“Get up! Did you plan on lying around forever? Miserable sack of dirt, there are things to do!”
Harry felt a sharp pain in his kidneys and he curled up on the stone floor. Through the slits of his eyes, he saw that he was so kindly assaulted by a Death Eater. He crawled slowly to his knees, and eventually to his feet. He wouldn’t do this lying down.
He was left alone in a rather small room. Unsure of what to expect, he was wary of all sides. He watched the ceiling, half expecting to see some hybrid of a creature waiting to relieve him of his blood. He was famished; his stomach positively burned with want. But just then, a voice filtered into the room from everywhere. He could feel it in his bones.
It took a moment before he realized Voldemort was speaking to him through his mind. Through his scar.
“I must admit it’s rather nice having the time to get well acquainted with you, Harry. I really don’t care for your little tag-along justice club. They tend to rush things a bit.” After a long pause, Harry could hear his smile as he said, “You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
“Not really,” he mumbled internally.
“I do suppose I made things a bit clear, given your method of travel. How did you like your box?”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, I imagine its previous occupant didn’t either. After all, I took it right out of the ocean. It used to hold a dead child. That’s right. It’s a coffin.” When Harry offered no response, he continued in his slow, purposeful rhythm. “Did you wonder how it came to be that you were marooned in Hogwarts?”
Harry was sure Voldemort could feel the quick pulsating of his heart.
“After all, you didn’t have that decrepit hovel of The Burrow to travel to, thanks to my Death Eaters, of course. You also couldn’t go stay with your . . . Muggle relatives.”
“What. Do. You. Mean?” He’s spoken slowly, careful to not show any fear. Anger was far better than fear.
“Why, I couldn’t have your silly blood protection running about, now could I? No, little Harry Potter. I personally rid the planet of one more piece of Muggle swine.”
“You’re lying!”
“My, Harry,” his voice purred. “You sound as if you care. Now that can’t be . . . I’ve been inside your head quite a few times. I recall the time you were “ “
“Shut up!”
“You know . . . I saw something rather . . . intriguing while I was lurking in the cobwebbed corners of your tiny little brain. I saw a rather dull little girl, who always seemed to know the answers. I’m sure you have absolutely no idea who I am talking about. In fact, I don’t even know her name. It doesn’t really matter, after all, given her ancestry. I saw the parchment, Harry. I heard your thoughts on Merlin. I knew it all . . . by sight. It seems you’ve managed a weakling’s portion of the skill of Occlumency. That seems to be one skill you haven’t stolen from me.”
“I couldn’t have stolen anything as a baby. You were the one who tried to kill me, if you remember. If I have power, it’s your fault.” Harry meant every word, but a tickling sensation formed in his forehead.
“Yes, Harry. You’re a bit slow to catch on, I see. I could only see your memories and thoughts. It didn’t matter. I employed the most brilliant minds to find the answers before the squat creature you call a friend. I found that it may be more prudent, after a time, to simply capture the mongrel myself.”
Harry’s insides burned with every derogatory remark, and Voldemort’s chortling echoed through his mind. There was something disgusting in hearing a murderer’s laugh. It was as if the world was already dead.
“I found the perfect time when one of my own came to me with interesting news. The little girl would be quite ripe for the taking the day before the school children’s holiday. I merely kept a few of my followers nearby in the forest should you plod along. I should likely thank Malfoy’s spawn for the gift.”
“Malfoy did this?” Harry growled.
Voldemort’s hearty mirth was the only response. “Unfortunately for you, you’ve become satisfactory at blocking your simple thoughts; which means I had to take you as well, of course.” Suddenly, the tall figure appeared with glowing slits for eyes. He conjured chains to wrap themselves cruelly around Harry’s struggling body. He was forcibly reminded of the Death Eater trials he’d seen through Dumbledore’s pensieve, but these chains were fundamentally different.
With each painful electrical charge coursing through his body, he saw his own fist strike Hermione. First across the brow; second, solidly into her chest. He saw her crumple and fold, with a look of utter betrayal encased in her features. He saw her tears, and felt satisfaction. A wall seemed to open up behind him as he came out of the vision. Before him, chained as he was, sat a forlorn Hermione. Her head hung low. Gashes and bruises adorned her body like war medals. Did I do that? He felt horrible. He couldn’t understand why he would hurt her like that.
“Don’t you remember, Harry? Don’t you remember how you tore at her flesh like a wild animal. Fitting for an animal such as her, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No! I didn’t . . .”
Another flash hit him, and he saw himself hurl his best friend into a wall. He saw her futile attempts to fight back, and knew she had no power over him, to overcome him. He railed on her continually, until a high-pitched scream rang soundly through his soul. It was his own.
“See what a despicable creature you are, Harry? It’s amazing you don’t recall such an event. You do know what you are capable of, do you not? Here, let me show you.”
At first, there was only darkness until it came rushing upon him in shadowy streaks. In the background was an overgrown fire, wild with need and exhilaration. A pedestal, long and metallic with a steely luster, rose above the flames, like some magnificent king upon a throne. Haughty, unfeeling and aloof. Harry was poised in front of the bonfire, before a long line of Muggles who were restrained by simple lengths of rope. No magic was necessary. They wept and pleaded with the scarred man he’d become, but he felt no sorrow or pity. This is the way it must be. Using a spell he hadn’t heard before, he swiped the tip of his wand in vast ‘I’ shapes. Their faces would blanch and topple. As each was done, their life departed and smearing the dirt, he would carelessly free their encased hearts. So lacking in the love it symbolized.
