When they reached what were evidently Snape’s rooms, after winding through many stone corridors, Harry paused to let Snape pass through the doorway first, then followed quickly behind to give the man no opportunity to tug at the leash again. Already the skin around his neck was feeling sore and raw, and Harry hoped to avoid making it worse for as long as possible.

Once the door had been shut behind them, Snape cast a spell at the door -- it sounded something like ‘muffliato’ to Harry -- and then dropped the leash. Harry did not know what the spell did, but he only hoped that he was not in for further torture just now. He was tired, his muscles ached from using them in unusual ways, and he was hungry. He wanted nothing more than to have a nice meal and climb back into bed. The day had barely begun and already it felt like it had stretched on forever.

Despite his wishes, Harry was surprised when Snape dragged a small pallet out from a corner of the room. Snape turned back to face Harry with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I realize that you are likely very tired, despite how early it is, and I do intend to let you nap, but first some more thorough explanations are in order. You may sit in one of the chairs if you wish, but I thought you may prefer your bed.”

Harry’s first thought was that he would rather be on an even level with Snape for whatever was about to happen, but then he eyed the rather tall leather chairs, with smooth arms and no grip he would be able to use in sight. He weighed the struggle -- and the possibility of Snape trying to pick him up to help him -- against sitting lower than Snape, then crawled over to the pallet and sat on it to indicate his choice.

Snape nodded once and seated himself in one of the leather chairs. While he waited for Snape to begin, Harry took stock of his surroundings. They were sitting in what looked like a small living room. The two leather armchairs were against one wall, with a coffee table between them. Beyond the coffee table, the carpeted floor gave way to the tile of a small kitchen, and between the two was a doorway to what looked like a bedroom.

“The Dark Lord has afforded me rooms in his headquarters for when I must stay to attend to his potions,” Snape stated in explanation. “It is fortunate for us that he trusts me enough to allow me a good deal of privacy within these quarters. Unlike the room you recovered in, or any other part of this castle, where the Dark Lord could watch or listen at any point, the only way to hear what occurs in these rooms is to listen at the door, and the only way to see is to enter. I have cast a spell that will cause anyone listening to hear only what the Dark Lord has ordered. However, it is still best to be swift in telling you what you need to know. I will do my best to try to answer any questions you may have.”

Harry nodded, hardly daring to allow hope to once again blossom in his belly. Perhaps Snape truly was spying on Voldemort, after all.

“The Order of the Phoenix knows of your situation,” Snape began, jumping right into a full account. “They are working on a solution, but unfortunately, I am unable to give them this location. And, of course, it is no small matter to enter the Dark Lord’s headquarters and leave again, never mind take a captive out with you.

“In the meantime, the Dark Lord hopes to break you. He will treat you like an animal, he will steal any hope you have of being rescued, until you can hardly remember who you are. He is building a menagerie, your pen within it will likely be finished tomorrow and you will see it. He plans to collect exotic animals, both magical and non-magical, and keep them in his menagerie.

“The Order knows that you are the leopard, but they will of course not be able to see that it is you. That spell, as well as the one causing you to grow spots and fur, will not be inordinately difficult to reverse. However, only a select few have been told of what else the Dark Lord allowed Bellatrix to do to you.”

Harry desperately hoped that Snape would anticipate his next question, but Snape either was oblivious or was purposefully avoiding answering it.

“The Dark Lord has relegated your initial ‘training’ to me. That will only last for a few days, a couple of weeks at most, and it is our best chance at getting you out of here. If there is time, I will fill you in on the plan when it has been devised.

“Now, for your lessons--” Snape began, but Harry cut him off with a grunt. He pointed to his mouth with his hand, trying to ask the question that had been burning in his mind ever since Snape had given him the first explanation.

“I realize you are likely hungry, Potter,” Snape responded, “but I need to finish explaining things before you can eat.”

Harry groaned and opened his mouth wide, trying to point to his tongue.

“You will be stuck on a liquid diet--”

Feeling frustrated and ridiculous, Harry growled and gestured towards his legs, then raised his hand up and wiggled it slightly.

