Narrowing his eyes, Severus tried to focus. It was a nightmare, an absolute nightmare…

The burning in his Dark Mark, which had lasted all morning, finally subsided. The Dark Lord was satisfied. He had Harry Potter.

How had he been able to snatch him right out from under Dumbledore?  Nothing, absolutely nothing had happened as he'd foreseen. Once again, Severus Snape had chosen poorly.

Not just one bad choice, but a whole series of misjudgments and mistakes that had led them straight to this catastrophe.

Not to panic…he had to find a way. He had to get Harry out of here at all costs, by Merlin.  He'd not let the boy out of his sight until the Dark Lord was reduced to a pile of harmless bones.  No, not until the boy himself was old and grey with a beard as long as Albus'.

Harry….

If only he'd responded right away to the call of the Mark.

But he'd waited for the boy to awaken on his own.  He'd made sure he'd eaten, and especially that Harry'd been stripped of any notion of kindness or affection on Severus' part.

Good god, the boy had a gift for attaching himself to those who could do him the most harm.

Harry had scarcely disappeared from the dungeon, in Dumbledore's so-called keeping, when he'd Disapparated himself, finally answering the Dark Lord's summons, which had been calling for him for several hours.

What could he possibly want of him?  Certainly not potions; even Voldemort knew he couldn't demand they be ready in such a short time.

To punish him for his hasty departure?  Possible, but unlikely.  Any reasonable Death Eater would've done the same.

And indeed, if the dark wizard had been annoyed enough with Severus' attitude to make him feel it through the Mark, that had done nothing to hide Voldemort's good mood.

But Snape's tardiness had still been long enough to ruin his chances of saving the boy before it was too late.

"Severus.  Finally," the Dark Lord threw at him, displeased, when he saw him appear.

"I apologize, master, I was trying to get your potions together, and Dumbledore asked me…" the Potions master attempted to justify himself.

"How many times must I repeat that excuses don't interest me, Severus?" Voldemort hissed.

Snape bowed in silence. 

"I intended to entrust a mission of the greatest importance to you…but you've just proved yourself unworthy of it.  Lucius is hardly any better, but at least he responded to my summons in time.  Since only one of you could accomplish the mission, I'll have to be content with it."

"I apologize, master.  Can I be of service at the moment?"

"We'll see about that in a few minutes.  Dumbledore is due to arrive at any moment at the Ministry of Magic.  Lucius is waiting for him there, since he knows the points of entry.  He'll have the honor of bringing the boy back to me.  That could've been you, Severus.  This will teach you to be punctual.  If Lucius succeeds in bringing me Harry Potter, he'll be amply rewarded."

Snape felt a shiver run down his spine. Lucius was there… and it could've been him!  This plan could've been thwarted so easily, and he'd let it slip by!

But Dumbledore was with Harry, so he had nothing to fear.  He'd sufficiently shaken the boy so that he'd seal off his mind to Voldemort.

Voldemort, though, didn't seem to share his point of view.  For the very first time, Severus heard him let out a low laugh, not that little cynical, cruel snigger, but one of pure happiness.

"And Harry…  Oh Harry, how weak he is! A rag doll, a marionette in my hands.  Dumbledore hasn't the slightest idea of how defenseless his protégé is!" he chuckled.

Snape swallowed with difficulty. "Master, can you sense him?" he asked.

"Sense him?  Only Dumbledore's potions are keeping me from reading his mind like an open book. That's the only thing resisting me, and how interesting…the channel between our minds completely opened again this morning.  All the boy's defenses fell without my even touching him."

He was still laughing softly, his face split by a bizarre and worrisome smile.

"I don't understand…My Lord," Snape continued, "how can he feel safe when he's about to see his family again?  Does he trust Dumbledore that much?"

"In the end, this feeling safe and sound wasn't our hero's greatest weakness.  Or was it?  Whichever the case, no, the boy doesn't feel safe.  He feels completely vulnerable, abandoned and unhappy.  It would seem that something went terribly wrong with Lupin!"

He laughed outright this time.  "Can you imagine that, Severus?  Even the werewolf can't stand Harry Potter for more than a few days!  He broke the poor boy's heart; I'm almost tempted to feel sorry for him!"

Snape felt the room spin around him.  He didn't know which made him sickest: Voldemort's demented laughter, or the thought that he'd just offered Harry to him on a silver platter.

He who prided himself on being a fine strategist, he was going to have to reconsider his tactics.

How had he managed to underestimate Potter's capacity for taking his words to heart?  He'd recently had plenty of chances to observe how excessively emotional and sensitive the boy was.  How long had it been since he'd so miserably failed to manipulate a teenager…and Voldemort?

 Perhaps precisely since he'd tried to manipulate them instead of following his instincts… But he didn't have anymore time to ponder the question; the Dark Lord had abruptly stopped laughing, and let out a small cry of triumph.

A moment later, he went into a trance, ignoring Snape as he murmured softly, "Everything's fine, Harry…everything's fine…listen to me, hear only my voice…that's perfect, everything will be fine.  Look at the door in front of you.  Yes, that one, go, my boy, go and open it.  Behind it, you'll find what you're looking for.  The one you're looking for.  All that you want…a family, isn't that right?  There, behind it.  But be careful, go quietly…yes, that's very good, just behind it, someone's waiting for you, open it.  Good, close it now…that's perfect."

No, that couldn't work, what was Dumbledore doing…he had to stop him before…

But it was too late. With a resounding crack, Lucius Malfoy appeared in the Manor sitting room, holding the boy by the shoulder.

Harry seemed haggard, his eyes glazed, as if he'd just awakened from a dream…or rather, a nightmare.

"No!"

With a jump backward, Harry pulled himself from Lucius' grasp.  He didn't get much farther, though; looking around, his eyes found Snape and the dark wizard at his side, and he stopped, frozen in his tracks.

"Do not stay here, master, I beg of you," Snape cried out, thrusting himself between the boy and the Dark Lord.  "Remember what I told you!  His powers!  Do not risk yourself!"

