Apex Predator, Otep
The writing on the wall
A psalm in napalm
Abandon all hope
But try to stay calm
Bleach to clean the curses
I exist, I'm not the first
Tell my mother I love her
I didn't suffer
Nobody move, nobody gets hurt
But where's the fun in that?
I gotta satisfy the thirst
Nobody move, nobody gets hurt
But where's the fun in that?
Death is such a flirt
No regrets, no apologies
A self-fulfilling prophecy
The Apex Predator.
Harry found that he couldn't breathe. Any air that made it into his lungs seemed to vanish. His ears rang in rhythm to the pounding of his heart. His shoulder felt like it had been dislocated as the Slytherins had dragged him to the cabinet, or maybe afterwards when he'd fallen out of it. Possibly even when he'd been chained to the wall by Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback. It didn't hold a candle to the yawning ache in him, growing as the panic did.
He'd been Apparated to a third location, out of Borgin and Burkes. He could be anywhere in the country. He'd seen a small cottage as he'd been levitated in, so thick with wards they were visible, a shimmering, translucent green dome. He'd been left there, chained to a stone wall, for he hadn't known how long. He found that he could move, but his sensations had been fried by the stuns and the Cruciatus, his mind fractured by the thick, overbearing hunger, and his body and thoughts had stopped properly responding while he'd hung there. His glasses had been lost, but it barely mattered, he could hardly see. What he saw was wildly incomprehensible.
He could see Voldemort -blurred and twisted by his unreliable vision- but he couldn't understand it. He wasn't sure when he'd entered, wasn't sure if Dark Lord was even real. He couldn't properly register it as he thrashed uselessly, hissing and snapping like a wild animal.
The Dark Lord was speaking, probably. There was no one else in the room, maybe. He was going to die, most likely. None of it mattered compared to the agonizing burning screaming fire pulsing through him. So, Harry dropped his head, then swung it back into the stone with all the force he could muster. Pleased when his vision blackened, and he felt the hot wetness of blood on the back of his neck. Anything else.
Suddenly he couldn't move, but it didn't matter, he thought, as he slipped willingly into the dark.
When he came to, he felt worse. Pain rattled through every nerve, every fibre, particularly in his head. His thoughts were jumbled, eyes unfocused. He thought he could see that Dark Lord, standing inches from him, but that made no sense. Could swear he felt Voldemort in his head -with all the subtlety of a nuclear bomb- piecing together his fractured thoughts and memories while the thing in his head scrambled around like a feral cat at the vet, but that made no sense.
He couldn't move, he realised, only his eyes rolled freely in his head.
'Harry… Are you really- going to make me beg?' The voice was all he could hear with any clarity, and so he clung to it.
He couldn't form a thought in response, and so he formed a metaphorical question mark. Beg for what? The spell? Right now? Bound, gagged, wandless, brain broken? Harry could still feel the Dark Lord in his head, but he was too invested in reassembling memories to notice the strange, frantic conversation taking place inside a hurricane.
'You know… The spell,' it said, pulling up the thread of his magic, tattered as it was by the state of his mind. Harry grasped it, thoughtless, starving, and forced the full weight of his rage and pain into it, into the thing in his head.
Wordlessly, wandlessly, bound, gagged, and broken, the darkness exploded out of him with force. It doubled back, pushing its way into his eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. The pores of his skin. He produced it faster than he could take it back, and so the room was filled with a slowly expanding implosion.
The third time Harry regained consciousness he also regained his senses. He recalled the last few hours with a brutal sharpness. Any pleasure, relief, or calm he may have felt from casting Liquida Tenebris were null in the face of his current reality, probably retained by the thing in his head. In its place was sharp clarity, a vibrancy to his awareness that only served to spook him further as he took the scene in. He tried casting nonverbally as soon as his eyes had opened but found that his magic wasn't responding.
