CHAPTER 5 - THE BOY WHO LIVED
CHAPTER 5 - THE BOY WHO LIVED
I woke to the uncertain darkness, my sense of time as elusive as my captors' next move. My eyes were swathed in bandages, and I hesitated to remove them, fearing infection atop my newfound blindness.
Anger smoldered within me at their callous treatment—used, experimented on, then discarded like refuse back into my cell. But fury had to wait; my immediate concern was my body's needs. First, the pressing matter of relieving myself. With tentative steps, I groped for the bucket, located in what I guessed was the corner. At last, I could attend to nature's call, the sound indicating how desperately I'd needed it.
A grumble from my stomach shifted my focus. I shuffled towards the opposite side, seeking out the door and the tray of food that should have been nearby. Thankfully, I found it, though the meager portions did little to appease my gnawing hunger. It promised to be a grueling few days ahead.
After attending to my immediate needs, I returned to the bed and began to meditate. Understanding the implications of having two cores was crucial. I soon realized they were symbiotically feeding off each other during downtime, aiding in mutual growth through continuous, autonomous exercises. It was a glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak situation—a small victory against the backdrop of my recent blindness, inflicted by some fanatic with ties to Volde-hitler.
What intrigued me further was the evolving sensation of magic. It wasn't the usual flow through me; rather, it enveloped me, caressing every levitated pebble, coursing around and through me as I harnessed its power. My wandless magic training accelerated; I effortlessly levitated and manipulated pebbles around the cell. Thoughts turned to escape, strategizing on gaining strength covertly, avoiding detection by my captors.
My focus shattered as approaching footsteps disrupted the silence. Halting my training, I waited, hoping they would pass. They didn't. The door creaked open, and I turned towards the sound.
"Well, well, well. Look who's still kicking. The old man will be pleased," boomed a deep, deliberate voice—it belonged to the same imposing figure who had delivered me to that wretched individual last time.
He shut the door behind him, likely off to inform that madman. Minutes later, he returned, casting Body-Bind and Levitation Charms to transport me. I found myself secured in a chair, restrained tightly. The heavy footsteps receded, replaced by a lighter, deliberate pace.
"Here's our little miracle boy, hehehe!" the raspy voice exclaimed with unsettling excitement.
"You've been out for almost a week. I was starting to worry my success might have killed you after all. But no worries, you're here, alive, and that means we can go further, hehe," he rambled on as I maintained my silence.
"Let's begin, shall we?" he finally said.
Over the next agonizing hour, he extracted my blood methodically, cutting into different parts of my body without healing the wounds. The pain, the uncertainty of where the next cut would land—it bordered on maddening. Fortunately, I found refuge in my Occlumency training, erecting mental barriers to shield myself from the worst of it. While I still felt the agony, it dulled enough to lessen the physical manifestations.
After he finished carving me up like a holiday feast, the old bastard made me drink a foul concoction to replenish my blood, unwilling to waste time or magic on full healing. They bandaged me hastily, muttering about not wanting me to die yet, and unceremoniously tossed me back into my cell.
The first session was excruciating. Every movement sent waves of pain through my battered body. Desperate, I channeled magic to the cuts, willing my flesh to mend using the energy. It worked to some extent; I could move again without the agony screaming from every wound.
Subsequent days followed a grim routine. I was brought down, cut up, and force-fed various potions, their effects observed with clinical detachment. What he sought or hoped to achieve remained a mystery to me.
Amidst this torment, my magical training bore fruit. Simple levitation no longer sufficed, so I experimented, attempting to merge smaller pebbles into a larger, cohesive mass. By chance, I stumbled into accidental transfiguration, melding them into a single SALid rock. This discovery spurred intentional efforts, and soon I mastered the art of transferring pebbles between the two states—a far more productive exercise for my development.
As I continued training with my new cores, a thought surfaced—one that had eluded me for far too long. Recalling an old fanfic from my previous life, I remembered a character who developed a magical sonar to navigate without sight. Intrigued, I focused intensely, attempting to manifest a similar ability. Channeling my magic through my hand, I extended my senses, feeling the contours of the room like tactile echoes. It was exhausting and had limited range, akin to firing raw bursts of energy in a narrow cone, but it provided some form of spatial awareness amidst the darkness.
