Tempesta Scura

 

The pain was bad, but that wasn't the worst part. He didn't know how he'd gotten to be in so much pain. He couldn't remember anything very well. All he knew was the here and now. All he knew was that he was sitting, that he was shackled to the wall and that he hurt all over. He remembered fighting something or someone. He remembered being lost and confused. He didn't know where his glasses were, but he knew he didn't have them anymore.

The loneliness was bad, but that wasn't the worst part either. Sometimes he imagined he had his friends with him. Sometimes he imagined he was dreaming and that only in a few moments time he would wake up. Then he would go down the Gryffindor common room and talk to all his friends about the strange dream he had. But this was no dream. You can't feel pain in dreams. You can't starve in dreams.

The worst part were the lies. Or were they truths? At the beginning Harry had known they were lies. At the beginning Harry had ignored everything the voices told him. He knew that his friends missed him and he knew that Dumbledore hadn't purposely sent him here to die. But the voices continued. They echoed upon the walls all the time, they barely ever stopped. They were driving him mad. He didn't want to believe what the voices said, but it seemed like it would be easier just to believe it. Perhaps if he believed the, the voices would stop.

Sometimes he did have breaks from the voices. A man would come down the spiral staircase and walk towards him. He would hush the voices and stand in front of Harry, staring at him. The man was clothed like a dementor so that Harry couldn't see his face. But he knew who it was, who it had to be. It was Voldemort. After a moment, the man would place a hand upon Harry's forehead. His hand was always cold. It felt like there was no life in that hand, no heartbeat. It felt like the hand of a corpse.

The moment the hand would touch Harry's forehead, Harry would see things. They would flash before his eyes. Harry would scream for them to stop, but they never did. Scenes would flash before him of his parents. They wouldn't be the kind mother and father Harry had seen in pictures. They would have the same faces, yes, but they would be plagued by evil. They would be scorning Harry, hurting him. There would be scenes of Hermione and Ron dancing on Harry's grave. At first, Harry had been confident Voldemort had been inventing these scenes, making them up to hurt Harry. But...what if they were true? What if his parents had hated him and what if everyone else, everyone who he thought were his friends, hated him as well? He didn't want to believe it, but he could see the people so clearly in the scenes. It was like he could see what they were actually doing. It seemed real.

After a while, the man would remove his hand from Harry's forehead and Harry would be brought back to reality. The man would speak to Harry in a soft voice. Harry recognized the voice. He remembered it from his fourth year. It sent chills up and down his back. Harry just wanted to get away from him. The man would speak of things Harry didn't want to hear. It was worse than the voices because what he said sounded more solid, more real. Voldemort would slowly try to coax Harry into thinking like him, into understanding why Voldemort did what he did. After a while, Harry found himself unable to distinguish right from wrong, truths from lies. He just wanted it to stop, all of it. He wanted to give up and give in, but there was a part of him that refused. There was a part of him that questioned all of Voldemort's lies and convinced Harry to stay innocent, to stay pure and to not give in.

There had been more than one time he had thought he saw Hermione or Ron or Ginny. They had come to talk to him and he had been so relieved. They had come to save him! They did actually care about him. But in the end, it was never Hermione or Ron or Ginny. He would be talking to them and they would change. They would turn into the robed figure, morph into him. He would be laughing and saying in his scratchy voice "Oh, Harry...so gullible...so stupid..."

Harry didn't trust anything anymore. Everything around him scared him and he didn't know what was happening. He had no idea where he was, but he knew he didn't like being there. He didn't know how long he was there. It had felt like months, but he knew that it was probably no more than a couple weeks at the most. He didn't know if he could last much longer.

*

Harry leaned his back against the wall, relishing the silence. Every now an then there would be perfect silence. He would rejoice within himself, thanking God that the leering voices had stopped. He wondered when he would be able to walk around again. Sometimes when Voldemort came down to visit him, he would unshackle Harry and let Harry stretch his legs. Harry had decided he would rather be alone and chained to the wall then have the company of Voldemort, even if it meant he could walk around.

He looked down at himself. He knew he made a sad sight. The bruises on his chest weren't healing and his wrists were constantly red beneath the shackles. At first he had wondered why. He couldn't remember struggling, but then he realized that when Voldemort had his hand upon Harry's forehead, when the scenes were flashing through his head, a panic seized Harry. He would struggle and fight and try to escape the images that seared through his head, but it would be futile. He would cry out and beg for Voldemort to stop, but Voldemort never listened to him.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember being at Hogwarts. He had only been there a few weeks ago, but his memory was fading away. He could barely remember the way his room looked. He tried to recapture the feeling of soaring through the air on his broom, but it was impossible. He silently begged God to let him escape, to let him find a way out of the hell he had fallen into, but it didn't seem to help.