Snape felt a cold wave run through him, but his argument seemed to strike home.  Voldemort took his turn to seize him by the shoulder, and they disappeared, leaving the boy in the hands of the master of the house.

Bought a bit of time, the Potions master thought…  How much, exactly, before Voldemort decided that the boy wasn't dangerous?

Severus immediately recognized their landing spot: Nott's cottage, sufficiently isolated and protected to serve as a fallback refuge for the Dark Lord.

"Master, give us time to make certain Potter doesn't post a threat to you!  We still do not know what he…."

"Severus," the Voldemort interrupted calmly. "I don't like the way the boy looked at you.  He was clearly looking to you for help.  Since when does Potter consider you an ally?"

Perfect, this was all that he needed.  How was it possible for things to go this badly?

Thank Merlin, no other Death Eater was gifted enough in Legilimency to break into the boys' mind.

"Master, he's aware I brewed the healing potions that put him back on his feet, and that I'm an Order member. He surely hoped that my loyalty was such that it would save him."

"Really?  His mind indicated that it's more than that.  It'd be best for you, Severus, if it turns out the boy has  illusions."

"Give me the chance to prove it to you, master."

"You'll have it.  But for now…."

The familiar crack rang out, and Nott appeared in the middle of the room where they now were.

"So quick, my faithful Death Eater…that's perfect. Follow his example, Severus," said the Dark Lord mockingly.

Snape bowed without answering.

"Nott, return to Malfoy Manor.  Have Lucius keep the boy shut up in the dungeon where he and Bellatrix can watch him.  You can help them as well.  I want Potter to be weak, in every possible way.  Use any method you like; in two days, I want him broken and begging.  If he really has any power, find it out for me. Is that clear?"

"Very clear, master," Nott answered eagerly.

"Perfect.  However, I want the boy to be able to talk to me when I return.  He might have some interesting revelations to make…on top of the pleasure of hearing him beg for me to spare him.  Enjoy yourselves…this is your reward, Death Eaters.  Make use of it!"

Nott sniggered and bowed in thanks to his master, before Disapparating to Malfoy Manor.

Snape shifted his weight from one foot to the other for a moment.  "Master, would you allow me…"

"No, I need you here.  My potions.  You'll use Nott's supplies, he's well-stocked.  You'll be my personal guard for these next two days.  An honor that will well compensate you well for not being able to amuse yourself with Potter, I hope?"

"Of course, master.  If I could just Apparate quickly to my laboratory to collect the necessary ingredients."

"You'll make do with what you find here.  If need be, Nott himself will go to retrieve your supplies.  Get to work."

Once again, the Potions master bowed, then headed for Nott's sehelves.  Yes, he had what was needed to work with…and no excuse to return to Malfoy Manor.

He had to warn Dumbledore…warn him?  What good would it do?  As if he didn't already know!

Two days, that was how long he had to get Harry out of there.  It was useless to hope that the Order would manage to break through the Manor's wards, now that the boy was being held there.

Among the potions he'd had the boy drink that morning, the Anti-Animagus potion should prevent him from transforming for an entire day.  After that, he could only pray that the boy would manage to use his powers at the right moment.

Short of a miracle, Severus' only chance would be to accompany the Dark Lord when he returned to the Manor in two days.

The boy would survive.  Lucius was watching over him…but at what cost?

He quickly glanced over his shoulder.  His eyes met the red and piercing ones of the wizard with the serpent-like face.

Severus himself was on tenterhooks.  Two days…he couldn't make a single misstep.  If the Order didn't come up with something, he'd be the boy's last chance.

May Lily forgive him, but from now until then, he had to leave Harry in Death Eater hands.

                                                    ooooOOOOoooo

Harry Potter wasn't particularly afraid of the dark or confined spaces.  After ten years of sleeping in a cupboard, he knew he was immune to claustrophobia.

So, when Malfoy sneered and threw him down into the windowless dungeon, telling him to take a deep breath while he still had the chance, Harry's first thought was that Lucius had grossly underestimated him.

But when he watched the walls come together, forcing him to pull his knees in against himself, Harry felt ready to change his mind.  Hands tied behind his back, stone walls closing in on him from all sides, he felt a vague sense of panic wash over him.

Trying to control his breathing, he propped his chin on his knees. He had to calm down…

Exactly what had happened?  Voldemort could've killed him on the spot…but Snape had told him to be wary of him and his powers.  His powers?  How could transforming into a cat help him to vanquish Voldemort?

Maybe…  In any case, he would feel less cramped in his cell as Shadow; the chains around his wrists would certainly fall off, and he'd be able to slip through Malfoy's legs when he opened the door.

Closing his eyes, he visualized a picture of Snape….then opened them again right away.

Snape? What did Snape want from him exactly?

So, this was why he'd not been able to come with him to the Ministry; he'd chosen to go back to Voldemort.

The traitor!

Or was he?  After all, he'd tried to take Voldemort away…

Remembering this, Harry rubbed his forehead against his knees.  The dark wizard's presence had sent waves of pain through his scar.  Even now, he could feel the wizard's hatred and impatience.  He wasn't far away…and he was jubilant.

Was this why the professor's mood had abruptly changed recently?  Had he known what was going to happen today?  No, he'd tried to get Harry out of the going to the hearing…

No.  No, Snape had kept him safe.  He'd had every chance to hand him over to Voldemort when he'd been at the Manor.

Snape was on his side, he was sure of it.  Because otherwise…he didn't stand a chance, did he?

And if he was wrong about the professor, then there was no longer a reason for Shadow to even be.

Even though he'd slept and eaten only several hours ago, Harry felt exhausted.  Everything had become terribly confused since his arrival at the Ministry, when he'd seen that door, with that voice talking to him inside his head.

Voldemort.  Obviously.  How could he've let him manipulate him like that?  Oh, while on the subject, how could Dumbledore have let them kidnap him right from under his nose?

Dumbledore and Snape!  If those were the two who were supposed to save him, he'd better start to think of a plan of his own!

