Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he flew great heights above a roaring Quidditch pitch. The noise from the thousands of fans could drown out even the wind in his ears. The announcer's voice broke through it all, though.

"Here we are on Potter Watch Radio! Welcome fans of the Appleby Arrows!"

Banners are suddenly swinging in a strong breeze coming from the north. They blew deep into the field…like tentacles reaching out to catch him. He wove between them, up and down to avoid their heavy cloth.

"Our main feature: Harry Potter! He flies on his Firebolt – look how slow compared to what the others are flying!"

Harry dodges the last banner and comes out into the open, and he sees everyone else is on dragons. He pulls his broom to a stop and stares up at them all…the green and gold dragons were flying wildly around, the other players weren't even on their backs – they were dangling out of the dragon's mouths.

Harry looked down at the ground and saw a lake of red blood and bodies falling into it. A black dragon circled above it.

Above him, the black sky filled with green light as a heavy storm descended.

"The Appleby Arrows have lost this match, and it's their Seeker's fault! Let the dragons kill him!"

The guilt of being the cause for them losing the game weighed heavily…and he was left falling from the sky. He couldn't pull up…he couldn't control anything at all. The red lake was coming towards him fast, and the black dragon was getting ready to catch him. The heat from the water was intense. He looked down as it came upon him fast, and he put his arms out in front of him to try to stop it. He missed the dragon's mouth and splashed into the blood and down into the depths…The blood crept into his mouth and clothes, and leaked into his body until all the blood from the lake all now belonged to him.

"Look at the state of him! Look at what he's done!"

The voice of the announcer – Voldemort's voice – never stopped echoing in Harry's ears, even after he opened his eyes and realized it was all a dream. He was laying against the hot metal bars of his cell in Gringotts, next to the hot breath the dragon, Synwenty. He moved his body and lay on the hard floor, finding a more comfortable position. His whole life was centered around his hard cell; there was really nothing less comfortable than this place.

His body ached from the curses inflicted on him earlier that day. Voldemort – no one, actually – ever visited him down here, but that didn't stop the mental visits the Dark Lord inflicted…The visits of torture…and front row seats to massacres…And somehow it all left actual bruises and cuts on him. Synwenty wasn't a fan of watching him lose control and scream his anguish, and it would wander around the corner of the labyrinth they were locked together in until it reached the end of its chains.

For three years these visits amounted to violence being almost commonplace. The life Voldemort lived was the life he lived. He could sense when Voldemort was coming to see him after all these years, and for awhile he tried to fight it, but now he just let it happen…and he couldn't deny that sometimes he enjoyed when their minds worked together. Now and then…a Death Eater would betray him, and no matter how their deeds benefited the side of light, they had still done countless atrocities before.

There was no escaping this vault – this prison that was for his body but not his mind. The chains on the dragon's legs meant there was no chance for their escape together, and in some ways Harry wondered if he would escape if he had the chance. If he left, Synwenty would surely be killed for failing to keep him, and by now they were friends. Or, in Dracotongue, they were "ggrrrrr" with a touch of smoke and a spark. Harry often told Synwenty of his dreams of them flying together, and it was the brightest part of both their days. Synwenty hadn't ever been outside, and it never confessed to ever dreaming anything.

No, the two of them…they would burn forever together here in Gringotts. On and on…unless…like it was slowly seeming to be…the war ended. And it did seem to be ending.

Harry rolled onto his stomach and looked casually over at Synwenty, and was surprised to see it had its glossy blue eyes open. Synwenty was blind, but it never slept with its eyes open.

"What are you dreaming?" Synwenty asked in that growling, smoky language of its.

"Of flying together in the light," Harry told it, wishing such things were true.

Harry always supposed the reason Synwenty went blind was because there was nothing to see down here. It was good enough at its job just using its nose.

The large black dragon growled contently. Harry often thought of this sort of growl as a purr, and he enjoyed it immensely. Harry reached out through the hot bars and gripped one of Synwenty's long, thin whiskers. Touching a dragon's whiskers was tantamount to a kiss – it was the most joyous feeling Synwenty ever had.

"I believe the war will end soon."

"You have been told?"

"Not told. I believe it. The Dark Lord has almost no fire fight with."

Synwenty, wisely, said, "But he still has you."

Sure he did, but Harry was the weapon he hasn't used yet.

Harry nodded in agreement, but a smile touched one corner of his mouth. "But to get me…he will have to get inside your room…"

Synwenty purred again, because it was still perhaps the greatest thing that ever happened to the two of them – the last time Voldemort tried to come in here the war just about ended, that was for sure.

Yes, one of these days Voldemort will get Harry out of here, but for now Synwenty kept him from it. Voldemort put Harry in thinking this was wise, but once Harry learned Dracotongue and Synwenty became his friend, it was now in fact Synwenty guarding the room from people coming in instead of from Harry getting out. Everyone knew if Voldemort really wanted to get Harry out, he would find a way, but everyone also knew Synwenty would do everything to stop him.