"What's a good memory?" he whispered to himself. If he could think of a particularly good memory, he could lose himself inside it. He could pretend that his memory was reality and imagine himself back in the moment of the happiness. He racked through his brain, searching for something enjoyable, something worth reliving.

An image of Ginny flashed into his mind and he immediately remembered what Voldemort had told him. "She never really liked you," he had hissed. "She just wanted to date your fame. Do you think she cared one ounce about you? She dumped you after only a few months...she just wanted to be able to say 'I dated Harry Potter...I dated the most famous boy in the world'."

Was that true? He closed his eyes. When they had been dating, Harry had been happy. He remembered his first kiss. He had smiled for days afterward...

*

"Harry...I need to talk to you," Ginny said. She looked nervous, but Harry couldn't help noticing how beautiful she was. Her hair was long and gorgeous. He had always liked her hair. It was like liquid fire.

"What is it?" he asked, standing up. He had been sitting and talking to Ron, but they hadn't been talking about anything important.

"Yeah, why do you need to talk to him?" Ron asked, leaning back in his chair. "We were in the middle of a conversation."

Ginny didn't look at her brother. "Well...I just need to talk to Harry, that's all. I can talk to him when you guys are done, I guess. But I don't want to forget."

"Well, what we were talking about wasn't important," Harry insisted. "Is it okay, Ron?"

Ron just shrugged, "Sure."

Harry walked towards Ginny. "Well, where do you want to talk?"

Ginny just shrugged, "Somewhere alone."

Harry began to feel slightly nervous. What was she going to talk to him about? The two of them had been going to Hogsmeade together a couple of times and they had both hinted at a possible relationship. Harry had never really dated anyone before, though, so he wasn't about to say anything. Perhaps, he thought to himself, she doesn't want a relationship at all. Maybe she'll just tell me to sod off and leave her alone.

"Well how about we leave the common room, then?" Harry suggested. "There are always people in here."

Ginny just nodded and followed Harry as he exited through the portrait hole. They walked aimlessly for a couple of minutes. Harry waited for Ginny to say something, he didn't want to say anything and interrupt her thinking. He figured Ginny was trying to come up with a polite way to let him down.

After a few moments, Harry was beginning to feel very awkward with the lack of conversation so he said, "Well...you said you wanted to talk, right?"

"Why don't we go in here?" Ginny asked. The pair had just reached one of the classrooms. It was a classroom Harry had never been in before. There were hundreds of classrooms in Hogwarts and Harry had started to wonder what all the classrooms were for. He knew there weren't enough teachers for each room but he had shrugged it off as one of the mysteries of Hogwarts.

Harry followed Ginny into the room. She sat down in one of the chairs and Harry did the same, turning his chair around so it faced hers. He could feel his heart speeding up. "Now she's going to do it," he told himself, "Here it comes. She's going to let you down."

Ginny took in a breath and was quiet for a moment before saying, "Harry...I feel a little stupid bringing this up and...asking this, but I think I deserve an answer."

Harry nodded slowly, trying to focus on her words, but all he could think about was those eyes. They were so deep, so gorgeous. He just wanted to lose himself inside of them. "What is it, Ginny?" he asked seriously.

"Well...we've gone to Hogsmeade together a couple of times, right? And we've been spending...more time together."

Harry nodded. "I'm glad I've gotten to know you, Ginny."

Ginny nodded, but continued. "Well the point is...what I'm trying to say is..." She paused, "Well last week, you know, Danny asked me if you and I were together, you know...if we were dating. And...and I didn't really know what to say." She sighed, "I guess...I just want to know if we only hang out because I'm your friends little sister and you are being nice. If we're just friends or if we're...more."

She had stopped looking into his eyes. She was looking at the floor now. She seemed embarrassed. "Well..." Harry said, not quite sure how to respond. "When I asked you to go to Hogsmeade together, I meant as a date." He looked at her, "Is that what you meant? You wanted to know what our relationship was?"

But Ginny didn't look satisfied. "But Harry," she said, "You never acted like we were on a date. I mean, we've always just acted like friends. You've never really shown any signs that you thought of me as anything more than that."

Harry knew what she said was true. But he was too shy to do anything. He didn't know if he even knew how to kiss properly. What if he did it wrong and embarrassed himself. What if Ginny laughed at him?

"It's fine," Ginny said after a moment. "If you want to stay just friends. I can understand, I guess. I mean, my older brother is your best friend and I guess it would be kind of weird. I don't mean to pressure you into doing anything or dating me or whatever. Don't feel bad about telling me that you don't want us to be together."

She was babbling now and Harry knew it. She looked disappointed and she was starting to talk faster and faster the way that Harry had noticed she did when she was embarrassed.