Snape sighed lightly and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Fine, Potter. I don’t know.”

Harry stared at Snape for a moment, not understanding.

Snape rolled his eyes. “The answer to your question is ‘I don’t know.’ I am not sure precisely what method Bellatrix used to remove your fingers, legs, and tongue. I was told what she used to remove your eyes, and was able to counteract that, so there is some hope. But I only know basic mediwizardry. Madam Pomfrey or a Healer from St. Mungo’s would be able to determine more.

“For now, you will be sticking with liquids or mashed up foods. And you will begin to get used to the idea that this may be permanent. The Dark Lord wanted you as much like an animal as possible, while still allowing his followers to see clearly that it was you. It is quite possible that he used a curse that we would not be able to counteract.”

Harry swallowed thickly and gave a short nod.

“Now, for your lessons. The Dark Lord essentially wants you tamed, and I would suggest that you act as such outside of these quarters unless you want worse done to you. Certain things, we will have to go along with even in here, since it will be too obvious otherwise. He wants you doing your business in a litter box,” Snape pointed, and Harry noticed for the first time a box filled with what looked like sand in the corner. “You will also be drinking out of a bowl. Since you have no tongue, you will be allowed to use your hands. You are also to learn the usual commands. Sit, lie down, speak, heel, roll over, come, fetch, etc. We may have to perform some of them at some point, so you better get used to the idea now. If you want to make it out of this alive, I suggest you start pretending to be cowed. At this point, you’re lucky he hasn’t gone through with some of his ideas.”

ooooo

The rest of the day in Snape’s quarters was surprisingly not too unpleasant. Harry was mostly left to himself. He took a nap on the pallet for a good bit of the morning, and managed to choke down enough liquefied food that he felt somewhat satisfied, trying to ignore the fact that he was drinking it from a dog bowl with the word ‘Pest’ painted on it. He similarly tried to ignore the itching that was intensifying all over his body. All-told, the worst part of the day was when he finally gave in to his near-exploding bladder and used the litter box. It was humiliating enough that he had to use the thing, but then he realized that he wasn’t able to undo his jeans on his own and had to ask for Snape’s help.

Naturally, his good luck could not hold out. The following morning he woke to find that although the itching had finally stopped, he was now covered in a layer of fine, downy hair. It was not nearly as thick as he had feared -- and he dared to hope that it would not get thicker -- but was still quite clearly more than a human should have. And, of course, it was yellow with brown leopard spots.

Voldemort sent for them in the late morning, and Harry was forced to heel at Snape’s side through the many long corridors, passing Death Eaters who jeered at him, until they reached the audience chamber. There, Harry begrudgingly obeyed Snape’s commands, performing animal tricks to show what he had learned so far.

When they had finished, Voldemort rose from his chair and approached Harry, who was still on all fours beside Snape.

“He is remarkably well-trained, Severus, for one day. Perhaps he will not need as much time as I had feared. He might be ready sooner than expected. Excellent.”

“My Lord,” Snape began and bowed. “He has indeed learned quickly. However, he has not truly been broken yet. I cannot guarantee--”

“Severus,” Voldemort warned in a hiss. “Do you disagree with my assessment?”

Snape swallowed quietly. “No, my Lord, I would never disagree with you.”

“Good,” Voldemort purred. “He is little danger as he is. I grow weary of waiting for my pet. You will bring him to his pen tonight and leave him there. In the meantime, I will have someone bring to your quarters something more appropriate for Pest to wear.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape bowed, then backed away, Harry at his heels.

Snape and Harry spent the rest of the day in Snape’s quarters, Harry mostly sitting silently on his pallet and Snape pacing. Harry surmised that Snape was not able to leave to alert the Order without rousing suspicion, and was considering the best course of action now that their timeframe had been severely shortened.

But evidently the spy could not come up with an actionable plan in a few hours, and the evening drew ever closer. In the late afternoon, a low-rank Death Eater dropped off Harry’s new outfit. It was, as it turned out, a set of overall shorts with a velcro buttflap that Harry would be able to undo himself. It was humiliating to change into, but Harry reminded himself that the longer he kept his head down, the longer he could stay alive while a rescue plan was worked on. His rage chafed at being restrained so, but he tamped it down, for now.

