Enslaved by Victory
AU as of book five. After Harry's friends are cornered by Death Eaters, Harry is whisked away to Death Eater headquarters. Two years later when Hogwarts is conquered, Voldemort's slave shows up with the name of Harry…
Chapter 1: Imprisoned
Pettigrew stopped, a smile cracking his lips. "It is a special ceremony for the Dark Lord." Yaxley laughed and sneered at Harry, his demonic eyes glistening. Harry's stomach twisted. "Oh yes it is," he laughed. "I'm very sure he will enjoy it."
They hadn't broken him yet.
That was a small pride considering the amount of pain he was in. Harry rolled onto his back coughing up blood, soaking the remainder of his t-shirt with the salty substance. Ignoring the blood splattered amongst the stone wall of his cell he sat up. The room swam before him but he could see the window a few feet from the door and the sun had risen. Mentally, Harry groaned. Nothing could possibly ruin a sunny morning but his morning 'session.'
He sat up further and his head swam, turning the bleak cell around him into a whirlpool of stone. His own stink was making him nauseous and only the prospect of food prevented him from lying down again.
Harry thought he could smell the slop that they usually gave him, and his nose perked. Pathetic, Harry thought. Looking forward to a load of rubbish for breakfast. Nevertheless, he forcibly straightened himself and waited for his meal.
He was answered moments later by a bowl thrust into the door of his cell. A quick sniff told him that it was same boring old slop made from pork rinds or something equally disgusting but he slurped it down the way a pig would eat his slop, and settled on his back. The food had given him strength and now the window before him shone more blissfully with light, brightening the dank interior of his cell.
Remembering the promise he had made himself the other night, Harry made himself pick up the rusty nail he had hidden in the corner and started picking at the lock to his chains. It was a futile effort and he knew it. Voldemort had taken no leisure in fastening Harry to the wall securely, and he knew he had his numerous escapes to thank. Even over the past few weeks he had picked, he had gotten no further than a dent and although Harry hated to admit it, it would be years before the lock would even be thawed halfway. Resisting the urge to chuck the thing into the corner he continued, relentlessly plowing away at his only hope of escape.
Harry had hoped and mentally begged for someone to rescue him, even attempt at doing so. He knew his hopes were worthless, knew that Voldemort was the secret-keeper of the place and knew that even if the Order managed to penetrate it they were outnumbered by thirty to one. Still, that didn't stop him from jerking his head around every time a Muggle walked by the small window usually chucking rocks or making rancorous jokes at each other. It was cruel, making him watch these Muggles with their freedom and their ignorance of the Wizarding World.
Perhaps he would have been better off if he had remained ignorant, and Voldemort was no more than a nightmare.
Harry signed and shifted his position slightly, staring at the wall. He wasn't sure what was worse, being stuck in a tiny cell waiting for Voldemort's followers to torture him, or being alone. Never before had Harry been struck with such a dire feeling of loneliness. He had never realized how much he prized his friend's company and now Ron and Hermione were off somewhere unknown. Harry would gladly accept them bickering throughout the day. Nothing was worse than this cold cell where the only company he got was his torturers. He missed their company more than he would admit. It made him slightly sick to think that he would appreciate one of his friends being here with him even if it meant they were captured.
On the bright side, being alone let him think. Harry had spent many hours sitting by himself thinking, trying to ignore the throbbing pains all over his body. It distracted him, gave him a light of hope in the dark future. He thought of Snape, who had loved his mother. He wondered about Dumbledore, who cared so much about his safety but had let him go to waste.
Dumbledore. Why had the Order given up on rescuing him, why had Dumbledore given up on him? At first, Harry thought perhaps they were just taking their time, but he eventually was forced to accept that no help was coming. He clenched his fists in anger. How many secrets was the old Headmaster hiding from him, starting with that Prophecy...he still did not know what it said.
He shook away the thoughts and tried to think of better things. Harry remembered Luna who was always bright and perky. She would probably have driven him insane if she was here with him, lecturing him on how nargels would help him escape. He cracked a smile. It was worn and his lips were chapped, stretching the skin into a painful position. He thought about Mrs. Weasley's homemade soup, and the sorrow in his heart thickened.
Footsteps echoed in the above corridor and Harry braced himself, tensing. The last session had left him choking in his own pain and he was not looking forward to repeating the experience. He had long given up laughing in the faces of his tormentors. They would only torture him more. He knew privately that he could not survive much longer under these conditions.
A sudden movement made Harry jolt and he stared into the face before him. It was a different face than the sneering hopeful ones of Lestrange, Mulciber or one of the other nasty Death Eaters, but one he recognized quite well.
