Pain. Burning, unrelenting pain was all he could feel. His eyes opened slowly to a dimly-lit room, which was blurry.

Glasses. He didn’t have his glasses. He stared up, unwilling to look elsewhere as it hurt to even move his eyes. Something cool was held to his lips and he drank without care of what it was.

Something in him was screaming not to, that it was dangerous, but another part of him knew that though the presence was formidable, it was also protective. He was safe with the presence. It would not hurt him, he was sure of that.

He wished to know more, but sleep was rapidly closing in on him. He embraced the darkness, which promised to free him of the pain, if only for a short while. He drifted, floating in a sea of nothingness, until reality called him back. He fought against it, and lost, returning to his pain-filled world.

The world around him was blurry when he opened his eyes. He froze in fear when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone in black robes was in the room with him. The person came nearer and he remembered that this was the person that had saved him. He was safe here. There was no one dangerous here….

Yet his limbs shook with fear as he watched the man move around the room. That black….it meant something……something he couldn’t quite remember. A memory flashed into his mind, of himself in a cemetery, surrounded by figures in black robes. Pain suddenly flared through his skull, making him cry out.

The man in black was by his side in a second, pulling him upright and holding a vial to his lips. Harry flinched at the contact, but drank the contents of the vial. Whatever had been in the vial took the pain away and made him tired. He slumped against the man and closed his eyes. He floated once more.

The next time he woke up, he hurt less and was able to move his head and look around the room. He was alone this time, he could see, but was unable to make out much more, as everything was blurred.

Soft hooting across the room caught his attention and he saw a large, white blob flying towards him. Instinctively, he threw up his arms to shield his face. It wasn’t necessary, as he discovered the white thing was an owl.

He also discovered white bandages covering both of his arms. He tugged at them curiously, but after feeling a stab of pain shoot through his arm, desisted.

What had happened to him, he wondered. And why couldn’t he remember anything? He reached out and petted the owl, who hooted in contentment.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked the owl hoarsely, who hooted sharply and gently nipped at his hand. He frowned at the owl. Somehow, he realized that he knew this owl. At least, he was supposed to.

“Are you mine?” he asked with dawning realization. The owl hooted again and bobbed her head in what he assumed was a yes. Suddenly, the door opened and in walked the man in black robes.

“Potter, quit playing with your blasted owl and take your potions,” said the man irritably. The bird took off across the room as the man came closer.

Harry stared untrustingly at the man. He was safe with this man, he remembered. There was something about the potions he didn’t feel safe with. He watched the man hold out several vials.

The man adopted a softer voice and said, “The potions will help you. Now take them.” Harry hesitantly reached for the vials and drank them, not enjoying their bitter taste on his tongue.

The man took the empty vials back and said, “I will see about getting you a new pair of glasses.” Harry tried to reply, but the potion had made his tongue heavy, and the words stuck in his mouth.

“Sleep,” said the man before leaving again. Harry obediently complied.

He dreamed of sitting in an open window with the white owl. The windowsill was made of stone and a cool fall breeze brushed his hair back and ruffled the owl’s feathers. He stroked the bird’s feathers thoughtfully, then shooed her off.

“Goodnight Hedwig,” he called as she spread her wings and took off into the night.

He opened his eyes to find the owl--Hedwig--perched on the end of the bed. She was his owl. She spread her wings out and flew over to him. He gingerly sat up and petted Hedwig.

He was getting even more confused about this. He wanted to know what had happened to him. That man, the one who kept giving him potions, knew something. He had to. He resolved to ask when the man came back. in the meantime, he wanted to see where he was.

Besides being a little tired, he didn’t hurt anymore, so he decided to get up and look around. He shoved the blankets back and dragged his legs over the side of the bed. They felt curiously weak and heavy. He slid off the bed anyways, and immediately toppled forward onto the floor.

Strangely, the fall hadn’t hurt at all. Maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe this whole thing was a dream. He rolled over and sat up.

It was then that he noticed white bandages extending out from under his pajama bottoms and wrapped around his feet. He was prevented from examining them by the entrance of the man.

“Potter, I’m going to put you back in bed and I want you to stay there this time,” said the man. Harry nodded and the man drew his wand.

“Wing--”

All of a sudden, a memory flashed into his mind.

He was in a train station, surrounded by an odd assortment of people. The Order of the Phoenix,” he remembered.

“We’ll see you soon, mate,” said a tall, red-headed boy. Ron.

