Chapter Text
Harry had never known anything but his cell, those empty halls he scrubbed clean everyday, the wretched screams echoing nearby. Nothing ever changed, his only interactions were with his guards, the large men who had been his companions since he was an infant. He didn't know their names, only his own, Harry James Potter. They sneered it at him, throwing it in his face as if it was an insult. He simply stared at them every time, curious and confused at the animosity clinging to their words. They had taught him everything he knew, indirectly of course, but even still, he couldn't help but hold them dear.
They were his only freedom, his only light in that dark cell. They took him from his cell everyday for his assigned cleanings, they allowed him freedom, he would always be grateful to them for it. Even after they had killed his only friend. Esmerelda had been beautiful, she had told him that she was something called a snake. Her words were always soft, comforting, the syllables hissing and wrapping around him gently, just as her body wound around his own. They had seen her soon after she had appeared, and they had killed her. Held him back as he screamed and cried, and snapped her neck. He forgave them, even after Esermelda, because they let him out of his cell.
“Cleaning time, Potter! Get your grimy arse up and start! Don't make me get the whip this time!”
Harry grimaces, standing swiftly at the first command of the day. He had only been whipped five times in his eighteen years of life. He would do all he could to keep it the same, whippings were the worst, especially if the bigger of his companions held the whip. The men were cruel, attaching thorns and glass to the whip before striking him. Their laughs reverberating through the cavernous dungeon at each crack of the contraption, at each of his tortured screams.
His eyes watch as the smaller of the men unlocks the door to his cell, the keys jingling against one another softly.
The man scoffs at his bright smile when the door creaks open, “start cleaning, you halfblood freak.”
Harry smiles even brighter, he knew the words had to be bad, but he didn't care when the man was the one to let him out. His footsteps are light, airy as he makes his way over to the cleaning supplies, he almost skips away with the broom in his hands, humming a made up tune as he goes. He twirls elegantly, his black hair flowing behind him gently, dust swirls around his feet and piles together as he quickly makes his way down the hall. If there was one thing Harry was good at, it was cleaning, it was all his life was, after all.
Water sloshes at his feet as he mops, dirt and dust collected in the pan far away in a hidden corner. His cracking voice quietly croons out the song he had sung to himself for years, slowly smoothing out the longer he goes.
“The house was awake, with shadows and monsters,
The hallways, they echoed and groaned,
I sat alone, in bed till the morning,
I’m crying, “they're coming for me,
And I tried to hole these secrets inside me,
My minds like a deadly disease,
I’m bigger than my body,
I'm colder than this home,
I'm meaner than my demons,
I’m bigger than my bones,”
“Keep singing that damn song and you'll be wishing for the whip by the time I'm done with you!”
Harry gulps, shivering in his threadbare nightgown at the thought. His movements slow, padding against the cool stone barefoot as he continues his daily duties. It seems his companions had finally gotten sick of the song, he sighs, he would simply have to write another while locked in his cell.
“Hurry it up, would you? The boss is having a meeting tonight!”
Harry’s head jerks up, the boss? He had only heard of the mysterious boss twice before. Both by accident, what could possibly be happening at this meeting for them to be so open about their boss?
He fights the urge to look away as a cruel grin makes its way onto the men’s faces, “word around town is that you'll finally be executed, the boss thinks you’ve suffered enough for your parents actions, so he'll finally put you out of your misery. This is all gossip of course, don't worry Potter, I'm sure it won't actually happen.”
Their laughter afterwards shows Harry just how much they thought it would happen. His eyes well with tears as he finally looks away from his deranged companions. Execution? They would kill him? He bites his lip as he continues scrubbing the floor roughly, he didn't have much of a life, but it was his, he didn't want it to end. Even with only these two men, his cell, and the cleanings, it was still his.
His raw and rough hands were sore once he finished, the two men rushing him and shoving him into the cell once he had finally completed the last task of the day. He lays on his stone bed, staring at the gray ceiling as he allows his tears to fall. His life would end soon, he didn't know when, but he knew it would happen. The men had never lied to him, not once, his death was written in the stars now, it was simply up to this mysterious boss on when it would occur.
His eyes flutter, exhaustion, both physical and mental, consuming him as he lay there in absolute stillness. His voice is soft, broken and shattered with grief as his words flutter out from his parted lips.