Despite the pain he was in hatred bubbled to the surface and he felt an urge to lunge at the man. Fat-faced, rat-eyed and with a head covered in tuft sandy hair Pettigrew stood before him. His back was its usual hunch and his face was covered with disgusting debris. He had a strangely determined glint in his eye.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice raspy. There was a slight tremor in his voice that he could not hide. Pettigrew stared at him, shock exposing the strange features on his face. With a small movement of his head Pettigrew unlocked the door and with one wave of his wand, unlocked the chains that bound Harry to the wall. Harry stared at him, confounded. In all his months or weeks here, Harry had never been allowed out of his chains.
"The Dark Lord has requested you," he said. When Harry merely stared at him, Pettigrew waved his wand and levitated Harry into the air, and then guiding him out of the cell, started up the stairs.
As he neared the top a fresh burst of air hit him. Had he not been so injured, he would have jumped for joy. The upstairs hallway was filled with a sweet tangy air that he had not smelled for a long time. Instead he lay under the invisible cushion of air that supported him and enjoyed the luscious smell of the castle hallways.
As they neared the end of the hallway they passed a Death Eater Harry knew as Yaxley. Pettigrew stopped and faced him, his beady eyes narrowed. Harry could see him tense.
"Pettigrew!" Yaxley said with his waxy face flushed with elation. His narrow lips broadened into a nasty smile. "They are bringing him then, are they not?"
Pettigrew stopped, a smile cracking his lips. "Yes they are," he said, speaking through his nose. "It is a special ceremony for the Dark Lord."
Yaxley laughed and sneered at Harry, his demonic eyes glistening. Harry's stomach twisted. "Oh yes it is," he laughed. "I'm very sure he will enjoy it."
Pettigrew's eyes hardened and he swept past Yaxley. As he lay there Harry watched Yaxley's figure disappear, and he felt a horrific feeling of dread.
Harry was rather shocked when Pettigrew lead him to a washroom. It had been a long time since he saw a place so clean and pristine, its mirrors shining and the pearl bathtub filled with bubbles. In his amazement, he did not notice Pettigrew drop him to the carpet and push him into a corner. He did not even have time to feel humiliation for the way he laid pathetically on the carpet.
"You will bathe in here," he said, his eyes narrowed at Harry. "First, a Healer will heal your injuries."
He scarcely had time to wonder why a Healer was there at all when a female Death Eater he did not know took his hand and began muttering incantations with his wand. Gradually, the pain dissipated. Harry let out a long hiss as she prodded his arm with her wand, healing the fractured bone. The woman did not look up at him but continued with her work as normal.
Harry closed his eyes. As strange as this was he knew he must enjoy it. The pain was disappearing wonderfully. Strength flooded his veins, making him feel whole. Finally, the Healer looked up.
"You are satisfactory," she said in a scratchy voice. He looked up, wondering who she was but she pushed his head down and ordered, "Strip and get in."
Not thinking to disobey, especially when something good was finally happening to him, Harry stripped down and stepped tentatively into the tub. At first his newly healed bones screamed in protest. As he settled into the water, the pain gradually soothed. Harry looked up and noticed the Healer was watching him. She had an oval face, dark plaited hair and a hard look in her gray eyes. With a sinking feeling he noticed that she too bore the robes of a Death Eater.
"You will want to scrub off all that filth," she said, pretending to take no notice of his observations. "Ask if you need assistance."
Harry mumbled and turned away, his face slightly flushed. He did not like the idea of a Death Eater scrubbing him down, much less a woman.
After scrubbing the stains that adorned his body with much difficulty he settled into the bubbles, closing his eyes. For once, the fear that usually held him had seeped away. Even the fear of what would happen to him at the 'ceremony' felt insignificant. Harry closed his eyes and let himself relax.
Moments later he was helped out of the bathtub and into a plain set of black robes. His hair was dried and shoes were placed on his feet and then he was lead down the dark corridor. Harry's head was pounding. The suddenness of the movement had made him weak. Head spinning, Harry swayed and was caught by the two Death Eaters on either side of him.
"Not going to escape, this one," one said in a dark voice. The world swam around him in shades of black and white. He could barely make out what they were saying. "I don't think we'll have any worries."
"He'll be fine soon enough," said a woman with a snicker, and with a jolt Harry recognized her as Bellatrix. "The Dark Lord has many plans for this little boy." Harry felt a hand under his chin and her pointed face was brought into view. She laughed and dropped his head, letting it swing unsupported. He could not bring up the energy to hate her while he was so afraid and tired.