“Really soon, Harry,” said a bushy-haired girl. “We promise.” Hermione. He, Harry, nodded, pleased at their support. He smiled and raised a hand in farewell, then walked out of the station with three people following him. The Dursleys.

He stepped out into the bright sunlight and looked around for the Dursleys’ car. He spotted it parked across the street and began to head towards it, but was stopped by his uncle’s beefy hand on his upper arm.

“You won’t be going with us, boy,” he said menacingly.

“What?” asked Harry, startled.

“Where are they?” fretted his aunt.

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Some of your freaky kind have volunteered to take you off our hands for the summer,” said his Uncle happily.

“What are you talking about? The Order’s going to get me later in the summer,” said Harry.

“Not them. Another bunch. Ruddy creepy folk. Running around in black cloaks, they were,” said his Uncle disapprovingly.

Black cloaks….his heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest. They hadn’t…..they wouldn’t have…. Harry tried to break free from his Uncle, but he was too strong, holding Harry in an iron-tight grip that Harry was sure would leave bruises.

“Let go of me,” he hissed.

“Like hell I will. I’m not losing out on my money,” snarled his Uncle. Money? His Uncle had accepted money to get rid of him? Harry was sickened by them.

“The Order won’t let you do this,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Oh really?” mocked his Uncle. “Then why aren’t they here now?”

“They’ll come answered Harry. Or would they? He wasn’t so sure any more.

Several minutes passed in silence, with his Uncle keeping a tight hold on him, until several loud cracks broke the silence.

As soon as he saw the black cloaks of Death Eaters, he knew he was done for. His knees buckled slightly, and he locked them, determined not to cower before them. He would not give up without a fight.

The cluster of about five wizards came over to them. One of them handed the Dursleys a large sack, which crinkled slightly.

Money, he thought with disgust. His Uncle pushed him towards the Death Eaters. When one stepped up to take him, Harry kicked at him, driving his foot into the Death Eater’s stomach. The Death Eater grunted in pain.

“Little bastard,” muttered one of the Death Eaters. He heard whispering behind him and then a spell hit him, rendering him unconscious.

More memories flashed by, seemingly in reverse.

Riding on the Hogwarts Express…

Umbridge being chased out of Hogwarts……

Beating up Malfoy at the Quidditch match….

Faster and faster they went, reminding Harry of his years at Hogwarts and before.

Dobby the house-elf…

Meeting Ron and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express…

Meeting Hagrid in the hut on the rocks….

Before he knew he was a wizard….

A flash of green light…

And then they stopped, leaving Harry lying in bed feeling sick and shaky. He thought he might throw up from the horror of the first memory. The Dursleys had sold him out to Voldemort.

But what had happened after? Why couldn’t he remember anything beyond the Death Eaters arriving?

He whimpered and pressed both of his hands to his stomach in an effort to calm the waves of nausea. Harry couldn’t control it, though, and threw up over the side of the bed. He fell back onto his pillows with his stomach muscles contracting painfully. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his pajamas.

“Potter, must you make so many messes?” asked a man irritably. Harry lowered his arm and groaned inwardly. Snape was standing there glaring at him.

“It wasn’t my fault,” muttered Harry.

“Evanesco,” said Snape and came over to Harry with a vial of potion.

“Drink this,” he ordered. Harry ignored the potion, he was thinking of how Snape had been taking care of him. He felt distinctly ill again. He just wanted Snape to go away and leave him alone.

“I don’t want it,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

“I will not be leaving you alone, much as you may wish me to. Now drink the potion, it will calm your stomach,” said Snape irritably. “I do not want to be cleaning up your messes again. And speaking of which…” Snape waved his wand and Harry’s pajama shirt was gone. Harry discovered that his upper body was covered in bandages too.

“What the hell was that for?” yelled Harry.

“Your shirt was dirty. I was merely removing it for you,” said Snape. He crossed the room and pulled open a drawer. He threw another shirt at Harry.

“Here you go. I presume you can dress yourself?” He went to the door and opened it, then paused. “It doesn’t matter anyways. I’ve already seen you shirtless.” Snape smirked as he left the room. Harry growled under his breath and yanked the shirt over his head.

“Vicious bastard,” he muttered as he did up the buttons. He shifted his position on the bed and leaned into the pillows. He still felt sick, but it was a small price to pay for having his memories back. Well, most of them anyways.

