harry to take two jerky paces towards him. "It is not often I receive visitors who… come of their own volition."
Laying on the thick sarcasm despite the pain, Harry responded in kind. "The pleasure is all mine," he managed through gritted teeth. Gulping in a deep breath, he added, "Although I must say it was sorely lacking in the Welcoming Committee."
Voldemort chuckled sardonically. "Indeed. I all but disagree with you." Both could see how Wormtail momentarily tensed at the insult. "Leave us," the Dark Lord commanded.
Wormtail shuffled out backwards, muttering words of his Lord's greatness. The door closed with a definitive click.
"Now," Voldemort began in a rather genial manner, "I believe that Wormtail has enlightened you to the reasons to which you now stand before me?" He petted his familiar's head, pale fingers gliding gently along smooth black scales. The serpent hissed her contentment.
"You want me to join you," Harry replied as smoothly as possible despite the pain in his scar.
"Ah, yes. And what of my offer?" queried Voldemort.
Harry sketched a grin that appeared more like a grimace. "You can take that offer of yours and shove it as far as it'll go."
The Dark Lord's superficial geniality melted away instantly to reveal a deep-seated animosity. "Crucio."
Harry dropped in a boneless manner to the floor, thrashing about in pain. Voldemort let the boy suffer the curse for a minute, then lifted it. Harry had not screamed once, heaving heavily on the ground. "Your first lesson: do not be smart with me, boy. You will suffer most painfully, as you have just experienced—nothing like a small bout of the Cruciatus, eh? Regardless, it would be wise to consider my offer."
He looked to the door and barked, "Wormtail!"
Said Death Eater scuttled in and bowed. "Yes, my Lord?"
"Take Potter and lock him up. He needs a few days' worth of… convincing." Voldemort grinned malevolently.
Wormtail bowed and roughly hauled Harry out the door, leaving the Dark Lord with a parting, "Of course, Master."
---
"We lost," Alastor Moody reported tiredly to the Headmaster. "We apparated to the shore, then conjured boats to take us across to the island. The whole place was swarming with Dementors and freed Death Eaters. When we got there, they were all already engaged in battle with the Aurors. We aided them greatly, but still were no match for their numbers. We had to retreat before we were completely overwhelmed."
Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the formal dining table in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, secret headquarters for the elusive underground Order of the Phoenix. Assembled around him were the members of the Order, all with various sorts of injuries. He furrowed his brows. "The remaining inmates?"
"Kissed," responded a weary Kingsley Shacklebolt, "Every single one."
The anxiety the Albus felt increased twofold. "And what of Harry?"
"Gone, Albus," Minerva McGonagall replied as steadily as she could. She had a bandage wrapped around her head, having taken a glancing blow from a Reductor Curse that had fractured her skull. She sat woozily on a chair, gently supported by Remus Lupin on one side and Molly Weasley on the other even though she had received a thorough scolding from the Weasley matron for not laying down.
Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Ideas as to his whereabouts?" he asked, even though he had a feeling he knew where the boy might be.
Severus Snape dispelled any doubts. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's keep."
The Headmaster sunk lower into his seat as a general outcry erupted from the Order members.
---
Harry was taken out of his unlit prison after what seemed like endless days of torture at the hands of Voldemort's Death Eaters. The Dark Lord's faithful had been instructed to torture the boy, but was under no circumstances to be killed or punished in such a way that he would assuredly die. The Boy-Who-Lived emerged from the dungeons looking ragged and worn, with a split lip, black eyes, and bruises all over. He was dumped brusquely by two black-clad Death Eaters before Voldemort. The Dark Lord dismissed his servants with a wave of his hand.
Turning to gaze at the beaten form of Harry Potter, Voldemort asked in an amiable manner, "So Potter, have you decided yet?"
Harry glared up at his nemesis and growled a hoarse, "I refuse to join forces with someone who uses fear to control people."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed in displeasure. "Nagini," he hissed.
Said serpent slithered through the partly open door. "Massster?"
"Would you be ssso kind asss to ussse one of my ssservantsss to bring a Dementor to me?" requested Voldemort.
"It ssshall be done, Massster," Nagini replied, no doubt off to terrorize the hapless Death Eaters until one of them figured out why she was harassing them.