“I sat alone, in bed till the morning,
I’m crying, “they're coming for me,”
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The next day was different, the two men didn't come. Not to let him out, not to feed him, not even to threaten him with the whip. Harry shivers, tucked in the far corner as he watches the door. Nothing, not even the chittering of a single mouse washeard. A whimper escapes him as he rocks back and forth, he would die soon. The men were right, his death was inevitable, his life in the hands of their boss. It had always been in his hands, yet never so literally. His head lowers to his knees as he sucks in air, shallow and quick as his vision swirls and spins wildly around him. He groans as he sways, a choked sound escaping him as he collapses, blissful darkness encompassing him as the panic looms and threatens him.
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“Rise and shine, Potter! Time for your presentation to the King! He's quite excited to see you, you know? Hasn't laid eyes on you since you were a babe! No one but us have, isn't that right baby Potter?”
Harry stares at the bigger one in horror, so soon? He couldn't die yet! They had only told him about his execution yesterday! Those persistent tears well in his eyes, a few even fall as the door creaks open. The sound of freedom, now the call for his death. Shackles latch onto his wrists, useless against him, his thin and malnourished body wouldn't even make it five feet before one of the men caught him.
They drag him up the stairs, he trips and a confused sound erupts from his mouth, a cruel laugh comes from the smaller man.
“How pathetic is that? You don't even know how to walk up stairs!”
Shame fills him, red blooming across his cheeks as he follows the men up the stairs, stumbling all the while. He would die today, the same day he had walked up his very first flight of stairs. Those shining tears fall onto his dark skin as the men pull and yank him up and up and up, further and further away from the only place he had ever known, his only home.
He gasps in pain, legs giving out as the larger man opens a door at the very top of the spiral staircase.
More laughter echoes around him, “a little light, that's all it takes to knock him to the floor! Get up, Potter! You act like you've never seen the sun before!”
The sun. His eye lids crack open, a hiss leaves his mouth as he turns his head down, blinding pain searing his head.
“What…what is the sun? ”
The larger man snickers at him, kicking his side roughly, “does it matter? You won't be alive to see it for very long, now will you?”
Harry's face crumples in agony, his life. His songs, his cell, his dancing, his cleaning, it would all be gone. He shudders, tears flowing freely as he stands once more, ignoring the pain as he looks at the world around him. Hallways filled with bright light from clear sections, tables with elegant things standing on them, tiny colorful sprouts of color shining from within them. His eyes widen as they pass them, the smell of them! He had never smelt something so beautiful, so pure. He smiles at the little sprouts, whatever they were, they were the best thing he had ever, would ever, experience in all of his life. His head turns with each step, taking as much as he possibly could in. So much light, so much color, so much life. To think his would be ending so very soon, yet so much was flourishing around him was otherworldly. The men stop in front of a large door, smirking down at him cruelly, they shove the large wooden doors open.
“Potter, your majesty, just as you requested.”
Emerald eyes met ruby, and Harry's heart collapsed within itself as he was faced with such cruelty. A smirk slithers sling the man's face as he stares down at Harry, his arm gestures to the side of the open room, nought but a single extravagant chair inside, the man, the king, perched upon it.
“Perhaps I should begin with an explanation,” his voice is as smooth as silk as it stalks towards Harry, “I have wished for your death for nearly two decades, your parents actions waring deep within me, causing me to loathe the very ground you walk upon.”
Harry's head falls to his chest as he listens, why couldn't the man just end it all right there? Why did he have to drag it out even further?
“That all changed when I saw you for the very first time since that fateful day you were locked in your cell.”
Harry’s head shoots up, bewilderment coating his expression.
A chilling smirk is the king's response as he continues on, “I wanted to see you before your execution, so I visited once you had fallen asleep. There you were, cradled in morpheus’ arms so gently. I realized that there was a better fate for you than death.”
Harry stares at the man, his lips parted in shock. He wouldn't die? More tears slowly leak from his eyes as he stares up at the man. Anything, anything was better than his death, even going back to his cell when he knew that light and color and life existed.
“So I came up with a concept, a tournament, if you will. My men will all fight for your hand in marriage. Whomever comes out on top, will get you. You will belong to them, will do their bidding whenever and wherever it pleases them. Whatever they want, they will get. You are to be their slave, and they will use you however they wish.”
Harry freezes, his eyes shuttering as he glances at the men the king had gestured to earlier. Some were as large looking as his two companions, others were tall and slender, every single one of them appeared just as cruel and evil as his companions and their king. He shivers as he cries, head resting upon his frail chest as the reality of it all falls onto him. Perhaps his death would have been better than this fate.