He had been with Death Eaters, he knew that much. But what had happened? And just how many memories was he missing? He had to know. He needed to know. And there was only one person who could tell him. Snape.

He groaned out loud that time. Of course Snape would be the one who could tell him everything.

Harry felt sick again at that realization. Snape had probably even participated in whatever had happened to him. He was a Death Eater, after all, albeit a repented one.

As he thought about that, he felt his legs begin to tingle slightly. He felt as though his legs had fallen asleep and were just waking up. The sensation gradually increased until he was shaking slightly with pain. His legs hurt.

He clutched the blankets at his sides and clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. He did not want Snape back in there. In fact, anyone but Snape would be welcome at the moment.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything but the pain. Thinking about it would only make it worse.

“Potter, you imbecilic child,” growled the voice of Snape. Harry opened his eyes again and glared at Snape.

“I don’t want your help,” he hissed at the man.

Snape ignored this and said, “You should have called for me as soon as you felt the pain.” He came over and began to reach for the blankets that were covering Harry’s legs.

Harry batted his hands away and said, “Don’t touch me.”

“Potter, unless you want to be in considerable pain until we can get a Medi-Witch here to examine you, I would suggest you let me help,” said Snape.

Harry remained glaring at Snape, but reasoned that he would have to let Snape help, however embarrassing it might be. He shoved the blankets back by himself, and then leaned back, watching Snape carefully. Snape handed him several brightly-colored potions.

Before consenting to drink them, Harry asked, “What are they for?”

“I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you,” said Snape. “The yellow one is for the pain. The blue is a healing potion and the third is a sleeping potion.” Harry drank the yellow and blue, but balked at the third. If he was asleep, he was vulnerable. There was no way he would willingly do that.

“Potter, I will not murder you in your sleep. Now drink the potion,” said Snape irritably. Harry inwardly sighed.

If he refused, Snape would make him. Unwilling as he was to render himself helpless, he would have to. He drank the potion and handed the vial back to Snape.

“And what are you planning on doing while I’m asleep?” asked Harry.

“Working on healing you,” replied Snape.

'So much for being safe while he slept. Who knew what Snape would try to do to him,' he thought.

“Don’t touch me,” he ordered as sleep claimed him.

When he woke up, his legs were numb once more and he could see the blurry figure of Snape doing something across the room. Snape turned around and headed back over to him.

“What did you do while I was asleep?” he demanded to know.

“I told you before. I was healing you,” said Snape as he handed Harry a potion. It was blue, a healing potion. He drank it and passed the vial back.

“Why do I need to be healed?” asked Harry nonchalantly. Maybe if he acted unconcerned, Snape would tell him. Snape looked oddly at him.

“You mean, you don’t know?” asked Snape.

“Know what?” Snape turned away from Harry and picked something up off a table.

“Here. I will be back shortly,” said Snape. He handed Harry a box and headed for the door.

“Know what?” called Harry. Snape ignored his question and left Harry alone with the package.

Harry sighed and began to open the box. Was he ever going to get any answers?

Inside the box was a book whose cover he couldn’t read and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He grinned as he put them on and was finally able to see clearly. He reached for the book and saw that it was titled, Practical Defense Spells. Who had gotten that for him? Surely Snape wouldn’t have.

Regardless of who the book was from, Harry decided to read it. After all, there wasn’t anything else he could do until Snape came back.

He opened it up and a folded piece of parchment slid out onto his lap. He set the book aside and picked up the parchment. He carefully unfolded it and began to read.

Potter,

I do believe you shall find this book useful. I took the liberty of having the Headmaster owl it

along with your new glasses. The spells will be quite useful in your inevitable next encounter

with the Dark Lord. Do be sure and read all of it, as you and I are going to be staying here for some time, I might decide to quiz you.

Professor Snape

Harry folded the note back up and set it aside to use as a bookmark. He picked the book up again and opened it to the first page.

As he read through the first few spells, he began to realize something: the spells in the book weren’t exactly the usual sort of Defense Against the Dark Arts spells. Then, it hit him with startling clarity: these spells were Dark Arts. Had Snape gone insane? Giving a book like this to him?

Snape suddenly came back then, and Harry immediately voiced his concerns about the book.

“Does Dumbledore know what’s in this book?” To his surprise, the person who answered him wasn’t Snape, but the Headmaster himself.

“Both Professor Snape and myself are well aware of that particular book’s contents, and I must say, I am very much in agreement with his choice of reading material for you,” said the Headmaster with a small smile. “That particular book will be most informative to you, but alas, I am not here to discuss books.”

