The End of His World

It was during the winter of Harry Potter's seventh year that the vampires overthrew the Wizarding World. It had been unexpected - so unexpected that even Voldemort and the Death Eaters, still recovering from a recent spat with Ministry aurors and Order members, were vulnerable to the attack. Harry had seen the surprise and insecurity in the way Professor Dumbledore carried himself; the man had been caught off guard like the rest of the world had been.

Harry had been in Professor Snape's dungeon classroom on an ordinary Thursday evening working on his Occlumency skills when Hogwarts' emergency alarms sounded. Snape had froze - his words caught in his throat - and Harry was rewarded the rare sight of fear and shock on the stoic man's face.

"Professors and students," the Headmaster's magically magnified voice had boomed through the room, "the school is under attack. Please barricade your doors; let no one in until I contact you. All students are authorized to use whatever magic necessary. Stay together and do not panic. Everything will be alright; help is on the way."

Once Dumbledore's announcement ended, Harry and Snape rushed to the nearest desk, lifting it together, and pushed it up against the door. Although he recognized the urgency behind the forced calm of their superior's message, he had had to resist his urge to leave the room to find out what was happening. They had continued to pile any and every bit of furniture the room had to offer in front of the door. In addition to this, Snape had set up several complex and intertwining barrier spells. After this task was finished, the pair had a long time to wait before they were finally contacted after many hours of awkward silences. Snape had been taking his turn at pacing the room when the fireplace in the classroom burst to life and Dumbledore's head peeked out through the flames. Snape spun on his heels when he heard Dumbledore speak.

"Ah, Severus. Harry. Thank you for your patience." Dumbledore had sounded tired but relieved. "We're sending a team down to retrieve you both. You should begin to disable that lovely barricade you've built."

And he was gone in the twinkle of an eye.

Once Harry and Snape had gotten up to the Great Hall and the crowd had calmed down a bit, Professor Dumbledore had addressed the room full of people. Dumbledore told of the unforeseen rise of the vampires' threat to the Wizarding World and of the attacks on the Ministry of Magic, on Diagon Alley, and on Hogwarts and nearby Hogsmeade. Harry still remembered the warmth of the room, which was densely packed with witches and wizards from all over the country. They had swarmed to Hogwarts to be protected by the school's trusted wards and the guidance of the wisest wizard alive, Albus Dumbledore. In the end, they had all come in vain.

Harry also remembered the moment he learned that something terrible had happened in the Gryffindor common room. No one knew what exactly had happened. What was certain was that, at the time of Dumbledore's announcement, the Gryffindors were safe and sound with their portrait opening barricaded. When the team arrived at the entrance to the dormitories, they had found the portrait door swung open and not a soul to be found inside. No one knew who was alive or dead.

It was still nearly impossible to imagine that he might never see Ron and Hermione again. He would never see Ron's face fixed on the chessboard, concentrating on the next and best move, or Hermione's nose buried in a heavy book only she would understand. On top of the loss of his two best friends, he had been further crushed when he was told Remus Lupin, his final link to his parents, was missing. The werewolf had gone into Hogsmeade to help the fight against the vampires but had not come back or been heard from since.

Harry had been sitting quietly to himself in the room full of people remembering the time he'd spent with his lost friends when Dumbledore called his name. It seemed that the time had come for Harry to be whisked away to a safe house. Ha had known what everyone was thinking. He knew they were blaming him for the disappearance of the Gryffindors. Maybe if he'd been there something could have been done or maybe the vampires had been looking for the famous saviour of the Wizarding World. Either way it was his fault, Harry knew.

Harry, Professor Dumbledore, and a few others were headed to the Headmaster's Office to retrieve the Portkey that would move Harry to the undisclosed safe house, when Professor McGonagall stepped out of a darkened hallway.

"Minerva!" Dumbledore had exclaimed in a surprised yet relieved voice. Professor McGonagall had also been missing since before the attacks. Harry had been able to tell that Dumbledore was more upset about her disappearance than he had shown. "We have been so worried about you. Where have you been?"

McGonagall smiled and stepped towards the Headmaster. "I had to hide in an empty classroom. It was the nearest spot and they were nearby. Albus, what is going on? Who has attacked us?"

"All in due time, Minerva. Would you like to accompany us to my office?" Dumbledore asked as he held out his arm to his friend and colleague.

"Certainly," McGonagall said, smiling and taking his arm. Looking back now, Harry wondered why they had not been suspicious of the woman's sudden appearance.

What happened next happened too quickly for Harry to form a coherent memory of the event. All he had left were fragments of vivid images and feelings: Professor McGonagall's teeth sinking into the Headmaster's frail throat, the panicked shouts of the others around him, the blood on the stone floor, soaking through his robes, as he knelt beside the dying body of Albus Dumbledore, the despair of losing his last hope in the world. He never knew who had carried him away.