The boy's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor.  Already?

There were several of them…three, he counted.  They were talking with their voices lowered, laughing…

The door was swung open wide, and light flooded the little cell.  Harry blinked, trying to see their faces.  Lucius, obviously, and over his shoulder, the demented smile that'd remained etched in his memory.

Bellatrix.

Sirius' cousin, who'd killed him only a few weeks ago…  The episode at the Ministry, of just a few hours ago, seemed like decades in the past to him.

But now, Harry had to bite his lips to keep from screaming with rage, the picture of Sirius falling through the Veil because of Bellatrix Lestrange's curse more vivid than ever.

If he had a chance, the slightest chance…he'd transform into Shadow and disfigure her before ripping her throat out!

Ignoring Harry's venomous look, Malfoy grabbed him by the collar and pulled him from his cage.  "So, Potter, happy to see us?  Do you like your new room?  You'll have all the time in the world to get to know its length, and width and depth, not to worry…."

Behind him, Bellatrix Lestrange's laughter rang out, as well as that of a Death Eater whom Harry didn't recognize.

"We're going to enjoy ourselves together, Potty!  Oh yes, you will see, we're going to get along very well.  I'm sure you'll have plenty of things to tell us!" chuckled Bellatrix, her face so close to Harry's that he could feel her breath.

With an abrupt gesture, Malfoy pushed him back into the dungeon. The boy braced himself to hit the wall, but to his surprise, he fell flat out onto the floor.

One look around the room, and Harry understood: the walls had slid back, giving way to a large, gloomy, windowless room.

The three Death Eaters entered and surrounded the boy, clearly satisfied with themselves.

"It seems I forgot to wish you welcome to Malfoy Manor," Lucius said with a small, polite smile.  "Be our guest for the days to come…you will have the huge honor of being received by the Dark Lord in person.  Until then…we're going to try to get you ready to meet him, all right?"

Bellatrix's hysterical laughter began again.

"Whenever you want," Harry replied calmly.

"Oh really, Mister Potter?" whispered Malfoy, clearly amused.  "You're very sure of yourself….  Was Snape right, do you have something to hide from us?"

Snape.

Harry's mind worked rapidly: Snape had made them believe that he had a hidden power with the capability to counter Voldemort.  He surely hadn't meant to speak of his Animagus form; the Potions master had only sought to give him an advantage.

He shouldn't lose it…and he shouldn't betray Snape, either.

"That traitor…" he hissed between his teeth, trying to bring to mind all the anger and frustration he'd felt about the professor.  This shouldn't be that hard, after all…

The three Death Eaters burst into laughter.

"Oh, Harry, you're so charmingly naïve!  It's all right if I call you Harry, isn't it?  Draco's talked to me so often about you that I feel I know you well.  Really, who doesn't talk about the Boy Who Lived…."

Harry gave no reply.  The less he spoke, the less he'd risk betraying himself….

"My cousin's godson, dear little Harry Potter!  That almost makes us relatives, doesn't it, Harrrrrrrrry?" asked Bellatrix with a big smile.

"Don't talk about Sirius," grumbled the boy, forgetting his resolution.

"Oh, we've hit a sensitive spot!  Sirius, brave Sirius Black, who loved Gryffindors and Mudbloods so much!  What a huge loss, wasn't it, Bellatrix?" teased Malfoy gleefully.

"Don't talk about Sirius!"  Harry growled.  He felt the blood pounding at his temples.  It was no longer fatigue that troubled his eyesight, but rather anger now

"Awww, he misses his godfather, the poor boy.  You shouldn't, love, it won't be long before you join him, take my word!  But first, you must show us your new talents.  Come, a little demonstration, Harry dear, your godfather would've been so proud of you!"

In a groan of rage, Harry managed to get back up on his feet.  It was only when he tried to attack Bellatrix that the revelation seized Harry: not only were his wrists tied behind his back, but his wand had disappeared.

How?  When?  Who?

An instant later, the question evaporated as he found himself thrown to the ground by an Electro generously cast by Malfoy.

"Tsk, tsk, my boy, who told you to get up?  So, the Muggles didn't teach you manners?  No, indeed, I suppose one can't expect that of Muggles…no matter.  Let me help you."

Grabbing Harry by the hair, he pulled him to his feet, where he stood unsteadily.

"So, Harry, you have something to tell us?"

Staring at Bellatrix darkly, the boy didn't answer.

"No?  Crucio!"

Harry fell to the ground again, all his anger forgotten…   Crucio, Voldemort, the cemetery, Cedric….

He gasped when he could breathe again, and wasn't sure anymore of where he was.  The three figures above him were laughing, it was dark, and every one of his nerves was on fire….

A hand grabbed him by the hair, and once again he was standing, supported by powerful hands.

"Harry, Harry, this could be so much easier…do you want something to drink?" asked the smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy.

The boy gritted his teeth and shifted his eyes to Bellatrix, who was laughing out loud, a few steps away.  If only he could transform right now…but thinking of Snape would be too dangerous.

A hand seized his jaw and forced him to look at Malfoy.

"Look at me when I talk to you.  Anyway, you don't need these glasses, do you, to look insolent?"

The glasses went flying and broke under the sole of the unknown Death Eater's shoe.

"Thanks," Harry said with a smile, looking Malfoy straight in the eye this time.  "I was just looking for a good reason to get new ones.  The frames didn't look good on me."

Malfoy laughed softly, as if he thought it a good joke.

But an instant later, Harry felt a Cruciatus once again toss him to the stone floor, and he clearly heard his own cries echoing off the dungeon walls.

No, Lucius Malfoy definitely didn't have a sense of humor.

                                                     ooooOOOOoooo

Night fell, and the calm of Nott's cottage threatened to drive Severus to the edge of a nervous breakdown.

No one had Apparated since Nott's departure, and spending an entire day preparing potions under the constant, watchful eye of the Dark Lord was a new experience that he never wanted to repeat.