He was still bound in chains, still immobilized by a spell, but he was clear enough to finally understand the room he was in. The Boy Who Lived wasn't sure if it had been blasted to bits before or after he'd cast, but the paint had been stripped from the walls that weren't stone, plasterboard pieces littered the floor, along with chunks of wood Harry assumed had belonged to furniture. The building looked like it had been long abandoned before it had been blown to bits.
Slithering through the debris toward him was Nagini, eyes on his. Beside her, standing still, was Voldemort. Face like a stone as he watched Harry watching them. Panic gripped him as he tried again for his magic, feeling bitterly betrayed when it wouldn't respond. They locked eyes for what felt like an eon while the Boy Who Lived struggled against his bindings. How could he have been so stupid? How hadn't he seen this coming? He was going to die here. He could pinpoint the moment where he'd sealed his fate. In the Ministry. Voldemort took a small step forward and tilted his head, strangely like a cordial bow. The snake had reached Harry, rising so she could get a better look at his face.
"It seems we have much to discuss," the Dark Lord said. Harry noticed Voldemort was holding his wand. All he could do about it was close his eyes.
'You're gonna let me die here?' The Boy Who Lived directed the question at the thing in his head, demanding his magic.
"But first, the particulars," Voldemort said. He sounded closer, so Harry snapped his eyes back open to find the snake-like man was indeed closing the distance between them.
"I am going to offer you a deal. This agreement will see you back home in the castle with your friends before the night is over. Would you like that, Harry?" He seemed to be waiting for the Boy Who Lived to answer, even though his lips were fused.
Harry narrowed his eyes in response.
"Now, when I release you from your bindings, you could start a fight you won't win. Or, if you choose wisely, you could secure your friend's lives. The people you love, safe." Voldemort raised and flicked his wand, arms wide, allowing Harry to move his face.
Instantly, instinctively, Harry reached for his magic, but it was again unresponsive.
"What." He spat instead.
"I will vow not to harm your friends, and in return, you will vow not to speak a word of this meeting, or any other between us to anyone. You will not allude to it in any fashion."
"What," Harry repeated, breath coming out in a whoosh.
"Neither I," Voldemort spoke slower, as though Harry was thick, "Nor my Death Eaters will harm your friends. Your Order of the Phoenix, of course, is excluded."
"A Vow?" The Boy Who Lived asked, "Like your word?"
"An Unbreakable Vow. Death upon those who break it."
Harry's mind raced at this. Death? Voldemort would risk death to keep this meeting private? He would swear not to harm his loved ones to ensure secrecy?
"And if I don't agree?" Harry asked.
"Then you will not return to Hogwarts tonight." There was a clear threat in the Dark Lord's tone.
Harry rapidly considered the implications of the Vows Voldemort was proposing. He didn't want Harry to tell anyone that the Dark Lord had taken him. Why? Any other "meeting"? What did they have to discuss? The Boy Who Lived searched the Vows for loopholes and reason while the Dark Lord watched him. Harry's eyes vibrated from the force of his heartbeat.
"I don't understand," Harry said eventually. "Why would you want this?"
"That would be a conversation for after the Vows." Voldemort was lightly pacing, not looking at the Boy Who Lived.
Harry considered his options and found that he didn't have many. If he wanted to escape this place while his magic was disobeying, if he had any hope of defeating the monster in front of him, he might have to first consider his deal. Depending on what exactly the Dark Lord wanted to discuss, not being able to tell anyone the contents, or even that it was happening at all, would present problems. He knew that. To what degree, he didn't know. Surely not to the degree of losing the Chosen One, the one fated to defeat the Dark Lord? Because that felt like option two.
He didn't like the odds of escaping on his own accord and was even more nervous about the prospect of being moved to a third location. He had gotten himself trapped. Who knew how long it would take for the Order to find him, who knew if they would? Who knew what chaos Voldemort would reap while the Order put more and more effort into this spectacular fuck up?
The Dark Lord was watching the hope die in Harry's eyes, and the Boy Who Lived shot him a glare, before he said, "What are the terms."
