Beyond Repair
Cold. Dark. Alone.
Three words that Harry Potter could use at this moment to describe his situation. Maybe painful could be another, considering his broken ribs and his leg so twisted he could probably lay his head on it like a pillow. He can’t remember the last time he slept, or had a drink of water, or a piece of bread. His stomach feels like it’s turning into a black hole, consuming itself and everything around it to survive. How much longer can he hold out like this? He doesn’t even know how long it’s been since he got here. He stepped through the door and…
“BOY. Don’t even THINK about going up to my Dudley’s room! You’re going BACK into that cupboard AND IF I SEE YOU OUT I’LL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER DISGRACE THIS FAMILY AGAIN!”
He was beaten. His uncle grabbed his hair when he tried to run and slammed him into the wall. He felt his nose crunch when it happened, felt his leg break when his uncle grabbed the ankle and snapped it backwards. Oh no, he didn’t stop there. He grabbed each part, from foot to thigh, and cracked it. He can almost remember his own screams, but not very vividly, as he was passing out by then. They were bloodcurdling. Screams of agony. Pure agony.
After the beating, which went on for maybe a few more minutes or maybe an hour, he was grabbed and thrown into the cupboard. Thrown meaning he was physically tossed into it, hitting the wall with full force and crumpling to the ground as he felt his ribs break and snap. He’s been in that position since it happened.
He’s accepted he’ll die here.
They haven’t bothered to give him food or water. He hasn’t the strength to get up to use the bathroom and he’s already soiled himself. There’s not much to do. He’s dying.
This is it? This is how he dies? Not as a martyr, fighting Voldemort? Not as a hero, who saved the Wizarding World? But as a pathetic little boy, who can’t find the strength to even stand to use the restroom? Ribs broken, nose in pieces, leg destroyed.
There’s…truly nothing he can do this time?
No. This can’t happen. It can’t. Not like this! Merlin, no, not like this! He can’t die! Where is that cursed Potter luck that’s saved him before!? Where are his friends!? Where is Dumbledore!? Are they…even coming to save him?
Will they miss him when he’s gone?
No!
He can’t think like that! He can’t abandon them like this! He has to survive, he always does…but how? What can he do?
After having nightmares since he watched Voldemort pop his head out of a cauldron, he’s been practically braindead. He can barely think of a solution to this problem. They’ve haunted him every night, visions of what that snake is doing, whether that be murder or paperwork. When he asked Dumbledore about what the hell was going on, he said that Harry and Voldemort had some kind of…mental link? He really didn’t explain further but…
Wait.
If Voldemort can send visions to Harry, and Harry can hear what he’s doing then…no he can’t. Relying on his enemy? Giving away his location to Voldemort? What if it doesn’t work? What if it does? He would die either way…but Voldemort is fair, isn’t he? He prides himself on being able to take on anyone, and he wouldn’t stoop so low to murder Harry while he’s like this, would he? Not when he could have a proper duel if he helped him back to good health, right? Maybe…maybe this could work? Or maybe Harry’s in too much pain to think straight or realize how fucked and flawed his logic is, but DAMMIT what else is he meant to do!?
This is all he’s got. If this doesn’t work, at least he tried! He fought! Maybe not as hard as he could, but he didn’t die pathetically. He will not shame his friends, his family, his mother, the woman who sacrificed her life for him so he could save them. He will NOT allow his mother’s death to be in vain!
…so he tries to reach. He doesn’t quite know what he’s reaching for, but he’s trying to grab it. Something there. A line? A cord? Something along those lines. As he grabs it, he calls out, well, more whispers, praying someone will hear him. Praying Voldemort will hear him.
“...Hello?”