When Harry had come to, he was here: a dank dungeon, manacles around his wrists and ankles chaining him to the wall. It was the cold, he had decided, that had woken him up. He could not even remember falling asleep. They had taken his robe and jumper and he was now left in the thin shirt and oversized trousers that had once belonged to his cousin - the same clothes he had been wearing since the morning of the attack. How much time had passed since then?

'How long have I been here?' he wondered.

The cold midwinter air breezed through a small, high window in the wall opposite him. A beam of sunlight shone through the window onto the dungeon floor, as if it was trying to lure him into a false sense of hope. The chilled air sharpened the intensity of the metal on his skin, stinging and burning everywhere it touched him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the pain away. He struggled to focus on something - anything - other than the sharp pain of the freezing air. But the second he had shut his eyes, visions of death and blood flooded his brain.

Everything and everyone he had come to love in his seven years as a wizard was gone. The institutions he had come to trust had failed him. Ron and Hermione, not to mention the other Gryffindors, were either captive like he was or dead. 'Or worse,' the quiet voice in the back of his head reminded him. The memory of his Head of House heartlessly striking down the man Harry had come to see as his grandfather figure was nearly too horrifying to bear.

Scenarios replayed in his mind. What could he have done to save his loved ones' lives? He imagined he had run out of the dungeons and to his friends. He imagined he had been there to die for them or to convince them not to let down their defences. He imagined he had realised that there were no empty classrooms down the hall McGonagall had come from, to stop Dumbledore from getting closer to the woman. He imagined that he had thought to himself that the Gryffindors would have only opened the entrance for two people: Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. He imagined that he had left Professor Snape's classroom at the same time he regularly did after his "Remedial Potions" lessons and had made his way up to share friendly conversation with his friends in the Common Room, the banter between Ron and Hermione that clearly hid their true feelings for each other. He imagined smiling to himself at Ron's jealousy over Viktor Krum's latest letter to Hermione. Most of all, he imagined he was warm and safe in his bed at Hogwarts listening to the other four boys' steady breathing and snoring and not freezing and miserable on a cold, stone floor.

He was plagued with guilt. Why couldn't he have done anything to stop this? Why did he have to stare dumbstruck as Dumbledore was murdered? If he had fought back, maybe he wouldn't be chained to this wall. Why was he chained to this wall? Why hadn't McGonagall killed him too? What were they planning to do to him? What torture would they put him through? Would the Order or the Ministry rescue him before it was too late? Did either still exist even?

A solitary tear crept down his cheek as Harry lay his head down on the stone floor, curling up into a ball. 'Please,' he thought. Silent pleas to be rescued from his circular thoughts, for something to happen to fill him with some emotion other than despair.

Hours later, Harry sat up. He was finished with crying, finished with blaming himself for that which he could not and cannot control. He was determined now. He would survive this. Entertaining pointless plans of escape would be useless. He was not leaving this wall unless someone else removed him from it. He would stay strong for all those he had lost in the last few days and the others he had lost in his lifetime. He would sit here patiently and watch the beam of sunlight slowly fade away. He would wait for the night to begin. He would wait for his captors to return to him.

The time passed slowly. The sunlight was gone now. They would be coming soon, Harry knew. Moments later, the harsh sound of the locks being cranked open came from the dungeon's single door. Harry glanced up at the door, peeking out through strands of dishevelled hair. The door opened wide to reveal a man with long, elegant blond hair, Lucius Malfoy, who smirked at the sight of his captive. The last time Harry had seen this man was at the Ministry of Magic before Malfoy had been carted away to Azkaban. Harry had known that Malfoy and the other Death Eaters captured that night would never stay jailed for long. They had escaped in the autumn of his sixth year.

"Mr. Potter." Malfoy drawled as he stepped further into the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. "I would love to know how you expect to wriggle your way out of this one."

Harry remained silent, looking anywhere but at the man who was slowly stalking towards him. He did not want to see Malfoy's face mocking him, a face that, he assumed, was responsible for his most recent woes. To Harry, it seemed that if he acknowledged the man, the memories he'd been trying so hard to repress would flood back into his consciousness and his resolve would crumble. However, averting his gaze away from Malfoy did little good. His mind's eye held a clear picture of the man as he had looked only moments earlier, standing in the open doorframe. He felt Malfoy's eyes on him and imagined the expression on the man's sinister yet attractive face: head held high, cold and penetrating eyes boring a hole into Harry's head, and mouth twisted into a smirk with each new insult.

"You do realise that no one is coming to save you." He heard the man take a step closer. "No one is left. The Wizarding World is in chaos. It is over. The only hope any of them have is to come to us. We will take them in, shelter them, give them something to live for, give them permission to live their lives. Yes, that's right: live. We foresee no reason to kill anymore witches or wizards. We can survive, like the vampires always have, off the blood of useless muggles. That is, unless you have other ideas to ensure the survival of our kind."