"I guess...I must have gotten the wrong idea. I didn't mean to annoy you or anything by bringing you here to talk. I just wanted to clarify some things. All I really wanted to say was-"

But Harry had never learned all that really wanted to say. He had taken that moment to lean forward and silence her. He closed his lips over hers. She had just looked so sweet and adorable babbling the way she was. He wanted to assure her that he felt the same way about her that she felt about him. He wanted to make her happy. He didn't care anymore if he did it wrong. All he wanted was to experience her. All he wanted to do was kiss her.

So kiss her he did. After a moment, he got the hang of it. He slipped his hand into her hair and closed his eyes, kissing her deeply. She had responded immediately. The two had stood while kissing and wrapped their arms around each other. Harry had thought he was on heaven. He thought his happiness from that kiss would never wear off. He thought he could be content forever...

*

Harry opened his eyes again, a smile lingering on his face from the memory. But, he reminded himself, only a few months later, Ginny had broken up with him. He had been broken at first, until he had discovered other girls. Until he realized that Ginny had been right to end their relationship. He learned that Ginny and he were better as friends. But Harry never would have thought that while kissing her. He never once thought that their relationship would grow sour. He missed the excitement and the contentment of his first love. He missed having someone like that to think about all the time...someone who he was willing to devote his life to. None of the other girls he had dated had had that effect on him. Never had he felt the same way kissing Cho or Parvati or any of the other girls.

Then he remembered. He remembered what had happened the day before he left, the day before he had been dragged to this prison and left to die. He remembered Hermione. Kissing her had been even different then kissing Ginny. It had been special. It had had a more profound effect on him then he could remember. But that was ridiculous...it was Hermione. She was his friend and that was all. He had never thought of her as anything but that, not before the kiss anyway. That night when they had cuddled under the blanket he had wanted to kiss her again, when she was sleeping, her head rested lightly on his chest. He had watched her until he fell asleep himself. He watched her breathing in and out so softly, so smoothly. Watching her made him forget all his worries. She had become the center of his mind.

With everything that had been happening lately, he hadn't had much time to think about her like that. He was afraid that Hermione hated him. From what Voldemort had showed him and told him, Hermione did. She hated him with utmost passion. But Harry couldn't let himself believe that. He didn't want to believe that. He suddenly wanted her to love him, not just as a friend but as something more. He wanted her to come and save him and he wanted to kiss her.

He tried to think back to the past few years. Had there been any hint that she loved him? Had there been any moment where she had looked at him with something that hinted at a feeling deeper than friendship? Had there even been one instant...?

*

"Is everything...okay?"

Harry looked up. He was in his room and he had turned out all the lights. He was sitting, leaning his back against the wall, staring into the darkness, just thinking. His eyes hurt from the light that she had allowed in by opening the door, but he didn't care. "Yeah," he said quietly, "everything's fine."

She walked into the room tentatively and sat down in front of him, crossing her legs.

"You shouldn't be in the guy's dorms you know," Harry said hollowly.

Hermione just shrugged. "So? That's never stopped me before. Sometimes rules need to be broken."

Harry smiled appreciatively at her, but didn't say anything. He didn't know if he could talk. He didn't know if he could trust himself to speak without breaking down.

"Did something happen?" she asked finally. "With you and...Ginny?"

Harry swallowed. Had Ginny told her? He suddenly didn't care. She could prance around telling everyone she had dumped famous Harry Potter if she wanted. Who was he to stop her? He wasn't worthy of her. He didn't deserve to date her in the first place. She was perfect. She was beautiful and kind and lovely. Of course she would want to go off and find someone just as perfect as she was. Harry knew he wasn't perfect. Harry knew he would never be as lovely as she was.

"Yeah..." he said eventually. "We're...not together anymore."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her voice full of sympathy. He looked at her. Her brown eyes were pierced with worry. She looked genuinely concerned. He was suddenly so glad he had friends who would stay by him, even when Ginny, the girl his life had been completely centered around, decided to abandon him.

"Well..." she said, "I didn't really think you two were meant to be in the first place."

He looked at her curiously. Was she trying to hint that Harry wasn't good enough for her? But, no...Hermione wouldn't dream of saying something like that to him.

"I mean," she continued, "Ginny is great and everything...but I always thought of you with someone less..." Hermione paused, "Well, I don't know...just someone different."

Harry smiled at her. He laughed lightly, "Well then, who did you picture me with?" He was relieved to be talking to Hermione, to have her trying to make him feel better. He felt thankful to have her with him.

She thought for a moment. "I don't know," she said finally. "I mean, I'm not trying to say you two didn't look cute together, but I don't think of her as your type."

"I'm waiting for a name," Harry said with a smile, "Come on, give me someone."

She laughed, "Well how about me? I wouldn't ever break up with you, I promise!"

Harry had taken her words for a joke and hugged her. He remembered smelling her hair. It had smelled like vanilla and hazelnut. "Thank you," he had whispered into her ear. "You can't even understand how much I appreciate your friendship."