Not that the dark wizard was intrusive.  Actually, he'd not spoken a word all day, content to stare at Severus with his red eyes, drumming his fingers on his armchair, sometimes getting up to walk a bit.

But he wasn't all that silent.  The first time he'd heard the little laugh behind his back, Severus had swiftly turned, looking to find the cause of this sudden hilarity.

When he saw the Dark Lord's vacant, half-closed eyes, the Potions master froze.  It wasn't himself, nor anyone in the cottage who was making the dark wizard laugh.

It was Potter, undeniably.  And that certainly wasn't a good thing…

The bursts of nasty laughter, mixed in with phrases in Parseltongue, made the hair on the back of the professor's neck stand up every time he heard it.

What were they doing to the boy?  To his cat?  He'd sworn he'd not allow it…if only he could get to Malfoy Manor!  But even then, he'd not be able to get the boy out that easily.

Between two potions and two of the Dark Lord's sinister laughs, Severus had time to consider his options.

He knew he couldn't Apparate; the anti-intrusion wards had certainly been reactivated after Nott's arrival.  Floo powder definitely wasn't a consideration; so, there remained only two solutions.

The first was certainly the weaker: the good old-fashioned method, escape on foot.  But to take Potter, running away right out from under the noses of Death Eaters and Voldemort?  It was totally suicidal.  He'd need more than one dose of Felix Felicis to pull that one off.

Which left the Portkey.  Dumbledore's so-called gift, his last resort…

Distractedly, Severus touched the bottle through the fabric of his wizarding robes.  For fifteen years it'd been there, carefully kept in a pocket, waiting for a desperate situation to present itself.

But would it still work after all this time?  Would it really manage to take him outside the wards around him, as Dumbledore had reassured him it would?  He doubted it.

Be that as it may, there was one last problem.  The Portkey had been configured to carry only one person: himself.  No passenger, and no one but Severus Snape.

Yes, Dumbledore had foreseen everything…except that the desperate situation would consist precisely of saving his Precious Potter.

Which left Shadow.  In his cat form, perhaps the Portkey would allow him to take this second passenger, if he himself held on to him firmly?

It was their best chance.

On the face of it, their only chance.

Behind him, the Dark Lord let out a gleeful laugh again, one that chilled him.

"Oh yes, Harry, scream…nothing pleases me more…soon you can beg me to let you die, but for now, show us what you can do…"

Snape clenched his teeth, fighting a violent urge to throw the bottle of bubotuber pus he was holding onto the figure behind him.

Lucius knew how to be creative.  Would Harry be able to transform when the moment came?

His hand shaking slightly with rage and frustration, the Potions master bent over the cauldron to pour in the liquid.

Patience.  He had to bide his time…

                                                     ooooOOOOoooo

"What a shame that Severus isn't allowed to join us; he certainly would've loved playing with Potter!" said Bellatrix regretfully.

"That remains to be seen," Malfoy replied skeptically.  "Recently, the Dark Lord has not been as happy with his services.  I wonder…never mind, we'll know in short order.  Do you think he's ready?"

Harry sensed Bellatrix crouch down close beside him. She ran a hand through his hair and all the boy's painful muscles stiffened.

"Yes, I think we can begin," she finally said.

Begin?  Harry clenched his jaw hard.  What did she mean by that?

He felt like he'd been there for an eternity…the dungeons were black now, but he knew it wasn't a matter of what time it was.  He simply no longer had the strength to distinguish anything but vague outlines.

How much time had passed since he'd arrived at the Manor?  Hours, certainly, maybe days.   The three Death Eaters were taking turns, as they'd said it so well, so that Harry wouldn't get bored.  He'd hardly had the chance.

He'd lost count of the number of incantations cast at him; he didn't know most of them anyway.  But at this point, he was persuaded he had at least an arm and an ankle that were unusable, a few broken ribs and blood in his mouth.

It was also very likely that the liquid he could feel with his fingers was his own blood.

This wasn't the first time that Voldelmort had managed to capture him, and to be used as a target for the attacks of this happy band of sadists wasn't a great novelty for Harry either.  Grinding his teeth, he'd tried to imagine himself flying on his Firebolt, far, far away from this dungeon….

That worked sometimes with the Dursleys, and the vision could also keep him from changing into a cat in spite of himself.

Snape would've been proud of his idea…

No, he mustn't think of Snape.  Especially not Snape.

But the Death Eaters had much more imagination than Uncle Vernon.  Cruciatus couldn't be an end in itself, according to Malfoy, so they'd deployed a large variety of curses whose effects were as diverse as they were painful.  Nott, unsurprisingly, took the initiative in the game 'throw Potter to the opposite wall,' but the party didn't last long; the walls quickly won with a K.O.

Bellatrix finally found a contest that they all agreed on: make Harry shout the loudest, or the most often as possible.

Harry made it a point of honor to not give his torturers, such as they were, this satisfaction.  But despite his efforts, that contest was becoming easier and easier to win…

When he'd started to feel his mind become clouded, worn down by suffering, he tried hard to hang onto to a few simple thoughts.

Above all else, not to think of Snape.  If he wanted to get out of here alive, it was his best chance, and no one was supposed to know.  If only he'd had more time to practice Occlumency.

His next thought was that he had two advantages in reserve.  All right, maybe the word 'reserve' was a bit of an exaggeration…but Snape had bought him some time—how much, he didn't know, but a reprieve all the same.  Finally, he had Shadow…when the moment came, the element of surprise could be decisive…if he managed to transform!

And then, he had to think of Dumbledore.  And of the Order.  They wouldn't leave him to die here; they were surely on their way.  He probably wouldn't even need to transform or escape on his own, that option being rather compromising…

Finally, and especially, he daren't give up.  Whatever happened, whatever they did…he wouldn't plead. He wouldn't beg them, and he wouldn't obey.  They couldn't force him.  And if he wasn't mistaken, the Death Eaters were forbidden to kill him; their role was to wear down his resistance.

Oh well, they wouldn't win.

