Miracle of Deliverance

Prologue & Part I

He ran. Trees creaked, bows shooting in front of him, making him dodge and jump aside. Leaves rustled under his slipping feet. He continued running. Wind blew, ruffling his hair, throwing loose strands into his eyes. He still ran. Rain poured over the darkening forest, its sounds muffling his steps, erasing his traces from hardly visible path winding through the bushes, their thorns scraping his arms and face, leaving ugly marks on his cheeks.

Three weeks. It's been three weeks of wild running, random Apparating and again running. He was almost anticipating the moment when his energy would run out and he would be caught. At least it would mean no more running. They would kill him, surely. Just two simple words and everything would be over.

Nevertheless, he still wasn't ready to give up. Not hope, as he ceased hoping when he was caught that first time, almost a month ago. But he simply refused to stop and wait for the inevitable calmly and obediently like a good boy.

He would run till his legs would refuse to carry him and his heart would stop in his chest. Not earlier.

He was a survivor all his life and he was not going to stop being one now just because of some stupid joke of fate.

And what a joke it was!

~I~

A month ago Harry was still at Surrey, Little Winging, trying to live through the usual hell of a summer at his aunt and uncle's house. He was anticipating the coming of August, or rather the end of July: he was promised to be taken to some safe place away from his relatives on his birthday to remain there for the rest of his summer holidays. But he still had several weeks ahead of him for now before it would happen.

It was evening and he was late from his customary stroll through the neighborhood. If he arrived later than his cousin he would be left without dinner, so Harry sped his steps to catch up and possibly overrun Dudley, who, too, was returning from the meeting with his gang of friends.

Suddenly he heard a familiar sound of Apparation, followed by another, and then another one. He saw several dark-clad figures standing just shy of the road he was running up, glimpses of white under their drawn hoods. Death Eaters.

How they managed to learn of his address or why there was no Voldemort among them, Harry didn't question. He just brandished his wand, which he never left at home these days after disaster at the Department of Mysteries at the end of the school year.

He never got to say even one syllable of any spell – one of the attackers threw something at him, and Harry instinctively caught the object. Familiar pull of a port-key whisked him from the street silently and effectively without any struggle or battle.

~*~*~*~

The port-key brought him directly to some dungeon, where he immediately was chained to the wall, his wand taken, together with his clothes. At least, they left him some dignity in the form of his underwear, so he would not be totally humiliated when the time came.

Or so he thought.

Three days later he wished that time came quicker. On the first two days Death Eaters, one after the other, took turns torturing him – Cruciatus, muggle beatings, knives, simple mockery, which in his state was almost as bad as the physical pain they inflicted.

What worried him was that the Dark Lord never came. Either he was afraid that Harry's luck once again would bring his untimely demise, or he was busy with something more urgent – although, what could be more important than his nemesis' capture, Harry was afraid to guess.

On the third day he was left on his own. No torture, no mockery, nothing. When fourth day came, he once again was subjected to the visits from every Death Eater there was. This continued for two days, and he was once again left forgotten in the dungeon on his sixth day in captivity.