Harry was dragged out of the vision with a streaked face and pains in his chest. “I didn’t do it! I would never become that low. I would never!”
“Did you still require evidence, dear Harry? Look at the young girl over there. You do see her, don’t you? She looks a bit sad. It’s your doing, you know. You’ve been keeping secrets from me, and now, I have to go to the source.”
He thrashed against the chains, but was greeted with a sharp vision of his own destruction with each twist and turn. Eventually, he lay perfectly still. His wand was taken long ago. He was without power. Voldemort pointed at Hermione and Harry’s eyes reluctantly followed. He couldn’t stop looking no matter how hard he tried.
The dark robes of a Death Eater flowed behind him into the room like a parachute, and Harry could swear the . . . thing . . . was smiling madly beneath that horrible mask. Then, the strangest sound came to be . . .
“You see, here’s the interesting part. I really thought that, as you are so attached to dirty blood such as this creature, here, I really ought to show you how truly terrible Muggles are. They aren’t the kind beings, suffering under the oppressive (albeit superior) wizard race. They’re pitiless, spiteful things bent on the destruction of all but themselves. Take this curious instrument, for instance.” The nameless Death Eater obliged by lifting the machine high above his head.
What the hell? That is a barber’s shaver!
“Now, Harry, have you ever met a little female that preened and posed, just for a bit of animalistic, lustful attention? Here is what this thing will do . . . this Muggle magic.” The whirring became intense, and the blades were placed against Hermione’s head. Her eyes widened with fear and confusion, and Harry’s gut tightened, hoping they wouldn’t cut her. The instrument moved in fluid strokes all across her head. Hermione’s eyes began to water.
But Hermione isn’t like that. She’s not shallow!
When it was over just a moment later, a heaviness hung in the air. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of the scene. It . . . defied explanation. Until the red-eyed monster himself decided to venture one.
“You probably have yet to understand many things about people, Harry. For the sake of clarity, I’ll say this.” His thin lips slipped over his yellowed teeth when he said, “Anything Muggles make is used to hurt, maim or kill. Besides, now you can see the head wounds far more easily. If this was art, I would call it ‘A Gallery on Muggle torture’. Quite inhuman, when you think about it.”
Harry couldn’t respond. It was too much to process. He was afraid that if he really thought this through, he would find himself in a worse position for all his struggle. His eyes were dull and absorbed the light that had left his senses. His best friend. And he couldn’t save her.
Voldemort grew weary of waiting, and twirled his wand. From the corners and floorboards, ropes ripped outward and wound themselves around Hermione’s wrists and ankles. “I really did enjoy this when reading about it. It offers such a vulnerability in the victim . . . quite appealing, really.”
The assistant Death Eater brought the chains holding her down away with a simple incantation. The ropes grew taught slowly, pulling Hermione’s extremities away from her. When they became shorter, a cry emitted from Hermione’s lips. “Harry! P-please!”
“Oh, what a pity. I’m only just getting started, and she’s already weak.”
“She’s not weak! Hermione!” he shouted across the room. “Don’t give up. Dumbledore, the Order will come. You have to trust them. Don’t give up. Don’t let the bastard win!”
“How touching,” he slithered sarcastically, and flicked his wrist. The ropes jerked quickly and Harry heard a snap, along with her loud scream. “It’s like a shot in the arm, isn’t it, Harry? Invigorating. Like cold water on a hot day, eh?”
The boy was shaking from head to toe. All seemed so desperately hopeless. He had no idea how anyone would find him . . . or Hermione. At this point, he was hoping to come out alive. Voldemort didn’t stop there. He had Hermione beaten and tormented for what felt like years. It hurt so badly. At one point, Harry went entirely numb. It was only then that it stopped.
“Are you willing to tell me, now, about the parchment?” he asked in a false, kindly voice. His mind flickered across Harry’s like a snake’s tongue. He held stalwartly, and directed the old snake to memories of doing homework. Voldemort growled when he didn’t win, and swung his cloak, striding to Hermione’s side. She looked like death warmed over. Her robes were gone. Her wand was gone. She had only herself. Harry wondered why her hair hadn’t grown back, as he sorely wished it would. He couldn’t stand to see the welts and blood there. Red eyes found green, and he droned into Hermione’s ear. “Tell me, and I’ll spare both your lives.”
“It’s a lie! Don’t listen to him, Hermione!”
“Hermione, is it? I cross my heart,” he said in the most unconvincing manner possible.
“We’ve got no choice,” she answered flatly. She turned to the self-styled Dark Lord with cold eyes rimmed in red. She told him. A heartbeat rushed blood throughout Harry’s body, thrumming with a desire to run, grab Hermione, and leave this place forever. Please don’t tell him! Don’t! With a nod of his head, Voldemort motioned for a Death Eater to go to Harry. The masked person lifted his dark, messy hair almost tenderly, and blew some type of powdered substance into his face and ears. After that, all sight and sound fell into stark silence.
How long were his senses dulled, he did not know. However, when he awoke, he found himself free of the controlling chains, standing before Lord Voldemort. The lord was a bit fuzzy, Harry had to admit, but there was no mistaking the sheen of triumph and glee embedded into his face. Before another thought could cross his tarnished psyche, the words were uttered. A bright green light flashed like a train, heading for him, and all he could do was watch the blur, surrounded by blindingly brilliant light.
So this is what it feels like to die.