In addition to this newfound technique, I discovered enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes—both physical and magical. My efforts in healing the deeper wounds accelerated, and my body seemed to recover faster than normal. With a functional body, I incorporated exercises like push-ups, sit-ups, and martial arts basics, aiming to maintain physical fitness and develop a new sense of balance without relying on sight.
Time blurred together amidst my experimentation, torture sessions, and workouts. Three months slipped by in a haze of endurance and adaptation, marked by significant changes.
Foremost among them was a disturbing realization: I was adapting to the daily torment—cuts, potions, and the sadistic whims of the Voldy devotee downstairs. It honed my mental defenses against continuous physical and magical assault, shielding me from succumbing to the fate of the Longbottoms or losing my sanity. Despite this, I struggled to discern the line between retaining my morals and succumbing to thoughts of revenge against those responsible for my suffering.
In the midst of my captivity, I found myself making significant strides. Firstly, I honed my skills in transfiguration, meticulously reshaping bits of the wall and floor into various forms as a training exercise. I even fashioned a stone knife, striving to refine it into a functional weapon—a crucial step in formulating an escape plan. Staying confined indefinitely was not an option.
Secondly, I achieved a heightened sense of spatial awareness akin to Daredevil or Neji Hyuga from manga. By releasing a fraction of my magical energy throughout my body, I could perceive my surroundings with astonishing clarity. Every pebble, crack, and contour of my cell became palpable, extending my awareness beyond the door's perimeter by tracing my energy through its gaps.
The third revelation came from the Voldy devotee himself, marveling at my physical prowess and innate magical resilience. His ritual had bestowed me with exceptional muscle strength, flexibility, and almost instantaneous reflexes, along with a natural resistance to magic. Yet, amidst his praise, he expressed frustration over the failure of my eyes to heal and integrate properly, despite everything else proceeding without issue.
Just as this perplexing revelation unfolded, a deathly pall gripped the room. A minion burst in, breathless and panicked, delivering shocking news: "The dark lord is dead, he's gone!"
"Preposterous! The Dark Lord near invincible, and now he's been defeated?!" The fan-girl's voice echoed through the dungeon, filled with disbelief and a hint of fear.
"They're saying it was a baby, ma'am. They're calling him the-boy-who-lived," stammered the first goon, his voice trembling with the weight of the news.
"A baby? Are you insinuating that a mere infant bested the most formidable wizard alive? That this child defeated the heir of Salazar Slytherin himself?" The old man's incredulous tone filled the chamber, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of the unbelievable.
"It's true, sir. They've apprehended Death Eaters already, and they're talking about trials. Many others are going into hiding or fleeing," the goon replied nervously, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
"Return the boy to his cell immediately! I must ascertain the truth of this at once. No one is to take any action until I return! Is that clear?!" The fan-girl's command rang out sharply, her authority unquestioned even in the face of such startling news.
"Yes sir!" The reply came swiftly, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps retreating down the corridor.
Back in my cell, I couldn't contain the grin spreading across my face. "This truly changes things, doesn't it?" I murmured to myself, staring at the stone walls with renewed hope. The news of the boy who lived had sparked a flame of possibility in me. "Now, how can I use this to get out of here?"
I paced the small confines of my cell, mind racing with schemes and plans. The Dark Lord's defeat by a mere baby had thrown everything into chaos, and I intended to seize the opportunity. Freedom beckoned, and I would grasp it with both hands, whatever the cost.
As I paced, thoughts whirled through my mind like demented dementors. The revelation of the Boy-Who-Lived's existence meant the Dark Lord's power was not as unassailable as we had all believed. It was a crack in the facade of fear and control he had imposed upon us.
I leaned against the cold, damp wall, considering my options. Escape would require cunning and timing. The guards were on high alert now, but confusion reigned among the Death Eaters. Some would be scrambling to hide, others might seek to strike out on their own. Chaos was my ally.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the principles of Occlumency that had been drilled into me. Clearing my mind, I visualized the paths to freedom. Wandless magic, a skill I had honed in secret, would be essential. The wards around this prison were formidable, but not insurmountable.