*

She had smiled him as he said that, but he remembered noticing something in her eyes...something like disappointment. But he had shrugged it away. Had he been too blind to notice something? To notice that she had been serious? That perhaps she felt something for him?

Harry groaned. It was torture thinking about Ginny or Hermione. It only reminded him of what he couldn't have. His speculation didn't help. He knew the only way to figure out how they felt about him now was to ask them, to talk to them. He didn't know if he would ever get the chance to talk to them again.

He abruptly became aware of his hunger. It nagged at his stomach like an animal trying to find its way out. He could feel his stomach growling and tried to calm it. When was the last time he had eaten? A while ago. Sometimes Voldemort brought food down with him. It wasn't ever anything especially exciting, a piece of stale bread maybe or a sandwich if he was lucky. He wondered when he would be able to eat again. Maybe Voldemort was trying to starve him. Maybe he had captured Harry only to get revenge. He had tried to devise the most cunning way to stretch out Harry's death. Maybe he had decided that slow starvation intermingled with torture was perfect. He wanted Harry to die hopeless, thinking that no one loved him, that no one cared about him enough to even try and save him.

Last time Voldemort had come, he had said exactly that. "No one has come," he said, "No one even cares that you're gone. They are all hoping you're dead. If they cared, don't you think they'd try to save you? At least send some Aurors? Well, I've been prepared for any such attacks. I've been expecting at least someone to come and try to rescue you...but no one has come. I didn't think they hated you that much Harry Potter, but I guess it's true. I guess no one even cares about the Boy Who Lived anymore. Maybe they're wishing that instead of you being the Boy Who Lived, they're wishing you were the Boy Who Died."

Harry sighed. He needed to keep his mind on good things, happy things. It was the only way he could survive. He couldn't let Voldemort win, he just couldn't, not after everything he had done, not after he had killed Harry's parents. But had it really been that bad that Voldemort had killed Lily and James? The image kept flashing into his mind of Lily and James, with snarls on their faces, talking about how unlucky they were to have had such an insipid boy as Harry Potter. Had they hated him? Had everything he believed up to this point in his life been untrue?

Harry began to hear footsteps. They were slow and methodical and echoed across the walls. Someone was descending the spiral staircase. It was quite a tall staircase. Sometimes when he was bored, Harry wondered where Voldemort came from. What hay above the ceiling. Was the whole dungeon some underground place hidden beneath a random tree in some random woods? Did Voldemort have a sort of hideout that nobody knew about? For all he knew, he could be underneath Hogwarts at this very moment.

Harry's heart ached at that thought. Maybe...just maybe...his friends were miles above him, going to classes and wondering what had happened to him. Then Harry remembered. Harry had told them he was going to the Dursleys. They had no idea that he was in trouble. They had no idea that Harry was trapped somewhere. They probably thought that he was perfectly safe in his muggle home.

Harry sighed. He knew he couldn't be under Hogwarts. He wished he was, but he knew he couldn't be. He could be somewhere in Bulgaria or Norway and he wouldn't know the difference. Did it really matter where he was? All that mattered was that he was trapped. He was trapped somewhere where no one could possibly reach him. He was trapped somewhere where his only companion was Lord Voldemort and the voices. The voices that told him lies and made him want to kill himself. Harry was trapped some place devoid of hope.

The footsteps continued. He could hear them getting closer and closer. Listening, he noticed something. They didn't sound like they normally did. There wasn't just one pair of footsteps...there were two! More than one person was coming down to visit him this time. Harry didn't want to get his hopes up, but perhaps Voldemort wasn't even one of the people coming down the stairs. Or maybe it was a prisoner. It could be someone who he would be able to talk to.

He began to hope that it was a prisoner. The loneliness was practically killing him. He didn't want anyone else to suffer the way he was, but he did want someone to talk to, someone who wasn't bent on torturing and killing him, someone who he could relate to.

The footsteps continued, almost mocking him. He began to feel goosebumps rising across his arms. This was the most interesting thing to happen to him since he had been chained there. Maybe, he let himself dream, it was two Aurors who had broken through Voldemort's hideout and were now wandering down the stairs to see what lay in this prison. They would se Harry and set him free and Harry would never have to see this horrid dungeon again.

After a couple moments of eager waiting, the people reached the bottom of the stairs. They stepped into the candlelight and Harry stretched himself forward so that he would be able to see them better.

Well, Voldemort wasn't there. At least Harry didn't think so. They were both clothed the same way Voldemort had been, but they both looked skinnier. Harry didn't recognize the same body shape beneath the dark cloaks. Harry's heart sank. Who were these people? What were they doing down in the dungeon.

A sudden thought seized him. Were they executioners? Had Voldemort sent these two men to murder Harry? But he pushed that thought out of his head as soon as it entered. He knew that if Voldemort wanted to kill him, he would do it himself. He knew that Voldemort would want to see his face when he died. He would want to see Harry's pain and loneliness and despair.