Silently they dragged him on to his impending fate. The candles on either side of him went out as they passed, as if telling him to go back, but there was no going back.
Voldemort knew he was the victor.
It had only been a matter of time, and now he had both Hogwarts and of the Boy Who Lived in his palm. He had to admit winning over Hogwarts had not been easy, the Muggle Lover had seen to that.
But now Dumbledore had fled, and the students were trapped.
The school, the students his to control…
A smirk darkened his perversely evil face as he petted Nagini.
My Lord…she hissed.
I see the boy, and he is weak. All is going according to what you have planned.
Voldemort's smile widened. I hope he will strengthen shortly, he hissed. The Death Eaters surrounding him winced, and he drilled through their fear with his snake like eyes. Several looked away. It will not be as fun if he is weak.
You speak clearly, Master. Make your enemies suffer, and their friends worse.
Fondly he petted Nagini, and then there was a knock on the door.
His eyes lit up with a hypnotizing light. Voldemort stood up with fervor, awaiting his prize. He could feel his Death Eaters growing excited. The mood in the room was palpable.
Two of his most loyal Death Eaters marched in. Swaying in their arms was Harry Potter.
Through his clouded eyes, Harry knew all was lost.
Voldemort's eyes danced with an excitement that Harry had never seen before. The sick cruelty that was in his eyes was undoubtly meant for him.
Harry knew quite suddenly then that Voldemort was going to break him. He may have not lost his mind, but the thought of going back to his cell was enough to break his spirit. Voldemort's lair was his life now and all hope, all thought of his friends was only memory. Nothing could save him from this life which was an endless pit of despair.
Harry breathed quickly, trying to regain the last of his sanity. No matter how bad his situation was, he couldn't accept that Voldemort had truly won over him. It would be the last of him.
Frightened yet determined he mustered the strength to look up at Voldemort. At the same moment the Death Eaters holding him up dropped him. He crashed into the floor, sending waves of pain throughout his body.
"Quite the survivor, aren't we? It has only been a few months, Potter...breaking so quickly..." he hissed, and the Death Eaters laughed.
All Harry could do was stare into the snakelike face, filled with fear at what was coming.
Voldemort's eyes shone a darker red. "I see you are lost for words. No matter. I shall tell you what I wanted to regardless."
Voldemort descended from his throne and swept past the Death Eaters, who were all watching in some sort of sick awe. Harry was only distantly aware of trembling. The pain in his scar, before a small part of the pain he was usually in hit him at full force and he doubled over.
Harry felt a spider like hand on his forehead, and trembled more violently. Voldemort's cold icy breath was right next to his ear, and he whispered:
"Hogwarts is mine…."
Harry's eyes widened. For that moment, all hope he had, all the dreams of his friends shattered in a million pieces, and he threw his face forward and bellowed, "No!"
"Oh yes…" whispered Voldemort malevolently, almost lovingly. His hands raked over Harry's shaking forehead in pleasure. "It is mine, and so are you…."
With a sudden movement, he moved his pale hand to Harry's scar.
Such pain filled Harry's head that he was screaming, he did not know where he was or where the pain came from. He and Voldemort were a whole, the snake inside him reared and was ready to bite, to kill….
He thought of his friends, but remembered they were all in Voldemort's control…
Harry was lost. There was no hope left, he had been abandoned by the Order and his friends...the only thing that was his life was the snake twisting himself around his soul, eating at the happiness that remained in his heart…
And then there was laughter. Harry felt himself flung to the floor. Tears of pain stuck to his cheeks, and his newly healed body was threatening to give out again.. Voldemort's presence was stronger than ever and the red eyes laughed at him, daring him to strike.
He was a snake, though…
He could not strike his master.
Harry sat up, confused. His master? Where had the thought come from?
Voldemort his master?
And then he saw, with horror, that Voldemort stood over him with an empty box in his hands. Despite how much he did not want to look down, his eyes moved to his neck.
There was a jagged black necklace that was stuck to his chest. It made an angry welt against his pale skin.
He then realized, without knowing how he knew it, that something was gone.
Harry looked up at Voldemort, fear in his eyes. Ron and Hermione and Hogwarts were a distant dream. This was his future now. And he was deathly afraid.
Voldemort's eyes shone, and he leaned over Harry. Harry could feel his hot breath on his face.
"Your magic is gone."
Struck with horror, Harry stared at him. He knew that Voldemort was right. There was a part of him that no longer felt whole and that felt empty and strange.
"And now," said Voldemort, bringing forth another box that Harry did not want him to open and tracing Harry's temple with his long, spiny finger.
"You become…my slave."
*slight edits made to entire story to clean up writing/grammar in August 2016*