Hours passed as I planned and waited for the right moment. Finally, in the dead of night, when the guards were at their most fatigued and the castle echoed with restless murmurs, I made my move.
With a silent incantation and a flick of my wrist, I breached the first barrier. The stone walls seemed to yield reluctantly, but I pressed on, heart pounding with anticipation. Step by cautious step, I navigated the labyrinthine corridors, avoiding patrols and detection spells with practiced ease.
At last, I reached the outer gate. The moonlight filtered through the iron bars, casting long shadows on the cobblestones below. With a final surge of determination, I whispered the unlocking charm. The heavy gates creaked open, protesting their release after years of imprisoning souls.
I stepped out into the cool night air, a free man once more. The world beyond awaited, uncertain and fraught with danger, but also brimming with possibility. The Boy-Who-Lived had ignited a revolution, and I intended to play my part in it.
The night air was crisp, carrying with it a sense of liberation that I hadn't felt in years. I moved swiftly, blending into the shadows as I made my way through the outskirts of the Dark Lord's fortress. The chaos inside had spilled out into the surrounding lands, but I had prepared for this moment meticulously.
As I traversed the rugged terrain, my mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead. The Boy-Who-Lived was a symbol now, a beacon of hope for those oppressed under the Dark Lord's reign. His survival and victory over Voldemort had shattered the aura of invincibility that once surrounded him. Now was the time for resistance to flourish, for alliances to be forged in the fires of rebellion.
My first task was to find those who shared my sentiments, who were ready to fight back. I had contacts scattered across the wizarding world, remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and other resistance groups. They would welcome news of the Dark Lord's vulnerability with open arms.
As dawn approached, I reached a hidden safe house nestled deep within the forest. The occupants greeted me with cautious relief, their eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and determination. News of the Boy-Who-Lived had reached them as well, sparking renewed hope in their hearts.
"We need to rally the others," I announced, my voice firm with reSALve. "The time for hiding is over. The Dark Lord can be defeated."
Plans were quickly drawn up, messages sent out to allies near and far. The resistance would gather strength, bolstered by the knowledge that victory was not impossible. Each person who joined our cause brought us one step closer to a future free from tyranny.
As night fell once more, we stood united under the stars, preparing for the battles ahead. The Boy-Who-Lived had shown us that even the darkest of shadows could be vanquished. It was time to reclaim our world, one spell at a time.
The days that followed were a blur of clandestine meetings, strategic planning, and daring raids. The resistance grew stronger with each passing hour, drawing in witches and wizards from all walks of life who were eager to challenge the Dark Lord's reign of terror.
Our operations ranged from disrupting Death Eater supply lines to rescuing captured prisoners of war. The Boy-Who-Lived had become a rallying cry, a symbol of defiance against oppression. His very existence emboldened us, reminding us that courage and determination could triumph over even the most formidable foes.
But the Dark Lord was not idle either. His forces retaliated with brutal efficiency, tightening their grip on the wizarding world. We faced ambushes, curses, and dark magic that tested our reSALve to the core. Many brave souls fell in the fight for freedom, their sacrifices fueling our determination to press on.
Amidst the chaos, I found myself leading missions, coordinating efforts, and inspiring hope among our ranks. It was a role I had never imagined for myself, but one that I embraced with unwavering commitment. Every decision weighed heavily on my shoulders, knowing that the lives of many depended on our success.
In the midst of battle, I often thought back to that fateful night in the dungeon, when news of the Boy-Who-Lived had sparked a flicker of hope in my heart. Now that flicker had grown into a blazing inferno, driving us forward through the darkest of times.
As the war raged on, alliances shifted and secrets were uncovered. We learned of hidden Horcruxes that tethered the Dark Lord to immortality, each discovery bringing us closer to our ultimate goal. The Boy-Who-Lived, once a mere infant who defied fate, now stood as a beacon of light in our darkest hour.
And so, we fought on, fueled by hope, driven by courage, and united in our determination to end the tyranny that had plagued our world for too long. The Boy-Who-Lived had shown us that even the most unlikely heroes could change the course of history. It was up to us to ensure that his sacrifice and bravery were not in vain.