When Bellatrix finally decided that he was ready, Harry was no longer sure he knew his name.  Dumbledore was a distant shadow, the Order just a vague notion.

If someone was determined to get him out of here, he would've much preferred that they do it before Bellatrix started….

"Drink that, my little one, you'll love it…a potion from you favorite professor!"

Harry steeled himself to fight against the phial he felt pressed to his lips, but the reference to Snape made him stop, and he reluctantly swallowed the liquid.

In a few moments, the pain seemed to recede from his body, and his vision became clearer.

Faithful to his mania, it was Lucius Malfoy who grabbed him by the hair to force him to stand; to his great surprise, Harry managed to keep his feet.

He was still hurting; he felt exhausted, and his voice was hoarse from having screamed too much, but he had enough strength to hold himself up and look the Death Eater in the eyes.

Too bad, he thought, not enough saliva to spit in his face….

But did he need it? He smiled slightly as he ran his tongue over his cracked lips.

Doing his best to aim for the Death Eater who'd not let go of his hair, he spat a stream of blood that hit the man's face with a splat, very satisfying to Harry.

Once again, Malfoy smiled at him cruelly, and Harry knew that gesture of defiance was going to cost him dearly.

But he decided it'd been worth the trouble, as Malfoy calmly wiped his face.  Without saying a word, he released Harry from his chains.

Then he turned to Bellatrix.  "He's ready."

Suddenly, the room changed, and the light reappeared, streaming in through a window.  A window?  Harry blinked, trying to get used to the brightness.  The room was richly decorated, full of furniture, curios and paintings, and there, standing in the middle of the room, the desk he knew so well...

A sweet?

Dumbledore's desk.

How?  Had he succeeded in getting out of there?  By what miracle…

Noticing two figures in a corner, Harry stopped short.  He didn't have his glasses, but he'd seen those silhouettes often enough in recent years, that he knew them from far away.

"Professor Dumbledore!  Professor McGonagall!  How did I get here?  I don't understand…."

The two of them came to him silently, calmly.

"Professors?"

"Harry, I'm happy to see you," Dumbledore said gently. 

"Professor, please, how did I get her?" Harry asked feverishly.  Something wasn't right, he could sense it.

"You don't remember, my boy?  We went to free you, the Order, everyone was there."

"Everyone?  You mean…is everyone all right?"

Dumbledore slowly shook his white head, his eyes half-closed.  "Remember.  Make an effort, Harry.  They died for you, after all.  Because of you."

Harry staggered, stunned. "Dead?  But who?"

"Everyone, Harry.  But you're safe, that's what counts, isn't it, my boy?" asked Dumbledore almost reassuringly.

"No!  No, it's not possible, I don't want, I…."

Harry pulled back, looking desperately for a way out of the room, out of this situation.  But Dumbledore came toward him and grabbed his jaw like Malfoy had done earlier.

"Look at me, Harry.  They're dead because of you.  What are you going to do to deserve your life now?"

Harry let out a strangled sound, covered by the noise of McGonagall laughing from behind Dumbledore.

"Harry, Harry, I'm so disappointed, all that for this?  Look at you, you hardly had the strength to stay on your feet…and you're the one who has to conquer the Dark Lord?  Merlin, might as well say the war is lost," said his Head of House.

"After all we've done for you, Harry," Dumbledore said, a threat in his voice, tightening the grip of his hand a bit more. "With all who've died for you.  I'm terribly disappointed."

His eyes wide, Harry couldn't look away from the Headmaster.  He seemed so angry, so disgusted to see him…and suddenly, the impossible happened.

Dumbledore finally released him, and for an instant, Harry thought he was going to let him leave.  But the old wizard's hand balled up in a fist that struck Harry in the face with surprising strength, sending him roughly to the floor again.

The boy turned over, hand at his cheek, a lost expression on his face.  And McGonagall was laughing hysterically…

"You don't deserve to be a Gyrffindor, Potter.  No, actually, you don't even deserve to be a wizard.  Hogwarts should've never accepted you as a student.  Crucio."

As he clung to the rug, trying desperately not to scream, Harry tried to figure out what was wrong with this scenario.  Dumbledore had never lifted a hand in violence to anyone, not this way.  He'd fought Voldemort at the Ministry, yes, but using magic!  And McGonagall…

Was disappointed.  Just disappointed.  People were dead because of him, and he had to pay.

"Sorry…sorry....  I'm sorry!"

Time seemed to stop for a moment. Looking up, he thought he saw a satisfied smile on McGonagall's face…had he said the right thing?

But Dumbledore, who'd come close, left him no illusions.  With a well-placed kick, he sent Harry rolling further away.

"You'll never be sorry enough, Harry.  Being sorry doesn't bring back the dead."

"I didn't want that to happen, I'll do anything you want, give me a chance!"

"A chance, Harry?  Did Lupin and Tonks, did the Weasleys have a chance?" said the old wizard menacingly.

"The Weasleys?" Harry choked out. "No!  They can't be, I just can't, it's not possible!  Is it?"

"All of them, Harry.  The whole family, from father to the young girl, including your dear Gryffindor friend.  What's left now, my boy?  You?  Look at you, you're pitiful…what a waste!"

Harry didn't think McGonagall's shrill laugh strange.  Actually, he didn't hear her.

Kneeling on the ground, he sobbed in misery, not even feeling the pain in ribs anymore.  Ron…Ginny…Remus…all dead…what did he have left?

"Potter!" McGonagall's voice cut in after a while.  "Up, Potter!  Stop lying on the floor, we don't have time for your whinging!"

Like a sleepwalker, Harry managed to get up, wobbling, his eyes blurred with tears.

"All we have now is a weepy little boy, Potter; what do you think, that tears will save the world?  No one wants to wipe your nose for you; a bit of pride, eh?!"

The boy tried to raise his head, but the tears still flowed in spite of himself.

"Pathetic, Potter.  Crucio."

When McGonagall finally ended the curse, Harry almost regretted it.  At least the pain kept him from thinking about the rest of it….