The Dark Lord and the icon of the Light engaged in a silent staring contest that lasted for several minutes until it was broken by the relative proximity of an approaching Dementor. Harry stiffened and scrunched his eyes shut as the screams and laughter began. He toppled to the floor, jerking his limbs. He completely blacked out as the Dementor entered the room.
Voldemort regarded the Boy-Who-Lived with contempt. Currently, the apparent "Savior of the Wizarding World" was collapsed on the floor, muscles spasmodically twitching. Gazing at the tall hooded figure, the Dark Lord addressed it: "Ah, my friend, I have a job for you that you will undoubtedly enjoy."
The Dementor inclined its head to indicate that it was listening.
"Please, Kiss the boy," he said, gesturing to the prone figure with a booted foot.
The Dementor let out a rattling breath and silently glided over to Harry, lowering its hood as it went. The black smoke the Dementor emitted curled about the youth as it neared. Harry snapped fully into consciousness the moment one blackened skeletal hand encircled his neck atop the iron collar, hauling him roughly up to leave him dangling above the ground, while the other clamped onto his jaw. The raw fear transmitted through the Dementor's touch did not leave him drowning in his worst memories—rather, it left his mind completely clear and comprehensive of what was transpiring. His eyes widened at the sight of the Dementor's eyeless, rotting countenance and realized what it was about to attempt. He stubbornly clamped his mouth shut as he desperately tried to think of a way to get out of the situation. Instinctively he began clawing and kicking at the Dementor, but it was of no use. The decomposing fingers were surprisingly strong, pressing unrelentingly on his cheeks between his teeth. Harry tried his best to endure the pain, but the pressure was too much and he unwillingly succumbed to the smarting by opening his jaw.
Voldemort watched the spectacle with no small amount of satisfaction. He smiled wickedly as the Dementor lowered its head toward its unwilling victim. Intertwining his fingers, he rested his elbows on the armrests and leaned back in his armchair to enjoy the rest of the "show."
Harry struggled all the more fiercely when he noticed the Dementor had started leaning down towards his face. Oh, God, I'm going to have my soul sucked from me… Mum… Dad… Sirius… please, someone—anyone, help me… A single tear squeezed itself out from Harry's tightly shut eyelids and slid smoothly down his cheek before being obstructed by the Dementor's fingers.
Harry felt the frosty breath moments before frigid, slimy lips—if they could be called lips at all—clamped onto his open mouth. The anguished wails of thousands upon thousands Kissed before him echoed in his head. Iciness colder than anything he had yet experienced swept though him, leaving him numb and weak. He felt faint and dizzy, barely aware of his surroundings as his world grew bleaker and bleaker. He felt drained.
Just as he felt as though this were his last moment on this plane, a comforting warmth he had never felt before surged up from his very core, chasing the deadness away and leaving him shocked and dazed with its power. The Dementor screeched, dropping the boy like a hot potato and fleeing the room. Harry crashed to the floor, eyes closed and still. Other than the moving of his chest, Harry Potter, the famed Boy-Who-Lived looked, for all intents and purposes, dead.
The Dark Lord furrowed his brows in consternation as to why his precious Dementor follower had fled from the boy. It appeared as though the Dementor had done its job, and that the Potter brat was nothing but a shell—but he had to be certain. Standing up, he prodded the prone figure with the toe of his boot before striding over to one of the bookshelves that housed an assortment of potions. Picking up a small vial of Veritaserum, he returned to Harry's body and opened his mouth. Uncorking the glass container, he tipped three drops onto the youth's tongue and snapped his jaw shut with more force than was necessary. Corking the vial, he replaced the Veritaserum back in its proper place and turned to the boy, who had yet to move.
"What is your name?" he demanded after several seconds.
No answer.
"What is your name?" he repeated.
Still no answer.
Satisfied, Voldemort left the study to announce the planning of a Muggle raid to his faithful.
He never noticed the faint black smoke that surrounded Harry Potter's body.
---
And so another chapter is written. I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I pretty much made up what happens when someone is Kissed by a Dementor, since I don't remember if J.K. Rowling wrote about it or not. Just so you know, I don't think there are going to be any 'ships for Harry in this, but if there is, it might either be a Harry x Hermione or Harry x Ginny. I'm also looking for someone who can edit out my Americanisms and replace them with Briticisms, as well as possibly beta for me.
-Tal.
---
Completed: 8.8.2006
Edited: 8.9.2006
Re-edited: 12.29.08
---