Dark Side

The Beginning of the End

It felt like months since Harry had been captured by Voldemort and thrown into a cell to be used as the Death Eaters torture device. Of course, Harry couldn't really be sure how long it had been since they had thrown him down here, because he was kept in the dark. There was no window for him to look out of, no people to talk to, and only the sound of screams to keep him from feeling completely isolated.

He sobbed freely, all dignity lost by now; his nerve endings felt like they were on fire, his muscles spasming uncontrollably as he tried to force them to calm down. His cell door closed once more, leaving him alone in darkness to listen to the pained screams that he had once joined in on. Like a horrible, ear-splitting melody.

Harry's mind worked to try and distract him from the pain, going to wonder what his friends were doing. He knew they were back at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, probably still complaining about not being let outside and having to help clean. Harry wondered if any of them even knew he was gone. Would the Dursleys report it? Probably not, they would be glad to get rid of Harry once and for all. Harry's stomach growled, and he felt jealousy rise in him at the thought of everyone being safe and sound, eating Mrs. Weasley's lovely cooking and laughing. Even if he was still at the Dursleys, he would be getting the short end of the stick.

They've no clue how good they've got it, Harry thought to himself, bitterness filling him like weeds in a garden, but he quickly shook himself free of the thoughts. His friends didn't know, and Harry was glad that they'd never know what he went through. Harry couldn't wish that on anyone. Still, he couldn't help the underlying thoughts of wishing he and Ron could trade lives for just one day. Maybe then the prat would stop getting angry for things I didn't even ask to happen.

———————

Pain was all that Harry felt anymore, whether he was being tortured or not. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to speak. It hurt to see. It hurt to live. He wanted it to stop, he would do anything for it to stop. And he knew, deep down, that it wouldn't stop until Lord Voldemort was ready for it to stop. That Lord Voldemort wouldn't want it to stop until Harry was broken. Nothing more than a shell. Harry had promised himself it wouldn't happen, told himself that he would never cave into the man's demands. But his mind was betraying him. Giving him thoughts of how much better things would be if he just compiled. If only he would let the man claim him as his own, let the mark be burnt into his skin like fire.

It's not as though your friends care. Harry shook his head in response to his own inner voice, only to whimper and curl up tighter in a ball as pain follows his movements.

You know it's true, you know they don't care about you. They probably aren't even looking for you anymore.

"No," Harry mumbled, his voice scratchy from screaming and pleading for it to stop. He knew that his friends wouldn't do that, they wouldn't just give up on him like he was nothing.

Then why haven't they found you yet? Why haven't they saved you?

Harry couldn't answer that, he couldn't answer why his friends hadn't found him yet, why it felt like he had been stuck in the dark dungeons of Lord Voldemort's hideout for years. Wasn't Dumbledore looking with all his resources? Surely they knew he was gone by now? Especially if the school year has started again.

They don't care, and you know it. Harry whimpered and curled up further, tears silently rolling down his face as he tried to forget everything again.

———————

They've probably replaced you with Neville, you know?

Harry let out an ear-splitting scream, his leg bending in a way it was most certainly not supposed to bend, before being snapped back into place like it had never happened, only the lingering pain being left behind.