The two men walked forward wordlessly. They leaned over Harry and he pushed himself as far against the wall as he could. They both had silver keys in their hands which they used to undo the shackles around Harry's wrists.

Harry watched them, puzzled. "Who are you?" he asked in a throaty voice. "What are you doing?"

But neither showed any signs of having heard him. They freed him then pulled him onto his feet. Harry felt a momentary pain in his legs since they hadn't supported him in a while.

One of the men started walking to the stairs and the second pushed Harry forward, telling him to follow. Harry felt his heart speed up. He'd never been up the stairs before. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd seen anything but the dungeon. He followed closely behind the first man, the second man following behind him.

They began to ascend the stairs. Harry hadn't realized there were so many stairs. Of course, he had seen that they seemed to go on for a long time, but Harry hadn't realized he could get so tired just climbing stairs.

He figured that he was so tired partly because of his incredible hunger and the fact that he hadn't been able to walk very much. His leg muscles weren't used to being used. They walked for what seemed like hours. He chanced a look down once, but began to feel so dizzy after that that he didn't try it again.

Finally, the trio reached a door. It was large and a metallic gray. The man in front of Harry pulled the door open and Harry was suddenly met with a brilliant light. He had to shield his eyes as he walked through the door. When his eyes finally adjusted, he realized he still had no idea where he was. The walls were all made of stone and numerous torches shown through the hallways, lighting them up quite nicely, at least compared to the way the dungeon had been lit.

Harry continued to follow the man. He wanted to tell him that he was getting tired and that he felt as if his legs were about to fall off but he held it in. He clenched his jaw stoically and continued to walk.

Eventually the man paused in front of a door. The door looked immensely different than the stone wall. It was black and smooth. It was still some kind of stone, but it was carved straightly and perfectly. There was a silver doorknob which Harry felt looked slightly out of place in the medieval setting.

The man opened the door and entered. Harry followed. The room looked like a bedroom. Two large beds stood at opposite walls. There were also two desks made of smooth dark wood with chairs to match. There were no windows and the walls were made out of the same smooth rock as the door. With the bright flame torches in the corner, the room looked somewhat elegant. The beds had sheets of deep green which matched a solitary rug that lay in the center.

Harry stared at the room for a moment, enjoying the green. He hadn't seen any colors other than the yellow of the candles since he had been at Hogwarts. "What is this?" he finally asked the men. "Why did you take me here?" he said, turning to them.

They were both standing near the doorway. The one closest to him said. "You are to clean yourself up. In a few hours, the Dark Lord will see you." With that they left and shut the door behind him.

Harry stood for a moment in silence. So that was it. They wanted him nice and dressed up to have a nice little chat with Voldemort. Well, he figured, it must be an important talk if they wanted him cleaned up for it.

He began to explore the room. He noticed a wardrobe lay on the wall opposite the door. He walked towards it and opened it, surprised to find it filled with clothes. Did they want him to change into something nicer? He glanced down at himself. His clothes were torn and messy. Harry did want to change. He wanted to get out of his dirty clothes and into something fresh and clean.

But was it worth it? If Voldemort wanted him to look nice then why should he? Perhaps under normal circumstances Harry would have neglected Voldemort's wishes and stayed in his dirty clothes...but these clothes looked to tempting, so nice. He had never cared much about what he wore, but he was starting to miss the feeling of clean fabric against his skin.

As he was looking in the wardrobe, he saw something peculiar on the bottom, in the corner. He leaned over to pick the object up. As he brought it he realized it was...his glasses! Surprised, he slid them onto his nose. The world suddenly seemed so much clearer. He had nearly forgotten that he didn't have his glasses. But, he felt so relieved to have them back where they always were. Even if he hadn't realized it, he had missed them.

Harry glanced back into the wardrobe. He pulled out one of the hangers to examine the clothes. Coincidentally enough, the robe he pulled out was the same deep forest green as the beds. It was heavy and hooded and looked very comfortable. He glanced at the other clothes. There was what looked like black silk pajamas along with numerous robes ranging from blood red to midnight blue. They were all dark, though. There wasn't a cheerful color in the lot.

Harry opted to wear the green robe. It looked nice enough and Hermione had always said that she looked very nice in green.

Now that he had the robe, Harry wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to clean himself up. He knew he could definitely use a bath. He wondered briefly how Voldemort would react if Harry appeared before him smelly and dirty. Harry shivered at the thought. If the past few weeks had taught him anything, they had taught him to fear Voldemort. Harry hated him with a passion, but he also feared him. Harry was almost ready to do anything just to never have to go back into the dungeon again. He was ashamed of this, but he knew it was true. Harry had become weakened. Harry felt like he would rather die than be forced back into those shackles.