"I am…sorry," he murmured, which required a great effort.

"Really, Mister Potter?  Then say it again.  On your knees.  Ask for forgiveness for your faults…for what you are."

For a moment, Harry thought about gathering all his remaining strength, but….

No.

It wasn't fair.

He'd not wanted this to happen, and McGonagall…would've never asked him to do such a thing.  To ask forgiveness from the witch and wizard who were watching him cruelly, satisfied smiles on their faces, wouldn't afford him any redemption.

Dumbledore must've seen something in Harry's face, because he seized him by the hair and forced him to his knees, his blue eyes now hard and contemptuous.

"Well then, Harry?  We're waiting."

"No," the boy murmured.

"No?" the man repeated softly.

"No."

A moment later, a different spell struck him, aimed directly at his scar, and he finally fell into a black and blessed unconsciousness.

Everything was dark…he was floating, finally free of the pain that'd afflicted him for…hours.  Days?

He didn't know anymore.  Someone had died…many people had died.  Dumbledore…he didn't want to go back there anymore.

He preferred the blackness.

But the blackness wasn't complete, actually…there was something that glimmered, in the distance.  Mildly curious, Harry directed his mind toward the light.

A room…a lamp.  It was almost nighttime.  A man…no, two men, dressed in black, busy doing something in silence.

But one of them wasn't really a man, was he?

Harry went closer.  The larger of the two was the one who wasn't human.  Not entirely…     Harry's mind lingered on the pale face pierced by two red eyes, the pupils vertical slits…his hatred, his euphoria, his cruelty.

Harry was almost floating as he walked the length and width of the vast room.  He knew this presence, it was so familiar that it was almost a part of him….

He hated him, probably not as much as the wizard with the serpent-like head hated Harry; he wasn't capable of it, but all the accumulated resentment resurfaced as he watched the creature's reptilian smile.

So much glee.  So much triumph.  So much malevolence.

Harry drew back and turned his mind toward the other wizard.

He could sense this one as well…how he didn't like the creature skulking behind him.  He feared it, but even more, it disgusted him.  It wasn't toward the creature, though, that the man in black's thoughts were directed.

He was worried.  Even more than that, he was trying to hide a deep anxiety over the same object that was the source of the other wizard's elation.

Someone.  A cat…no, a boy.  Harry allowed himself to be cradled by the feeling that he found there.

The man in black was worried about someone for whom he cared.

Someone who was now in danger….

Himself.

Harry felt the scene dissolve.  Snape, Snape was worried about him; he was with Voldemort, and was biding his time to come and save him!

When everything disappeared in a dark tunnel, the boy had one last vision.  Something had attracted the Potions master's attention, and he'd looked up, troubled.

For a brief moment, Harry had the impression that their eyes had connected, that Snape saw him and really sensed he was there.

What was in that look, Harry would've never imagined seeing in his professor's eyes: worry, relief…and the promise that all would end well.

Without knowing why, this vision had seemed so much more real than his visit to Dumbledore's office…maybe because he hadn't had the feeling that everything about it rang false!

But he didn't have the time to mull over these details.  His entire body became aware of itself as he regained consciousness…

The room wasn't the same one, and this time he didn't recognize it.

He struggled up onto his elbows, trying to see the décor.  Probably a child's room.  There were toys lying on the floor, and a crib completed the peaceful and serene picture that the place inspired.

Once again, Harry saw two figures coming toward him.  They seemed vaguely familiar…where could he've seen them?  If only he had his glasses.

As if they'd been able to read his mind, both came to crouch next to him.  "Oh, Harry," said a soft, female voice.

The boy blinked. Red hair, green eyes like his own…  He knew where he'd seen this face: in the photos of the album Hagrid had given him.

"Mum?"

"Yes, my little one.  Your father is here as well."

Harry felt his heart squeeze.  This was so good…but why was he here, in this room?  "Am I dead?" he asked weakly.  His body still seemed painfully real and alive.

"No.  But we are," James replied.

There was something in his voice that made Harry start.  Reproach…

"I…I’m sorry," he offered.

"Sorry for what, my dear?"  his mother asked gently.

"That you're dead.  I would've really liked to know you."

"Us too.  We were happy, you know," Lily said gently.

"I know…  I regret not having more time," Harry murmured.

"We didn't have time either, Harry.  We were twenty-one when he killed us.  We wanted to live, we wanted to have lots of children.  We loved each other, but it all ended that night…and you survived."

"Yes…" said the boy uncertainly.  "I'll avenge you.  I promise."

"What good is vengeance?" asked James.  "We're dead.  It's too late to change what was done."

"It was my fault, wasn't it?" asked the boy with a sigh.

"I don't know, Harry, what do you think?" Lily asked gently.

"If I hadn't been there, he wouldn't have attacked you."

"That's true.  We could've lived long lives, had many children…normal children."

Harry's throat constricted.  "I'm sorry."

"For what, then?  For existing?  Yes, you'd probably have been better off dying that night.  But it appears you're special."

"I don't know…I don't feel special."

"No," James said doubtfully. "You're small, not brave or intelligent…hardly makes you worth it."

A third shadow came to join them, and Harry was able to recognize Sirius.

"I thought you were different, Harry.  I thought you were like James…but James would've never let me die.  I loved you, I considered you like a son, I would've done anything for you.  And you?  You killed me. Why?" he asked accusingly, his lively eyes wounded, full of anger and disgust.

"Sirius, no! I didn't want that!  I'd do anything to have you alive again, I swear…."

"Apologies, pledges….  That's all you're capable of doing?  You kill everyone around you, Harry!  You let them die for you…and you, what do you do?"

The three voices combined to accuse him, but Harry didn't hear them anymore.  He couldn't take anymore.  Not Sirius, not his parents…not them, not this….

"Ask for forgiveness, Harry," James demanded.

"Get up and ask us for forgiveness," Sirius echoed implacably.

