Fears

Chapter 2: Athazagoraphobia

Summary:

Athazagoraphobia- Fear of being forgotten or ignored or forgetting.
~Harry was alone, locked away for fifty years, he would do anything to see another person and not be forgotten.

-Rating: Teens and Up
-Relationship: Voldemort/Harry Potter
-Warnings/Tags: Mature Themes, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Slight Insanity, Voldemort Wins, Nagini, Captivity.

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Empty would be the best word to describe this young man's life. Empty and long. He has paced the floor of his room more times than humanly possible, but again today he finds himself continuing the same repetitive path.

When he had first found himself in his current situation, he had many thoughts and expectations on what was to come. His mind immediately had jump to torture or some type of humiliation, maybe even just being stung up as a warning to all enemies.

He hadn't however been expecting to be hidden. He had lived for years in the spotlight as 'The-boy-who-lived' and had almost, not truly, but almost forgotten what isolation from everything was like. Even as a child he still had his 'family' around, now he had nothing, no friends, no magic, no one to talk to.

Well it would be would be lying if he said no one, he looked up as a bell chimed and walked back to sit in his bed. From a wall that had nothing before, a hole opened up, only large enough for the creature inside to slither out. With its flicking tongue the snake found its way to Harry, and brought its body up so it was eye level with him. The snake's body was double the length that Harry was tall, and though Harry should feel intimidated, he felt bored. The snake showed up at the same time every day, and just stared at him, unblinking.

He had at first attempted to fight it, ending with him wrapped in its coils losing consciousness. His second try at fighting ended up with him getting a stab wound from the shard of glass he had made into a weapon himself. After his failed tries at killing something twice his size, that could actually eat him whole, he tried to talk to it. He was of course ignored, he tried Parseltongue, English and hell he'd even tried some Spanish he had picked up from Dudley's left over school books. In the end he never got so much as a nod, though he was sure shouting 'Me gusta lamer botas bebé' whatever that meant at it was not helping. He had long given up even trying to talk to the creature, knowing full well nothing would work.

The snake, or he should say Nagini, finally focused back and finished staring, she started her usual strange body shudders, and began to dry heave on the carpet. Knowing what as to come, Harry simply pulled his legs out of the way. When a small clink sounded and a vial hit the floor, he reached down and picked it up.Opening the vial he took the note out from inside, '5 drops of blood, 1 eyelash. Welcome to day,18,249, Harry. -King Marvolo Slytherin.'With a deep and not as satisfying sigh, he followed the instructions, rubbing his eye for a loose lash, and pricking his finger on a needle, than putting them both in the vial and laying it back out for Nagini to swallow down and leave with.

He set the note in his box with 18,248 other similar notes, it was getting full, but that would happen after 49 years of collecting notes. He scoffed, 49, that would make him well over 70 now but he didn't look a day over 20. 49 years without seeing another person, or leaving his cage, one more day before 50. He had at times in the beginning believed he had gone crazy, loneliness did that to a person, he had a phase of becoming violent and out of control, he'd at one point even tried killing himself. But at year 26, when he had fully given up, and sat not moving for a full week, he had at that point not even known his own name, Nagini came along with a potion, and once she poured it down his throat, he began coming back to himself, it had taken years, he lost himself a few more times, and even started hallucinating again, but now at 49 he was somewhat sane.

He marked on the wall that another day had past, and went to under his bed to drag out a pile of books. All the books were practically ruined from use and time, but he sat on the floor and started them over. He smiled when he saw his own handwriting from so many years he couldn't remember writing it, but he knew his handwriting, the name written sounding as beautiful as any he had ever heard. Hermione. The story told of how he fought valiantly, he traveled and was as braver than any man before him. Though he didn't have a single memory of doing any of these things, he always hoped they were true. They felt real, and if he tried hard enough, he could almost feel someone hugging him, like an after shock, but not even as strong as a tremble.

He slammed his book when he heard something he had never before, a voice.He thought himself crazy again, jumping up and heading to the wall sure he had imagined it but not taking the chance. It was getting louder, he could hear footsteps to. Whatever this meant, good or bad, he felt giddy. He ran back to his closet, he hadn't worn clothes in longer than he had any right to count, but if he was to talk to someone, anyone again... he looked inside, the clothes were moth bitten and ruined, he never thought to ask Nagini for new ones. She would never answer, but what he asked for would always end up in his room come morning. The voice and steps got closer, he could tell now it was Parseltongue, but he could care less, they could be speaking gibberish and he would beg them to never shut up. He scrambled about, ending up with a towel pulled around his waist in a semblance of decency.

He nearly cried when the wall opened and allowed a person to come inside. No again that was a lie, he did cry, he not only cried, but he fell to the ground sobbing, unable to keep himself up. He could hardly manage words but found himself mumbling around 'please don't go, please, I'll do anything please.' The person who entered smirked and came fully into the room, looking at the chalked up wall, and discarded old diaries littering the floor, torn, battered old clothes strewn across the closet. He got down on his haunches in front of the boy, man would be more appropriate and pulled his chin up. Just the touch sent Harry's entire body into a fit of shivers, he slide closer in and the strange man laughed.

"Well it seems you were lonely. How are you doing?"

Harry took his time letting the words sink in, but he didn't catch any of them, he brought his hand up to stroke the man's mouth and whispered, "more"

And the man obliged.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you need some time to adjust. I thought 50years would be a good length of time. You would stop fighting and I would have the world in order, you gave me a scare when I thought you insane, but the potions helped fix that right up, hmm? Well my Harry, are you ready to come out now? Or do you wish to spend another 50 years here?"

Harry still couldn't understand the words, only that something had changed, he pushed the man's lips again, urging him to continue, his voice truly gone with shock and nerves. With another laugh the man pulled Harry closer to him, Harry convulsed with the feeling of being hugged, and almost shoved the man away for a second before he found himself leaning in, and shoving the man down to the ground and laying upon him just to get closer, he touched every part he could and forced the man to hold him close. The mans laugh turned playful as he started again,

"Well if I knew you were this affectionate I would have planned a wedding."

Harry ignored his words for the comfort of another person's warmth, refusing to move. The man finally sat up and pulled Harry with him as he stood.

"Let's get you out of here and cleaned up. I hope some of your brain comes back to you, but that's a bit much to ask at the moment."

Harry pressed his face into the other man and simply breathed. He found himself being pulled from the room, he held to the man's front, making the walk a bit difficult, but as he passed through the wall he found himself crying into the mans shirt. He was finally leaving, he didn't even look back as he left his room, his empty cage.