"You will not discuss this meeting or any other, with anyone other than myself, until I allow it. You will maintain secrecy unless I will it. I will not harm your friends intentionally, so long as they are not members of Dumbledore's… Order. I will command my followers the same but understand they will not be bound by the Vow, only my order. Should one of them disobey they will be punished accordingly, but my Vow will not be broken." The Dark Lord said.
"None of the students," Harry said suddenly, hoping he had some bargaining power.
"None of the students?" Voldemort repeated. "Some of them are my followers already."
Harry had guessed as much and didn't hesitate. "So? None of the students."
"Except you," Voldemort said, his face expressionless.
Harry considered it and then agreed. What difference did it make?
"So be it." The Dark Lord said.
Harry was shocked that he'd agreed. Instead of reassuring him, it concerned him further. Exactly how much was this conversation worth? His mind raced for a solution, anything, as he hung there, eye to eye with the Dark Lord. Nothing came to him. Only fear and a realization that he'd found himself in a situation with no prizes.
"Alright. Fine. Have it your way." Harry said, heart racing. He didn't see any other option.
Voldemort waved his wand again and the Chosen One dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, released unceremoniously from the chains. He slowly got to his feet while the Voldemort pressed his wand to his Dark Mark. Nagini watched Harry barely a metre away, waiting, and probably hoping, for him to try and escape. He couldn't help but look at her and think of the memory of her crammed in a cage, of raising his wand and blasting the door free. A Maledictus. He could feel the thing in his head watching the serpent through his eyes, so he tore them away, once again he searched for his magic and still found it withheld.
He used the time to force his left arm back into its socket, yelping as he did so. Definitely dislocated. His whole body hurt while he corrected himself, slowly standing up straight. He realized the whole lower half of his face was caked in blood, as well as the back of his head and neck. Hours old and flaking as he tried to rub it off with his good arm. There was a crack outside the small building, and Harry was bewildered to see Narcissa Malfoy enter.
"My Lord." She said, bowing low, "You called for me?"
"You don't want anyone to know but you bring Narcissa Malfoy?" Harry said this in Parseltongue, and both the Dark Lord and Nagini whipped to look at him.
"Narcissa has sworn her own Vow." The Dark Lord hissed after a moment. "Yes, I need you to bear witness to a pair of Unbreakable Vows, Narcissa. Come, draw your wand." Voldemort had turned back to the woman and was ushering her closer with an outstretched arm. She did as she was bid, looking between the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord with eyes like saucers.
Voldemort grabbed Harry's injured arm without warning, making him wince. Harry noted that there was no other pain, in his scar or anywhere else, as a result of the Dark Lord touching him. Narcissa raised her wand and waited, her eyes locked firmly on Voldemort. As he began speaking in Parseltongue, she began casting.
"I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear that I will not intentionally seek to harm any student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by any means, with the exception of Harry James Potter, and any member of the Order of the Phoenix. Any who bear the Dark Mark will be ordered as such, on the following terms,"
Harry watched as a golden thread formed around their clasped arms as the Dark Lord spoke.
"Do you, Harry James Potter, swear that you will not discuss the nature, the contents, nor the occurrence of any correspondence between you and I unless I will it?"
"I swear it," when he swore, the golden thread brightened, tightening on their clasped forearms.
"Do you, Harry James Potter, swear to do everything in your power, by means of magic or otherwise, to maintain this secrecy?"
"I swear it," Harry's heart hammered like a drum, his ears ringing to the beat. The thread felt as though it was digging into his skin, burning, before it faded.
Narcissa finished binding the tandem vow, her eyes questioning as she was bid to wait outside by the Dark Lord.
"Resist," Voldemort said, wand raised at Harry once they were alone again.
"Wha-" The Boy Who Lived felt the Dark Lord slam into his head through his eyes, but the thing in his head had been waiting for him. It promptly forced Voldemort out, not bothering with subtlety or secrecy.
"Good. You will keep it strong and private. Do you understand? You were hopelessly easy to take from the school. Narcissa!"
