a foul place is where i love you

Four (The Real One)

For the second time that day - considering it was still the same day, that is - Harry woke to blinding light and a pounding headache.

Merlin, he was so tired. Tired of fate constantly using him as a chew toy, tired of never knowing what was going on in his life, tired of being forced into all sorts of trouble and problems bigger than himself. Was a nice, warm, safe bed and some time to take a bloody well-deserved nap too much to ask for?

"Wake up, Potter," demanded a cruel, gruff voice.

Harry blinked a few times, his heart pounding and stomach buzzing to the point of nausea. He was beginning to gain awareness of his surroundings - a frigid room with a dewy, musty smell that burned his nose; his hands and legs bound to a chair he could've sworn was made of solid ice.

As his vision cleared, a dark, dank cell began to take shape. Everything about it felt damp and wet, and the faint echo of dripping noises made him wonder the last time the place had seen a plumber - or ... whatever wizard-plumbers called themselves.

The voice that had spoken before had a face to go with it. Standing directly in front of Harry's chair was the bald Auror that had helped surprise-attack him. He had what looked like a permanent scowl on his face, wrinkled and worn, as if years of stress and maintaining a fierce appearance had weathered him to a constant state of grumpiness.

"Good of you to finally deign to join us," barked the Auror, crossing his arms. For a man that couldn't have been more than 5'10, he nearly rivaled Mad-Eye Moody's scariness. Harry vaguely wondered if they were related somehow.

"Uh," Harry blurted stupidly, "hi?"

Well, so much for the extra training these past couple years.

The Auror only blinked once at him, clearly unfazed. "I want to make something very clear, Potter."
He bent down to grip the back of Harry's chair, his cold, grey eyes now eye-level with Harry's green ones. "Whatever sick, twisted game you're trying to play right now is not going to work. You've ruined your chances of that. No one is going to try to save you this time around. Not even dear Mummy and Daddy. Again, you've ruined your chances of that."

The words struck Harry like a gong, echoing and rattling through his brain. Mum and Dad? What kind of right did this bloke think he had, playing that card?

Harry opened his mouth to ask exactly that, but the Auror - considering he was an actual Auror - cut him off with a flick of his wand; a Silencing Charm. "I wasn't finished," he said savagely. "I promise, I'll make it quick. Then you can talk all you want and more. You're cornered, Potter. Trapped. And you'd have to be a absolutely mental to think someone will save you after everything you've done. Very, very soon, you're going to wish you died in that fire; you're going to regret showing your face today."

Then the man smiled - his first show of emotion. It was an angry, satisfied smile - the smile of a man finally able to revel in vengeance after so long. "Now everyone knows what you really are, Potter; not a troubled, confused little boy, but a monster that needs to be put down."

There was a heavy, sinking weight in Harry's gut, mixing with the whirring confusion and anger and hurt. What had he done? After everything, after he'd finished it all ... What had he done to deserve all this?

Perhaps he was dreaming. It would've made more sense. And to think he'd seen ... he'd seen Sirius before he'd blacked out ... Well, Dumbledore had said it himself: no spell could bring back the dead.

Or maybe he'd finally just lost it.

"So," said the Auror, "we've already done this before, as I'm sure you'll remember -"