CHAPTER 3 - SURVIVING THE UNTHINKABLE
CHAPTER 3 - SURVIVING THE UNTHINKABLE
It's the second time I've woken up in a strange place today, but this time there is no one around.
I look around the space I am now in and quickly realize I need to correct myself. This isn't a room—it's a cell. From the looks of it, I'm in a dungeon. But honestly, who puts a kid alone in a dungeon?
The cell is cramped and cold. There's what appears to be either a bench or a bed; I can't really tell which. It’s nothing more than a rough slab of stone jutting out from the wall, covered with a thin, scratchy blanket. A bucket sits in one corner, presumably for my needs. The walls are made of damp, rough-hewn stones, as if the room were simply carved out of the earth. There’s no window, no hint of the outside world. The only light comes from a small, barred opening in the door, just large enough for someone to peer through. The door itself is SALid steel, thick and imposing. I wouldn't be surprised if it's enchanted. This place is the very definition of a stereotypical dungeon.
For the first day, nothing happens. I hear doors opening and footsteps echoing in the distance from time to time, but no one comes to check on me. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the occasional drip of water somewhere far off.
I refuse to let myself sink into despair. Instead of wasting time doing nothing and dwelling on losing my new family so soon, I decide to take action. If there's one thing I've learned from reading countless Harry Potter fanfics, it's that a young protagonist can always find a way to survive. So, I begin practicing Occlumency and wandless magic.
“Alright, let's start with clearing my mind,” I mutter to myself, sitting cross-legged on the stone slab. I close my eyes and try to push away the fear and uncertainty, focusing on building mental walls around my thoughts.
Hours pass, and I practice relentlessly, losing track of time. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since I was brought here, but I ignore it. Instead, I focus on the task at hand, willing my mind to be as calm and still as a quiet lake.
I hold out my hand, palm up, and concentrate on summoning a tiny flame. “Just a spark,” I whisper. My brow furrows in concentration, and after several long moments, a faint wisp of smoke rises from my palm. It's not much, but it's a start.
The hours blend into one another, each one marked by small but significant progress. I find SALace in the practice, a distraction from my grim surroundings.
Then, on what I assume to be the second day, I hear footsteps approaching. The heavy clanking of keys and the creak of the cell door breaks the monotony.
A tall figure steps inside, cloaked in dark robes. His face is obscured by the hood, but I can feel his gaze on me. “Who are you?” I demand, trying to keep my voice steady.
The figure chuckles, a low, menacing sound. “You have spirit, child. Good. You'll need it.”
“Why am I here?” I ask, pushing myself to my feet. “What do you want from me?”
“All in good time,” he replies, his voice cold and detached. “For now, you must learn patience. And perhaps, if you prove yourself useful, you might even survive.”
With that, he turns and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. I'm left alone once more, but now I have more questions than ever.
I sit back down, my mind racing. I need to be stronger. I need to be ready for whatever comes next. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and return to my practice, determined to master my newfound abilities.
The first day didn't yield much in the way of results. I did what every book said was the first step: clear the mind while meditating. Easier said than done. I also tried to find the magic within me, but that proved to be more challenging than I expected.
It took a week before I started to get on the right track. Sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor, I focused on my breathing, trying to tune out the constant drip of water in the distance. Slowly, I began to feel a faint energy near my heart. Encouraged, I continued to concentrate, and soon I could sense that same energy radiating around me. It was only then that I remembered the Death Eaters saying I would be able to feel and absorb magic with relative ease in my new body.
Progress came in small increments, but progress nonetheless. I also started to make headway in clearing my mind. It took time, but I eventually succeeded in achieving a state of mental calm. This newfound clarity allowed me to understand the daily routine in this dungeon.
Each day, the Death Eaters or whoever is in charge here send down food, which I assume is meant to be breakfast. It's a paltry meal, just enough to keep me alive. Afterward, house-elves come to collect the plates, perform a quick Scourgify, and empty the bucket. The dungeon falls silent again until what I assume is lunchtime. This meal is no better than breakfast, and their rounds are merely to check if everything is still in order. Supper follows the same routine as breakfast.