When it could be postponed no longer, the leash was clipped back onto Harry’s collar, and Snape once again led him through the twisting maze of passages. This time, Harry worked hard to memorize the way, no longer content to sit by while others determined his fate. If the Order could not rescue him, he would figure it out for himself. But it did not take long for him to feel lost in the dizzying series of twists and turns. All Harry could surmise was that they were, surprisingly, heading up.

Eventually, Snape opened a door flanked by two guards that led into a wide room lit with an eerie, muted glow. Looking out onto distant rolling hills, Harry thought at first that they might have stepped out into a balcony, albeit an odd one. Then he realized that the walls were formed of prison bars, and that the landscape peeked out from between them. The ceiling, although likely only slightly lower than a normal room’s, felt oppressive in the wide room, particularly with the sight of hills visible beyond. He stared at the bars in the dim light, trying to discern if they might be wide enough to slip through, but Snape answered the question for him.

“No thoughts of running away now, Pest,” he sneered. “The walls are solid stone behind the bars. It is only enchanted to look like scenery.”

Snape began to lead him further into the room, and for the first time Harry realized that dozens of large cages were spaced out evenly across the floor. Most of their walls ended just shy of the stone ceiling above, with a couple of inches to spare, and most were empty. Snape and Harry passed one of the exceptions, a cage with a top about a foot below the ceiling that contained a listless-looking monkey. Further along, Harry could see another similar cage that was filled with colorful-looking birds.

“New acquisitions,” Snape mentioned when he saw where Harry was looking. “Received just yesterday. And here is your pen.”

Snape swung open a gate about a foot wide and two and a half feet tall and tugged slightly on the leash to indicate Harry should enter. Harry balked suddenly, planting his hands and leaning his weight back. His situation suddenly became all too real to him. It had been a nightmare at first, scary but not real. Then he had thought only of the possibility of escape, of a rescue before he had to leave Snape’s quarters. Now, he was being given over to Voldemort, and he was helpless. It had all happened too quickly, and he needed to get out.

Snape only pulled harder on the leash, digging the collar into Harry’s neck, and Harry whimpered involuntarily.

“Pest!” Snape hissed. “Get in there. Do not be foolish. The Dark Lord gets what he wishes.”

Harry shook his head from side to side over the leash, rage filling him again and burning away the fear. He never should have trusted Snape. Whether he was a spy for Voldemort or against him, he had always known he hated Harry. Why would he help him?

The next thing he knew, Snape had whipped his wand out and pointed it at him, and the ground beneath him suddenly felt slick as though coated in oil and water. He shot forward and was scraping partway through the door in the cage before he knew it. As he tried to wriggle backward, he felt a hand quickly unclip the leash from his collar, then a boot thunked solidly into his rear and he fell forward, the gate slamming shut behind him.

Harry whirled around and threw himself at the gate just as Snape managed to lock it. The man backed up a step and stood tall, his arms crossed in front of him as he stared coldly at Harry.

Forgetting himself for a moment, Harry started to call him a ‘greasy-haired bastard,’ but all that came out was an odd gurgling growl. Frustrated and furious, he threw himself at the gate again, but the thick iron did not yield in the slightest, leaving Harry smarting.

Snape merely smirked, then turned and walked away.

Feeling angry, defeated, and alone, Harry began pacing his cage. It was about ten feet long, but only three feet wide, with a litter box in one of the corners near the gate and a dog bed with a thin blanket in one of the far corners. In the other corner near the gate was another dog bowl with ‘Pest’ emblazoned across it, empty right now, though Harry noticed a small gate above it that was likely to pour food and water through.

Overall, the dimensions of his cage, the lowness of the ceiling, the oddly muted light, and the sight of far off hills, unreachable behind the bars, even the quiet clucking of the birds -- who apparently never shut up -- combined to make the situation feel even more oppressive and depressing. He curled up on his bed, arranging the blanket over himself as best he could, and eventually drifted off into sleep.