Harry shook his thoughts away and decided to search for a place where he could clean himself up. He noticed there was another wall on one of the doors. He decided to try and open it. Perhaps it led to a bathroom of some sort.

He walked towards it and tried the door. It opened easily revealing what Harry had expected. There was a small ivory bathtub along with a sink, a toilet and some mirrors. It looked about the size of a closet, but Harry didn't care much. He just wanted to clean himself up. He kept telling himself that he was doing this for himself not for Voldemort.

He shed his clothes quickly. After all, there wasn't much to shed. His clothes had become worn and shredded through his struggling and through his wear. He turned the handle in the tub and water began to flow in the tub. He slid into it and let the water fall over him. It felt so good over his sore, unused muscles. When it was full, he turned the water off. He found some soap beside the tub and washed himself off, including his hair. It felt so good. Harry could hardly believe that he was out of the dungeon, that he was actually taking a bath.

After a little while, Harry drained the tub and found a small, rough towel on the floor. He tried himself off and slid the green hooded robe over his head. It was incredibly warm and a nice comfort in comparison to his old clothes. After quickly drying his hair with his towel, he took a glance in the mirror. He was surprised by what he saw.

He looked paler and he looked a lot thinner. His eyes were darker than he had ever seen them before. They nearly matched the robe he was wearing. His hair was wild as usual, but it made him look more mysterious. The thing that surprised him most was that he looked almost...evil. Perhaps it was just that he related the color green to Slytherin which, in a sense, he did consider evil. But his eyes looked hard and his face had lost the baby fat he had never even noticed he had. He looked somber and mysterious.

After a minute, he tore his eyes away from the mirror and decided that the way he looked wasn't something he should worry about. He definitely had more important things to deal with.

He reentered the bedroom and walked over to the bed. He was feeling a little tired and as he sat down, he realized how comfortable the bed was. He sank into it and couldn't help but lie down. As soon as he had lay down, he remembered the man had said that the Dark Lord was going to see him in a few hours? Well, what did Harry have to do until then? Nothing, right? Maybe he could just get in a quick nap. Maybe he could get some sleep. Then, when he woke up he would be more well rested and he would be able to deal with Voldemort better. Plus, he wouldn't have to deal with that hunger that kept itching at his stomach. Maybe he could even have a dream and then he would be able to escape from his life. He could escape from Voldemort and he could escape from whatever Voldemort had planned for him. Maybe he would dream about nice things....

*

They were in a beautiful garden. It was night time and the stars twinkled brightly in the twilight sky. There was a wooden bench and vines roped around it's edges. Beautiful glowing white flowers bloomed everywhere, and the moon shone silver in the sky. Hermione was beside him. Her head was leaning upon his shoulder and his arm was wrapped tightly around her. She was wearing a long, flowing white dress and had a crown of leaves upon her head. Her eyes were closed and he could see the darkness of her lashes against her cheeks. She had a gentle smile upon her lips and she looked perfectly content.

"Hermione..." he whispered.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "What is it, Harry? Aren't you happy?" Her voice was smooth and light and tempting.

"Of course I'm happy," he said with a smile. He leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back and ran her hands through his hair, sending chills down his spine.

After a few moments, she pulled away. "Harry..." she murmured.

He leaned in to kiss her again, but this time she pushed him away roughly. His eyes flew open in surprise. "What is it, Hermione? I'm sorry."

Her eyes had gone from tranquil brown to a dangerous green.

"Hermione?" he asked, puzzled. "What's going on? What's happening?"

But she was beginning to change. Her hair was darkening to coal black and shortening. He saw that her face was beginning to change. It was turning into...his. He had stood by now and he was staring at himself. It was like he was looking in the mirror. The face was familiar yet so different. A scowl darkened his disposition and he looked...scary. It was Harry...and yet it wasn't.

"Hey..." The Harry Who Was Not Harry said. "You'll never guess what I just did." His voice sounded different than it normally sounded to Harry's ears. It was so strange hearing his own voice, yet not being the one to form the words.

"What?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter!" the other replied. "Do you not know who I am? Everyone knows who I am..." His voice was more conceited and self-assured. Harry wondered briefly if that's how he sounded to other people. Did other people think he was self-obsessed?

"Oh, of course I know who you are. Sorry," Harry said to his counterpart.

"Well, I just killed Cedric Diggory. It was an accident, of course..." But he had a wicked smile on his face. "His family is so upset." He motioned to his left.

Harry turned and noticed with some surprise that the garden scene that had recently surrounded them had faded away. They were standing somewhere dark and over a little ways away he could see two huddled forms.

He walked near them and recognized Mr. And Mrs. Diggory.

"I'm so sorry about what happened..." Harry said, but they didn't seem to hear him. In fact, they didn't seem to see him either. They were immersed in their own conversation and they were talking about...him.

"I can't believe that Potter boy would make up such as story," Mrs. Diggory sobbed.