He would've never imagined his parents this way…never had Sirius looked at him like this.  He wanted it to change, but he no longer had the strength.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at each one in turn, looked for encouragement or a bit of consolation…but he saw only the closed faces, and the cold and disappointed eyes of his parents.

Losing patience, Sirius stood with a disgusted look on his face, and kicked him viciously in the ribs. "You don't deserve for us to linger any longer…."

"No, please…don't leave me!"

"You can't even ask for forgiveness?" queried Lily sharply. "After all you've done to us?"

And Harry realized she was right.  He couldn't.  Not this way…something made him hold back, without his knowing why.

He closed his eyes, and when a Cruciatus finally hit him, he found his answer.

The vision of black eyes watching him, full of worry and still seeking to reassure him….  It was that expression that he should've seen in the three people surrounding him, and not this coldness and contempt.

And it was that glimmer that he held onto when the black once again invaded his consciousness.

There wasn't any light this time.  He felt himself floating, but the darkness was total.  He could only wait…

But the wait wasn't long.  He felt his aching body drained of strength, his mind more and more befuddled.

He had enough strength, though, to lift his head, which he did reluctantly.  He wasn't at all sure that he wanted to see what awaited him…

Bars.  That was the first thing his eyes encountered, and it seemed as if his heart stopped beating.  The old, so familiar bed where he was stretched out, the open wardrobe…he was in his room at the Dursleys!

No, not anymore. He'd escaped, and he'd been promised that he'd never go back again!

Footsteps rang out and he jumped.  The sound of locks being opened…  If only it could be…no, he shouldn't think of him.

Snape wasn’t' there, he'd never again be there.

His Snape no longer existed; he hated Harry.

He'd never come back.

Harry shouldn't think of it, especially not….

The door opened wide, and Uncle Vernon's massive silhouette came closer, like a threat.

"Back again, eh?" he growled.

"No…" Harry answered.  "No, I won't stay."

"Oh really?  I'd like to see that," Vernon sneered.

"I don’t' know what you want from me.  I won't burden you…."

"Burden us, really?  Do you think I called for those proceedings to get you back because of your pretty eyes, boy?"

"Proceedings…the trial?  No, what happened…no, Dumbledore would've never allowed it!"

"That old fool had nothing to say about it.  He was glad to get rid of you presence in his school.  Even the freaks don't want you, hmm? Not surprising.  Even to them, you bring trouble."

Harry felt his entire body begin to shake. He remembered well a scenario in Dumbledore's office, where the old man had been so disappointed, so furious, disgusted…he'd even hit him.

Hit?  Dumbledore?

Yes.  So much for them considering him a favorite.

And McGonagall…had cast a Cruciatus on him.

Oh Merlin, so it actually was true…they'd abandoned him, even they didn't think he was worth the effort.  Even Dumbledore thought he brought trouble.

And he'd sent him back to the Durseleys.

"Why?" Harry murmured.

"Why what, little moron?  Why don't they want you there anymore?  You must know why, eh?  Why did I make you come back here?  For several excellent reasons, boy."

Vernon's snigger sent shivers down Harrys spine.  Vernon screamed, shouted, laughed loudly, but snigger?  That couldn't be a good thing.

"The first is that I've been compensated to do it.  Someone who wants you to pay your debts, boy…like the rest of us, eh?  Someone who thought I'd treat you according to your true worth. And believe me, after what happened with Dudley, I'd know how to accommodate you."

"Dudley?"

"My Dudley. My son. A tall, handsome boy, with great qualities…just the opposite of you, little rat!  Even your parents didn't want you!"

Which wasn't false, Harry thought.

"Your so-called Dementors…they came back. They were looking for you.  But it's Dudely they found instead of you," Vernon said softly at his ear.

Then he fell silent.

It was at that moment, it seemed to Harry, that something definitely broke inside his chest.

Dudley.

Insufferable, horrible Dudley, who'd been the dreaded obsession of his childhood…dead, or just as good as, because of him.  Once again.

What could he say to that?

Nothing, especially when he saw a shadow come close to join Vernon: a figure that looked remarkably like him.

But as much as Vernon's eyes were full of fury and accusation, the new arrival's were even more so despairingly empty and lifeless.

Dudley.

Harry closed his eyes.  He couldn't look at them anymore.  He couldn't take anything anymore, full stop.

He heard voices, but he didn't listen

A hand shook him until he opened his eyes again, but only to close them instantly, just enough time to see the disgust and hatred on Aunt Petunia's face as she stroked the cheek of her dead son.

He didn't hearing anything more now.  He didn't see anything more either.  He felt someone removing his tee-shirt, but he didn't pay attention.  When the almost familiar sensation of a belt striking his back registered, it was joined by another sentiment that was just as familiar.

He'd deserved it.

He'd have thought he'd lose consciousness much sooner, but it seemed that his body refused to let him sink into it again.  He didn't know how long Vernon had been laying into him when the man finally decided it'd been enough.

Grabbing him by the arm, Vernon dragged him unceremoniously into the hallway, before hurling him down the staircase in the same manner.

Harry could've cried out, but not a sound came from his throat.

Through his dazedness, he saw a little door open in a tiny cupboard.  Hadn't it been larger before?  Had he simply grown?

Vernon literally threw him inside, and shot him one last nasty look. "You're never coming out of there.  Ever."

With that, he slammed the door violently, and Harry could hear the sound of the lock as it was fastened.

This time, it was black, truly black.  And so Harry was certain of one thing: whatever happened now, the light would never return.

                                                         ooooOOOOoooo

In the sitting room at Malfoy Manor, three very satisfied Death Eaters congratulated themselves over their cups of tea.

"I think we can now confirm that the boy presents no danger," said Lucius Malfoy, taking a mouthful of his drink.

"I've not had such a good day since the last battle at the Ministry," chuckled Bellatrix.  "Oh no…I even think this one was much better!  Potter is such an adorable little plaything!"

"Thanks to Snape's potion," Lucius agreed.  "Credulo. It makes every situation real for the one in it.  It's the first time that I've seen its effects, and I must say I'm impressed.  The boy didn't seem to have the slightly doubt."