Harry startled when he shouted, and when he realised exactly how much the Dark Lord had seen in his mind. The Boy Who Lived deflated as he understood why he was here. The hunger. Whatever was growing in his head was of particular interest to the Dark Lord. Why, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was nothing that he'd want to be a part of. Harry was suddenly bone tired as the woman re-entered the shack, her eyes low.
"You will take Harry back to Borgin and Burkes," Voldemort said, and Narcissa's head snapped up.
"But Draco-" she said before she stopped herself.
"Are you going to harm Draco Malfoy?" The Dark Lord asked, directed at Harry.
"Uh- no, not fatally," He responded, his voice flat as he kept his eyes on the woman. He guessed they hadn't expected the Chosen One to return to the school. At least not alive.
"Good, all friends you see, Narcissa!" Voldemort said.
Harry didn't like the way he said 'friends', and neither did the Malfoy Matriarch. She shot Harry a pleading, confused look, then nodded.
'You didn't tell me why you wanted the Vows," Harry said in Parseltongue when Narcissa indicated for him to follow her out of the wards.
Harry already had an inkling why the Dark Lord had pressured Harry into the Vow. The thing in his head. He wanted it as secret as the thing itself did. The Boy Who Lived couldn't say he hadn't seen it coming, but the realization that it was far too late to do anything about it now, that he'd made yet another mistake in a series of mistakes, was beginning to settle heavily on his mind.
"I've kept you long enough. Narcissa, I will see you afterwards, do not delay." The Dark Lord said.
Harry kept his wide eyes straight ahead as he exited the building. Narcissa held her arm out and he took it, dazed. She side-along Apparated him to Borgin and Burkes, right in front of the cabinet. He bent down to scoop his smashed glasses off the ground, saying nothing to her as he stepped into the cupboard, closing the door behind him.
When it opened, he was back in the Room of Requirement, alone.
Harry fell to his knees, eyes locked on the stone floor. Inside his head, he was screaming, but it didn't come out of his mouth. He felt like he stayed there for hours. His mind was painfully, searingly blank.
When he finally dragged himself to his feet, he realised that he had to look awful. His glasses were shattered, and there was blood on his face from his nose, and on the back of his neck, from head-butting the wall. Pain shot from the front to the back of his head. His whole body ached from the ordeal, and he had no wand to fix the issues. In response to these thoughts, the cracks in his glasses vanished before his eyes, the dried blood on his face and neck fell free, his robes repelling the dirt, blood and debris he'd collected. The pain vanished with it. He knew the thing in his head was responsible, and he snarled at it. It was silent.
Once he'd found his way out of the maze of junk and into the corridor, early morning light was spilling across the stones. He carried himself to the Common Room, numb.
Malfoy still had his wand. He hoped the git hadn't pitched it into the lake as he told the Fat Lady the password.
"Harry! Oh, Merlin, Harry." Ginny had exploded from her seat by the fire and tackled him in a hug.
Harry could see Hermione through Ginny's red hair, glaring at him from her seat, Ron next to her, looking sheepish.
"She didn't go to Dumbledore. I convinced her not to." Ginny whispered into his shoulder before she let him go. Harry wasn't sure how she'd known he didn't want to see the headmaster. It might have been his shouting before he'd stormed out.
"We were worried," Hermione said, and Ron nodded.
"I was… In the Room of Requirement. I needed- space." Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he lied, images of his arm clasped with Voldemort's bound by shimmering gold thread swam in his vision.
"See Hermione, that's why we couldn't see him on the map," Ron said, flapping the map in question. Harry hadn't noticed that he had it. Obviously, they'd decided to check it after he'd been kidnapped.
Hermione had her arms crossed as she looked between the three of them. It was clear Ron and Ginny had bullied her into waiting. Harry didn't know how to feel about this. On one hand, maybe Dumbledore might have figured it out. Burst through the door with the Order in tow before Narcissa had raised her wand. On the other, if the headmaster hadn't saved the day, he'd be facing an interrogation for breakfast while under an Unbreakable Vow.
"I'm sorry." Harry said after a long pause, "I'm gonna go get dressed."