Malfoy paused before saying, "I must say you had a few very good friends, indeed. The girl - her name is Granger, I believe - begged us not to look for you, to take her instead." Lucius laughed quietly. "Silly girl. Didn't even realise that we would be taking her anyways."

"And the Weasley put up a brave front. I never can tell them apart. Worthless traitors to all pureblood wizards. This Weasley tried being the hero. I'm sure you can imagine how far his misguided heroism got him," Malfoy said. He could hear the disgust in the man's voice.

Helplessly, he had a mental image of his two brave friends - both prefects - standing in front of the Gryffindors and sacrificing themselves for the younger students. He willed the image away. He could not let it distract him from hopes of survival.

Malfoy stopped walking and paused. He was standing over Harry now, trying to get Harry to look at him, but Harry refused to meet his gaze.

'Nothing he can say can affect you. You are numb inside. You stopped caring hours ago,' Harry thought to himself like a mantra.

"Potter, are you paying attention?" Malfoy demanded. "Potter!"

And quicker than Harry could register, he had been hauled roughly to his feet. Harry, jerked out of his mantra, looked up startled, breathing quickly. Malfoy's hands were clenched in Harry's shirt.

His eyes locked with Malfoy's as he was shaken, "Don't you understand, Potter? Your world is over. It is gone. They are all dead or have joined our side. Do you think any of them could survive without Dumbledore's guidance? You, Mr. Potter, will also either die or join us. Do you understand me?!" Each word was pounded, accented with all the fury Lucius Malfoy seemed capable of.

Harry's voice never faltered, "Of course I understand. They are all dead and as much as I'd like to blame myself, I can't do it anymore. I have nothing left. No friends. No family. No emotion. I've treasured the few moments of joy I've had in my life, but I can accept that nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing will ever be good again." He spoke with conviction, instilling into himself the courage to face this situation. He spoke to convince Malfoy, but mostly himself, that his words reflected the truth of his emotions.

"But you're Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived!" Lucius exclaimed in mock surprise.

"True," Harry stated, slightly annoyed. Every time someone called him that horrible nickname, he hoped with all of his heart that he would never hear it again.

"Giving up already, are you? What kind of a message will that send to all of your adoring followers? This seems rather weak, coming from the heralded saviour of the Wizarding World. Maybe, instead of resigning yourself to failure, you should be plotting off some way to escape from here. The door is, after all, wide open for anyone to come and go as they please," Malfoy hissed menacingly.

"It's time for me to stop living for everyone else and start living for myself. I can't save them. I never could have saved them," Harry replied matter-of-factly. "Besides, I thought you said all my adoring followers were dead," he countered after a moment of thought.

Malfoy's grip on Harry's shirt had loosened. Now, one palm rested on his chest. The other was placed on Harry's abdomen; his shirt had inched higher when Malfoy had grabbed him.

"Things could still be good for you. Things could be very good," the older man hinted.

"I'll believe that when I see it," Harry said bitterly.

"Will you?" Malfoy asked, almost to himself, and met Harry's eyes. The hand on Harry's stomach moved slowly, fingertips exploring each contour of the bared skin.

Suddenly, it dawned on Harry how close he was to this man - this Death Eater - this vampire. He inhaled sharply and backed up only to find he was already up against the dungeon wall. Malfoy chuckled at Harry's reaction and leaned forward to whisper a single word into Harry's ear, urging him to relax. Harry swore he could hear his own heartbeat, pounding ever faster as Lucius continued to explore his body. He felt heat rise into his cheeks and the icy temperature of the dungeon was forgotten. It was a strange feeling - something between fear and excitement - to have the complete attention of this dangerous man. To be at his mercy.

Lucius's fingers were at the opening of Harry's trousers and he was soon faced with the reality that a man he had never trusted was touching him more intimately than anyone else had ever touched him before. Lucius started slowly, gradually speeding up, watching Harry's face to gage his prisoner's reactions to his fingers' ministrations. Harry was on a sensory overload. The moment he realized he could not hold on much longer, Malfoy bent forward and sunk his teeth into the fragile skin of Harry's neck. This combination of pain and pleasure sent Harry over the edge, an edge he knew he would never be able to come back from.

When Harry came to his senses, he was crumpled on the floor of the dungeon. Malfoy was standing with his back to him, looking out of the window. He sat quietly for a few moments, contemplating the tragic and odd events of the recent past. He still had no sense of how much time had passed since the attacks had begun. He had thought about Hermione and Ron, about Lupin, about the Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. He thought about how alive he had felt as Malfoy touched him. He thought about all the other witches and wizards that had filled the Great Hall. He understood the value of his life and his survival. He knew he would attempt anything that he thought might save their similarly valuable lives.

"Malfoy?" Harry said, after weighing his options and making a decision.

He turned displaying a look as thoughtful as the one Harry imagined he had, "Yes, Potter."

"I think I could get used to this world."