Her husband comforted her. "I know, honey. It's horrible how some people won't accept blame. I can't believe he killed our son." His voice had a hard, strangled edge to it. "I can't believe someone would be so awful."

"No, no!" Harry said, "I didn't meant to do anything! I didn't kill him!"

But neither noticed him. Mrs. Diggory was saying, "Well, Albus told us not to seem too angry at Harry. He told us that Harry was powerful and capable of doing dark things. He told us we should at least protect ourselves from him."

"How can I not seem angry?" Mr. Diggory raged. "He's a murderer."

"Shh, dear," the wife said. "Cedric is dead. We can't help that. But let's at least try and protect ourselves. Act as nicely as you can towards him. I am quite aware that the Aurors are trying to find ways to get rid of him, to better protect the wizarding society."

With that, they both faded from view. Harry's mouth was hanging open. Tears stung his eyes. No, that couldn't be true...people liked him. They did! He knew they did. They had to...Harry would never do anything so awful. He would never kill anyone. Never!

"But," a little voice nagged him from the back of his head, "You did kill Cedric. It was your fault. Voldemort was after you...he wasn't after Cedric. If you hadn't been there, Cedric never would have died. It was your fault. All your fault."

"NO!" Harry yelled, trying to block the voice out, but the voice had taken a form. The Harry Who Was Not Harry had returned, a sneer upon his face.

"Isn't that hilarious?" he asked. "They're afraid of me."

"But..." Harry said, searching for something to say. "But you're Harry Potter. You don't mean to do bad things to you? You have good intentions, right? You aren't really evil..."

He looked at Harry questioningly. "What's wrong with you? Don't you know who I am? Don't you know what happened?"

"No. What?" Harry asked worriedly.

"I know you think I don't know who are..." he said with a smile. "You're me. I am you."

"But that's not true," Harry said. "I know we look alike, but I would never do the things that you do or act the way that you do."

"Yes you would," he responded. "Don't you understand? I'm you in fifty years."

"What?" Harry asked. "That's not even possible. You look my age. You look like me! You don't look sixty-six."

"Why, thank you," he said with an evil gleam in his eyes. "But, when I joined with Voldemort, he granted me immortality. I'm going to live forever."

"No, but I would never do that! I would never join with Voldemort. We can't be the same."

"Oh, but we are," he responded softly. "Don't fight it, Harry. Can't you feel it? It's building up in your bones...the darkness. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel the need to hurt something? Don't you? You have no reason to fight it." He smirked. "The people who you think are your friends now hate you...don't you know that?" He tossed his wand up in the air, catching it deftly. "I killed both of them a long time ago."

"What?" Harry said, falling to his knees.

"Oh, don't sound so shocked," he said, "They were trying to kill me. I acted in self-defense. Did you hear that, Harry? They were trying to kill you. They wanted you dead. They always have."

"I don't believe you," Harry said. "You're just part of my dream. Either that or you're just Voldemort dressed to look like me. You're a liar."

He just shrugged and waved his wand carelessly. Ron and Hermione appeared in front of him. They were walking and talking at the same time.

"How much longer do we have to pretend to be friends with that git?" Ron asked, annoyed. "I'm really starting to get sick of him."

"Oh, stop it, Ron," Hermione said. "You know that Dumbledore wanted us to report anything Harry told us to him. How else are we going to be able to get rid of him? It'll only be a little but longer, I promise."

"Good," Ron said, "I mean, what if he turns on us or something? What if he decides he wants us dead..."

The two forms faded away just as the Diggorys had and Harry's doppelganger took their place.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "Why would they think I would want to hurt them? I've never done anything like that..."

"Don't you even realize your power?" he asked. "Don't you understand? Everyone knows your power. Everyone is afraid of it. That's why they want you dead. They don't trust you. Everyone you thought was your friend...they were all just spies for the Aurors."

Harry was about to respond, but before he could, the Other Harry faded away and Harry was left in darkness.

Then he saw a light off to his right. It looked like a small bulb. Then another formed to his left and then one off by where the first one had been. Looking up, he could see the moon emerging. Stars began to twinkle above and a soft light rested over the scene in front of him again. He was in the garden again, his Eden. Hermione was sitting on the bench still, her dress flowing from her body.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Harry walked over and sat beside her. "Nothing," he said, surprised at what he was doing. Nothing was wrong? Everyone hated him, he didn't even know who he was anymore.

He leaned over and softly whispered in her ear, "I love you, Hermione."

She smiled at him and leaned over so close that her breath tickled his ear. "Really, Harry. Well...I HATE YOU!"

*

Harry awoke with a yell. He could feel cold sweat upon his forehead. He sat up quickly and began to tell himself over and over, "It was dream. It was a dream. It's not real."

