Foresaken (Old, being rewrote)

A Minor Oversight

Everything felt woozy, his mind felt dull and his body felt weak. Nothing seemed as it should, his mind wasn't only cloudy, but thoughts ended abruptly or cut themselves off before they could even be comprehended. A pressure was pressing against the inside or his ears, he could feel the ear dumbs constrict in a way that wasn't exactly painful, but not comfortable either. His limbs felt worn and tired, each feeling like they were weighed down by many large anvils, his stomach kept twisting in on itself as he forced his heavy eyelids to open.

Bright lights assaulted his eyes, so bright Harry instinctively squinted his eyes as he tried to peer around and make out something. His eyes seemingly refused to adjust to the light causing everything to be unsightful and blurry with objects he could see. Hazy outlines of the room wasn't telling of much, he was on a semi-comfortable bed, the room was mostly blank besides a few cabinets that Harry couldn't see well enough to even see if anything was sitting on top of them. The most striking thing was a silhouette of a person humming a tune while working on something at a nearby cabinet.

"H-hello?" Harry found himself saying with much trial, the works slurring from his lips as if was drunk. Did Voldemort have him-No he's dead-Icecream sounds...nice. Yeah, Ron's a bit smart. Nuh-uh! Movement! Zoning in with much trial his eyes found the person again who was scrambling over with something in his hand.

"Keyuiep ywosuur egytaes oaphaen, plewase!" The person warbled, nearing him, with a face Harry found he couldn't even see through the distracting blurr.

"Sillyy, I don't understand," Harry groaned in a pout as his eyes slid shut again, his ears picked up muffed noises of something clicking on and one of his eyes was gently forced open. Making a muffled noise of protest Harry tried to raise limbs to fight away the intrusive person, but his limbs felt too tired to meet the demand. With a murmur he couldn't understand in the slightest, the person shined a brighter light in his eye and he fought to close it. Another thing left the person's mouth in a tone that was probably meant to be comforting. Before he let Harry closed his eye again, for a moment Harry kept his eyes tightly closed, not wanting this person to force his eyes open. The person scoffed and muttered something in an insulting voice being forcing the other eye open with an attempt of resistance from Harry, the bright light was shined again and soon was gone. Allowing Harry to revolt current treatment by keeping his eyes firmly shut, while he pondered over other ways to show his resentment for this terrible treatment! Absolutely atrocious! Everyone is just being mean, just like Snape! Everyone is a Snape. Harry felt mournful of this supposed hard hitting deep revelation of thoughts so he felt his eyes burn slightly, as he remembered he also doesn't have Ron or Hermione.

"Calm down," A harsh voice hissed, making him flinch, "Just relax, everything is going fine, just those stupid Allience members had some sort of poisons and such on the knives-an oversight of mine-but you just need to relax or it'll get worse. Understand?"

Whimpering slightly, he attempted to nod but he found himself to weak for even that. As his body felt even further out of his control.

"Potter Luck you said you had? Is that some sort of cruel joke?" The voice that was very familiar coldly laughed, a rasping sound that made a shiver go down Harry's spine, "You don't seem to lucky, most people would be dead right now. Of course, unlike most death isn't the end of the line for you-and I won't let it be. Now be a man, dry all those mortal tears and allow yourself to go back to a restful state. Your magic is healing you, just trust it."

Trying to make a small noise to signal his agreeance of terms, he felt his mind fading out even more consciousness drifting away. Growing more relaxed Harry found himself sleeping once more, with an unwavering watchful eyes of Death never to far, as doctor's mulled around to treat this poison, hope renewed by the Master of Death's brief moments of being awake-even if the teen only spoke nonsense and didn't seem to comprehend much around him. The only survivor found in the stronghold would find the newspaper's front page, the media was currently calling him the Boy Who Lived, how ironic.