Unthinkable Fate

He is alone. Around him the shadows are heavy, as is the stench of the cell he spent so long in. He aches; he has for months now. Not as much from the deep bruising spotting his face and body. No, this is a deeper ache. A need. An urging of his body that he has no control over. A need he couldn’t hide from his mother, nor father. A need that landed him here, when his father, livid with the revelation his son had given him, locked him away for the safety of His Lord. And for his own safety.

His blood streaked, dirty and matted blond hair falls into his face yet again. He brushes it away, only to have it return immediately. His father has not bestowed upon him the blessing of a cleaning spell in weeks. A heavy sigh escapes him.

He sleeps sparingly; his dreams haunted by loving green eyes. It hurts to even think about his mate. The mate he hadn’t even had the chance to speak to when he found out for sure that he was the one. He had made the stupid mistake of getting found by his parents first.

Now the noises of a fight began to filter their way downstairs, and he wonders if one of Voldemort’s toys has gotten away again. It is a small amusement, but the prisoner of the deepest dungeons does not have much more. The thought that his Father’s Lord might be thwarted in even the smallest of ways is a welcome thing. For he himself is currently incapable of it.

The noises above get louder, and moments later some of Voldemort’s more cowardly followers run past; following closely are people in what appear to be Auror’s robes. The prisoner moves closer to the bars, clutching them tightly. Where there are Aurors, there is usually the one who haunts his dreams. The boy who seems to have no care for his own life.

He watches, and listens. The sounds of fighting continue. The screams and pleas of various Death Eaters sound loudly all around. The snarling challenges and inhumane growls of Fenir Greyback come even more loudly; a deep growl sent at the youth in the cell as the werewolf is dragged past.

It wasn’t until all the other Death Eaters sit in guarded groups that the Aurors see fit to turn their attentions to the dungeons. Why bother with the already caged threats before the free and dangerous ones? Aurors go about releasing those “innocents” that were kept in the same area as the prisoner. They spend some time staring at him; Taking in his disheveled appearance, dirty hair, and emaciated figure. None make any move towards releasing him.

He shivers; the night has come, and he is still in the same cell. Several Aurors are stationed nearby. Nothing is changing for him. He thinks himself lucky when an Auror throws a bit of bread at him. It is gone in seconds. The Aurors laugh and make crude comments. They do not think about what he has had to go through to live this long.

When he cannot shake his exhaustion anymore, he curls up at the back of the cell, and sleeps. He dreams of the green eyes, and feels an odd ache in answer to his nocturnal reaching out to his mate. Something has changed. His mate’s awareness has changed. When he awakens, the attitude of the Aurors has not.

Surely they know he has been locked in here for months. Isn’t it obvious, with how thin he has become? How dirty he is? How the bruises and cuts litter his body? No, they don’t see the truth. How can they trust the son of the most well known Death Eater? Better to keep him locked up.

He can hear them, discussing him. Trying to guess what got him thrown in the dungeons in the first place, if it wasn’t just some plot of his or his families to escape, should the Dark Lord fall. The Dark Lord is gone, they say. Harry Potter killed him.

They also talk about how Harry Potter had tried to get to the dungeons that night, after the Dark Lord fell. They say thankfully his two friends managed to dissuade him. His mate had been so near. He must have been drawn to the call of his mate in need, but was stopped by the other two thirds of his trio. His heart aches with that knowledge. Where is his mate now? Why hasn’t he come back?

Now the Aurors have gone quiet. They try to look serious and businesslike as Kingsley Shacklebolt comes down into the dungeon. The prisoner is the only one still locked up there, so the man must be there to see him.

The well pressed man eyes the prisoner for several minutes, taking in the damage done before gesturing for the closest Auror to unlock the cell with the keys confiscated from a Death Eater guard.

The dirty young man coughs softly. He is afraid of what will happen next, but still proud enough not to show it – too much. He stands up, wobbly, as the man gestures for him to come out of the cell. It is either do what they say right away, or wait for them to do it for him, most likely painfully. He isn’t stupid enough not to believe the Aurors aren’t as bad as Death Eaters.

The man in charge speaks a few soft words to the Auror with the cuffs, and waits as the thick bindings are placed on the young man’s wrists. They bind any magic the youth possesses, both wizard and Veela. Not that they know he is part Veela; they simply intend to cover all their bases.

He is led out and away from the cells. Surprisingly, they go slow enough for the blonds’ faltering footsteps to keep up. Though they do not help when he sags against the wall in the upper level, almost too tired to carry on with the walk to wherever they are going. They do not help, but they don’t harm him for it either.

When it becomes apparent that they won’t hurt him for it, he sinks to the ground, shaking and burning with a pain he has never felt before. The ache that plagues his dreams feels like it increased tenfold. Seconds later, he is unconscious.