He stood and began to pace, taking deep calming breaths. He didn't understand anything anymore. He wanted to be back in Hogwarts so badly. He wanted life to be the way it was before. But, he realized, it couldn't, could it? Now, he had these ideas planted in his head. He had these suspicions that kept on flying through his brain. Did his friends really hate him? Did everyone suspect him? Were people afraid of him?

For some reason, that last thought excited him. It depressed him, but it excited him all the same. People afraid of little old Harry Potter? People afraid of the tiny boy Dudley Dursley had used to enjoy beating up just for the hell of it? People afraid of the boy who was always picked on during Potions?"

The idea of Snape or the Dursleys being afraid of him nearly made him shiver with excitement. He wouldn't have to be picked on anymore. People could answer to him. Harry was powerful, that was what he had been told in his dream, right? People were afraid of his power.

He heard a knock at the door. Suddenly, Harry was brought back to reality. What was he thinking? He wanted people to like him, not be afraid of him.

He went and opened the door at the knock, his heartbeat speeding up ever so slightly.

It was one of the robed figured. "You are to come with me," he said in a voice that was dark and menacing.

Harry just nodded and followed. Harry didn't know how long they were walking, but as they were walking, Harry began to notice the gnawing hunger in his stomach once more. He tried to push the thought of food away and focus on what was about to happen. He was going to see the Dark Lord. Maybe, Harry thought with amusement, Harry could kill Voldemort. He could get rid of him once and for all. What he wouldn't give to have Voldemort afraid of him! But, it was at this time Harry noticed he didn't have his wand. He'd never really though about it before that moment. Did Voldemort have his wand? Did Voldemort break his wand?

At this time, the pair reached a Great Room. It was huge and the ceilings stretched nearly as high as they had in the dungeon. There were two lines of the robed figures standing, making a pathway that led to a throne that sat against the opposite wall. He recognized the man who sat upon the throne. It was Voldemort.

They slowly walked until they reached the throne. Then, the robed figure who had led Harry there took and empty spot at the end of the line.

"You will bow before me," said the cold voice.

Harry turned towards Voldemort. When he had first been taken to the Dungeon, Harry had noticed an incredible pain in his scar. After a couple of days, the pain had become numb. Harry had forgotten that his scar even hurt, he was so used to the pain. But when Harry looked at Voldemort, straight into his eyes, the pain returned. The pain came in dark, deep shocks that surprised Harry. He clenched his jaw, but did not falter.

"Why should I bow?" Harry said, "You aren't my lord."

Voldemort stared at Harry and a sudden fear washed through him. He couldn't help but remember the horrible pain he had experienced as of late. Perhaps if he bowed, Voldemort wouldn't hurt him. Plus, who really cared if he bowed or not? Everyone hated him. No one cared what he did.

He bent down on one knee before Voldemort, bowing his head. When he looked up, Voldemort was smiling.

"I have brought you here to make a proposal," Voldemort said confidently and smoothly.

Harry just stared at him. Any kind of proposal Voldemort had to make couldn't possible be good.

"You are aware how you got here, are you not?" Voldemort asked. When there was no response, Voldemort continued. "The Aurors brought you here. They gave you to me. You know they are trying to get rid of you. They are afraid of your power. They all hate you."

Harry tried to conceal his surprise. That had been what the Other Harry had told him in his dream. But, it couldn't be true, could it? It couldn't.

"They thought I would kill you," Voldemort said. "But they were sadly mistaken. I want to take advantage of your power, Harry. I want to use it to my advantage. Now, I'm going to give you a choice."

Harry's heart slowed down. He could feel sweat forming upon his brow.

"You can join with me, Harry. We have brother wands. Together we could have more power than you can even imagine. You would be my equal. We could rule together. I would provide you with immortality. I would provide you with anything you wanted."

Harry had a tremendous urge to just stand up and scream, "NO! NEVER!" But, he didn't do that. He knew that that was what the old Harry would have done; before the dungeons, dreams, starvation and those horrible sessions with Voldemort himself. But, Harry had felt something inside him break. He didn't even know why he was fighting anymore. What was there to live for anyway if everyone hated him?

"Or...you could fight me. You could go back to the dungeon. I would keep you there until I am sick of you, until you are nearly dead. Then, I would return you to Hogwarts and watch with glee as those who you thought loved you, killed you."

Harry felt tears sting his eyes. They wouldn't do that. They couldn't. But Harry didn't believe himself. He didn't believe Voldemort either, though. He didn't believe anything. The only thing he could think about was his power. He was powerful. That's what they said. He was powerful. People could be scared of him. He would be respected and people wouldn't dare step all over him. Hermione and Ron...pretending to be his friends. He suddenly had an amazing thirst for revenge. How could they have done that to him? How could they pretend to be his friend and then double cross him?

"So..." Voldemort said, bringing Harry away from his thoughts. "You have two choices Harry. Pick one.

"Pick a choice, Harry..."