"Your dungeon deserves all the credit, Malfoy," Nott corrected.  "Its effectiveness was incredible!"

"The equivalent of the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts," explained the master of the Manor.  "Except that it only obeys its owner…and to a much greater extent."

Bellatrix nodded.  "I really loved taking the place of that old cow, McGonagall.  I always thought I'd look good in a bun.  Wasn't I perfect in my role?"

"I think we were all convincing," Lucius said.  "The Muggle's accounts concerning Potter were particularly useful. A cupboard…the Boy Who Lived In A Cupboard, it's to die for!"

"All our Lord's information was precious," said Bellatrix fervently.  "He knows how to manipulate this stupid boy so well.  It was so easy, it was pathetic!"

"That leaves only two things for us to verify," Lucius concluded as he took a biscuit. "Let's allow him to recover for a few hours…as soon as the sun comes up, we'll finish this little comedy.  If all goes well, tomorrow at this time, the precious wizarding savior will become the Boy Who Succumbed Lamentably, and we, my dear friends, will become kings.  Believe me, we will…"

The three Death Eaters let out the same confidant and satisfied laughs.

Tomorrow, the world will have changed….

A few stories below, the boy was lying on the ground, unconscious.

His mind was far away, but his body, in spite of himself, refused to abandon him.

He'd not felt the walls close in on him, he only knew that he was shut away, and that he'd never see the light of day again.

It was better that way.

There was no time…no people…no memories…just resignation, a bit of fear, and pain.

Nothing mattered now.  

Nothing mattered.

When the door opened and the walls pulled apart, Harry thought confusedly that he shouldn't expect anything good of that…  But he was indifferent to even that now.

A potion was forced down his throat, and he heard someone incant a Rennervate.

His eyelids opened in spite of himself, and he automatically lifted his head up.

It was dark.  He'd expected that.  But he could still make out two figures in a corner of the room, two black, threatening figures….

The pain in his scar abruptly increased, and he recognized the presence.

Voldemort.

He took a few steps toward Harry, followed closely by the second shadow.

Harry recognized it as well now; he'd seen enough of him recently…Snape.

That was just as well.

"Potter… so here we are at the crossroads.  They were all so confident, so proud of you…and look at you, not even able to stand and face me.

The soft, scornful tone of voice almost sounded like pity….

If he'd been himself, Harry would've probably looked for a scathing reply.  But the time for that had passed.

Gathering his strength, moving a bit at a time, he finally managed to sit up, cross-legged, opposite the wizard who was looking him up and down, taking his measure.

Harry wasn't afraid.

Yes, perhaps he was going to die.  But he thought maybe not.  Simply dying would've been too easy now.

"So, Harry?  This is it?  You're going to let me kill you without a word, without a gesture for posterity?"

The boy looked toward Snape.  What was he supposed to think of the Potions professor?  Friend or foe?  He wasn't sure any longer.  But whatever he was, Harry shouldn't betray him.

Without a word, Harry shifted his indifferent gaze to Voldemort.

"Are you waiting for help from Severus, my boy?  It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" hissed the dark wizard with a laugh.

Harry didn't have the will to shrug his shoulders.  His eyes fixed on the red ones; he was just surprised that his scar wasn't making him suffer more, as Voldemort was getting ready to kill him.

"Very good.  No sense in going through the grand finale if Dumbledore's hero deigns not to participate.  Ready, Harry?  If you have a last great declaration to make to the world, now's the time."

But he didn’t' have one.  Contenting himself with holding his eyes steady, Harry thought that at least he'd not begged anyone.  He couldn't struggle, or hide, and the insults he could've offered would've in any case probably not be included in the story.

So let him try to kill him and be done with it.

"Severus?"

"Yes, master?"

"Put his chains back on.  Let him die like a prisoner."

The man nodded, and hurried to obey.

Harry didn't try to prevent him.  What did it matter?  Wasn't he a prisoner anyway?  The request seemed strange though….

And Snape as well.  He fastened the irons on Harry's wrists as tightly as he could, without a glance at the boy, without hesitation.

The image of the dark, worried look that he'd intercepted earlier struck Harry anew.

That look, that was his Snape.  Not the person at his side at this moment.

From this person, whoever it was, he expected nothing.

When he'd made sure of the chains, Severus returned calmly to his master's side.

"The last moments of your short, unfortunate existence, Harry.  And if I may add, totally useless and disastrous," said Voldemort amusedly.

On that, Harry wouldn't have disagreed.

The wizard with the reptilian eyes finally lifted his wand.

"Let's end this.  Avada…"

Harry's eyes didn't waver, his shoulders didn't shake.

But the red eyes gleamed only with  satisfaction, as the wand was lowered, the incantation unfinished.

An instant later, Voldemort's figure transformed into that of a more slender, blond Lucius Malfy, as Snape at his side took on the appearance of Nott.

"I believe we know all we want to know," said Malfoy with satisfaction.

"Our precious guest has no hidden power.  We have here nothing but a pitiful, defenseless little boy.  It's perfect, Potter.  Tomorrow you will truly meet the Dark Lord.  And your death, on the same occasion."

And with that, he left the dungeon, Nott at his heels, and the walls took their cage-like form again.

Harry took a moment to contemplate the idea.

So it'd all been an act.  There was something deeper there…but Harry was too exhausted.  He'd never been so thirsty in all his life.  The healing potion that someone had made him drink earlier was starting to lose its effect, and the boy was losing his train of thought at the same time.

It wasn't important anyway.

Tomorrow, Voldemort would really be there. He'd finally finish him off, and it was highly unlikely that anyone would come to his rescue.

For a moment, Harry felt rather disappointed.

Just tomorrow.  He still had to wait for that…

Letting the darkness take hold of his mind, Harry allowed himself a last reward.

For this last night, he permitted himself to take hold of the only thought that was still comforting, that of black eyes that called for him to hang on.

That of a gentle voice that called him Shadow….