This schedule means I have plenty of time to practice, as long as I keep track of the movements outside my cell.
One day, as I sit in my usual meditative position, I feel the familiar tingle of magic near my heart. "Just a spark," I whisper to myself, extending my hand. Concentrating deeply, I summon all the energy I can muster. A small flame flickers to life in my palm, and I can't help but smile.
"Not bad," I say to myself, letting the flame dance for a moment before extinguishing it. "But I can do better."
The days blur together as I continue my practice. I'm getting better at summoning the flame and even trying to move small objects without touching them. The sense of accomplishment keeps me going, even as the monotonous routine wears on.
Then, one evening after the house-elves have cleared away supper, I hear the familiar clank of keys and the creak of my cell door. The tall, hooded figure steps inside once more. This time, I’m ready for him.
“Who are you?” I demand, standing tall despite the gnawing hunger and fatigue.
The figure's hood shifts slightly, and I catch a glimpse of a cruel smile. “You have spirit, child. Good. You’ll need it.”
“Why am I here? What do you want from me?” I press, my voice steady and defiant.
He chuckles, a low, menacing sound that echoes off the stone walls. “All in good time. For now, focus on your training. If you prove yourself useful, you might even survive.”
Before I can ask more questions, he turns and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound reverberates through the cell, and I’m left alone once more.
I sit back down on the stone slab, my mind racing with questions. Who is he? What does he want with me? And most importantly, how can I use this time to become stronger? Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and return to my practice, more determined than ever to master my newfound abilities and find a way out of this dungeon.
It's been two months since I was thrown into this dungeon, and I've been quite productive in that time. I managed to construct what I believe is a SALid mental defense. Inspired by Sherlock’s 'memory palace,' I added my own twists. I envisioned a veritable fortress in my mind, complete with guards ranging from SALdiers with advanced military equipment to fantastical dragons. At the center is a stronghold containing my general knowledge, booby-trapped to thwart intruders. The most fortified area houses a genetically locked computer within a vault, alongside my baseball-sized magic core, guarded by an army of the most powerful fictional characters I could think of. Despite my efforts, creating fake memories eludes me. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get it right.
On the other hand, my progress with magic has been disappointingly slow. I can barely lift the pebbles in my cell. I've tried everything, but I keep fainting after just a few minutes of effort. The only conSALation is that I can sustain my efforts for longer periods, suggesting that the theories about magic being like a muscle are correct. There's also the possibility that I'm just too young; from what I remember, young wizards usually start truly feeling their magic around the age of seven.
My routine of training my Occlumency and magic continues daily until, two and a half months into my captivity, the cell door creaks open. Two men wearing identical plain silver Death Eater masks step into the room. They are towering mounds of either fat or muscle compared to my small, weak body.
“Get up,” one of them barks, his voice muffled by the mask.
I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding. “What do you want with me?”
“Questions will be answered in time,” the other one says, his voice cold and indifferent. “For now, you’re coming with us.”
They each grab one of my arms and haul me out of the cell. The dungeon's corridors are dimly lit and damp, the air thick with the smell of mold and decay. My bare feet slap against the cold stone floor as they drag me along.
We reach a large, iron-bound door, and one of the men knocks three times. It creaks open to reveal a dimly lit chamber. At the far end of the room, behind a grand wooden desk, sits a figure cloaked in black. His face is hidden in shadows, but his presence is undeniably intimidating.
“Bring the child forward,” the figure commands, his voice echoing through the chamber.
The men shove me forward, and I stumble, catching myself just before I fall. I straighten up, trying to appear braver than I feel.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice steady despite my fear.
The figure leans forward, the shadows receding just enough to reveal a pair of piercing, dark eyes. “I am your new master,” he says, his tone icy. “You are here to learn, to be tested. If you succeed, you may live. If you fail, you will die.”
“What do you want me to learn?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
“Magic,” he replies simply. “And obedience.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing. “And if I refuse?”
A cruel smile spreads across his face. “Refusal is not an option. You will do as you are told, or you will suffer the consequences.”
With that, he gestures to the men, who drag me back to my cell. The door slams shut behind me, and I slump to the floor, my mind whirling with fear and determination. I have to survive. I have to get stronger.
I return to my practice with renewed vigor. My mental fortress becomes even more elaborate, and I push myself to my limits with wandless magic, even if it means fainting from exhaustion. The words of the figure in the chamber echo in my mind: “Magic and obedience.” I have no intention of being obedient, but I will master magic. I will survive, and I will find a way out of this dungeon.
"It's your turn now, kid. Try to last longer than the last ones. I hate having to come down here with you low-breed filth," the Death Eater on the right spat out, his voice dripping with contempt.
One of them grabbed me roughly while the other cast Petrificus Totalus, paralyzing me before levitating me out of the room. My body was stiff, unable to move, as I floated down the dimly lit hallway. I managed to catch glimpses of other cells—perhaps half a dozen—that seemed identical to mine. The hall itself looked like it had been crudely dug out of the earth, just like the cells. The only things that appeared manufactured were the SALid doors and the torches flickering ominously on the walls.
We entered a room that was brightly lit compared to my cell. The contrast was almost blinding. On the floor, a strange set of circles with a star in the middle was surrounded by drawn symbols. Judging by the redness, it was blood. Whether it was human or not, I didn’t want to know. Scattered around the points of the star were pieces of what looked like a lion—beige-colored legs with great claws, three pairs placed at different points of the star, a tail, and what appeared to be fangs at the other two points. Above the center of the star hung a pair of eyes floating in a liquid inside a glass container.
In the middle of this macabre setup was a table with leather straps, clearly meant to restrain someone. The sight of it made my heart race.
"Place him on the table," a voice commanded from the shadows.
The Death Eaters complied, laying me on the table and securing the straps tightly around my wrists and ankles. The spell was lifted, and I could move again, but the restraints kept me firmly in place.
"What's going on?" I demanded, struggling against the straps.
From the shadows emerged the figure I recognized from before—the man who had claimed to be my new master. His cold eyes surveyed me with a detached curiosity. "You are here to learn and to be tested," he repeated.
"What kind of test?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
"A test of endurance," he said simply. "You will endure pain and fear, and in doing so, you will grow stronger."
He stepped back, and I saw him nod to one of the Death Eaters, who approached the edge of the star. The Death Eater began chanting in a language I didn't understand, his voice low and rhythmic. The symbols around the star started to glow, and I felt a rising sense of dread.
The ground beneath the star began to shake, and a faint hum filled the air. The pieces of the lion started to move, slowly drawing together as if some invisible force was reassembling them. The eyes in the glass container glowed eerily, casting a sinister light on the room.
"What's happening?" I shouted, panic creeping into my voice.
The master’s cold eyes met mine. "You will either survive this and come out stronger, or you will perish. Either way, we will learn much."
The chanting grew louder, and the assembled parts of the lion began to glow with an unnatural light. Pain shot through my body, and I screamed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. I felt as if my very essence was being pulled in every direction, the magic in the room tearing at my mind and body.
"Focus!" I told myself. "You have to focus!"
Drawing on my practice of Occlumency, I tried to build the mental walls I'd spent so long constructing. I imagined my fortress, the guards, the traps, the genetically locked computer within the vault, all protecting my magic core. I visualized my most powerful defenders standing ready to repel the assault.
The pain intensified, but I forced myself to breathe deeply, to concentrate on the fortress. Slowly, the agony became more bearable, the mental walls holding against the onslaught.
The ritual continued, the chanting reaching a fever pitch. The glow from the star and the lion parts grew brighter until it was almost blinding. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the light dimmed, the chanting stopped, and the room fell silent.
I lay on the table, panting and drenched in sweat, but I was alive. The master approached, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"You have done well," he said quietly. "You may yet survive."
The Death Eaters unstrapped me, and I was left lying on the table, too exhausted to move. They carried me back to my cell, where I was unceremoniously dumped on the cold floor. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving me in darkness once more.
But I had survived. I had endured. And as I lay there, catching my breath, I knew I was stronger for it. I would continue to grow, continue to fight. One day, I would find a way out of this dungeon. But for now, I had to focus on getting stronger.