He pulled out his wand and conjured two squashy armchairs, then motioned for Snape to sit down and took a seat himself.

“Professor Snape’s discovery is most alarming, though not particularly surprising to me. After what you’ve……experienced this past year, it should not be much of a surprise to anyone,” said Dumbledore gravely.

“But I don’t know. That’s the problem,” said Harry.

“That is a problem for us as well. We also have no way of knowing what happened to you,” said Dumbledore, his eyes subdued.

“But what about Snape? He was there, I know it,” said Harry.

“Professor Snape was only there at the end, Harry,” said Dumbledore.

“But can’t I see his memories? You can put his memories in a pensieve or something,” asked Harry.

“I can’t do that Harry,” said Dumbledore gently.

“Why not?” Harry demanded to know.

“Because, Harry, I have seen those memories, and they are the stuff of nightmares. I would not wish them upon even Voldemort. Either way, you are not prepared to see them. Perhaps, when your memory is once again intact, you may, with Professor Snape’s permission. I want you to wait until you know what happened yourself.”

Harry was sobered by Dumbledore’s honesty. He still had that overwhelming need to know, but it was now abated, and for the moment, he was satisfied.

“I shall be sending Madam Pomfrey along as soon as possible,” said Dumbledore as he stood up and the chair he had conjured vanished. “I don’t know how long it will be until it is safe to send her, though.”

“We will manage,” said Snape. He stood up and his chair vanished too.

“I will return shortly, Potter,” said Snape and led the way out of the room, with Dumbledore following. Harry stared after them a moment, then returned to the book, though he was wondering what the two were doing.

Annuler Sommeil

This curse renders its victims unable to sleep, usually resulting in insanity, sometimes

even death.

The incantation is Annuler Sommeil, pronounced ah-new-lay soh-may. The wand

movement is a sharp point towards the intended victim.

This spell is restricted by the Ministry of Magic for its use in Dark Arts.

Harry stopped reading and looked up from the book. Reading about that spell had triggered something in his memory. Something…..just a spark of memory flashed into his mind…..and then it was gone, just as quick as it had come. He shrugged off the feeling of unease that had come over him and continued on to the next spell.

Eternal Sleep

Harry’s mind was piqued by this spell as well, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. He shoved the book aside angrily and glared at it. How could he have lost a whole year of his life?

However painful those memories might be, they were his, and he wanted them back desperately. As disturbing as they were bound to be, he needed to know. He ran his hand roughly through his hair, then tugged on it, making his hair stand on end.

“Potter, do you have nothing better to do with your time than make that rats nest you call hair even messier than usual?” drawled Snape from the doorway.

Harry dropped his hand and retorted, “Why don’t you go wash your hair?” He could swear that Snape actually growled. Rather than fighting, though, Snape stalked over and yanked something out of his pocket. He thrust the object at Harry, who could see that is was a vial of violently purple potion.

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Potter, do you actually believe that after risking my own life to save yours, I would poison you?” sniped Snape.

“No,” Harry muttered sullenly. Snape dangled the vial in Harry’s face. Harry glared at Snape’s hand, then grabbed the vial and downed it quickly. Oddly enough, he felt no effect at all from the potion.

“What was that for?” he asked curiously. Snape turned away and began shuffling some things around on the table.

Stalling for time, thought Harry. Either that, or just ignoring him. Snape then turned back to him, bearing a vial of sickly green potion.

“I’m not drinking that,” said Harry immediately.

“Yes, you are,” said Snape imperiously. Harry bit his lip and shook his head.

“Potter, have you any wish at all to get your memories back? I am trying to help you, and all you are doing is wasting my time,” said Snape nastily.

“Fine,” said Harry sullenly and reached for the potion. He grimaced at its bitter taste and handed the vial back.

“Now will you tell me what they’re for?” he asked irritably.

Snape started to reply, but Harry didn’t hear a word as he was plunged into darkness.

And Harry Potter dreamed….

He blinked his eyes drowsily and saw his glasses lying inches from his face. He grunted softly as he placed his hands on the chilly floor and hoisted himself up. He put his glasses on and looked around.

The room was devoid of anything, including doors and windows, none of which he could see. Feeling slightly unsettled, he scooted backwards up against a wall, where he was out of the open. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, shivering in the strangely cold room. A feeling of unease crept over him and his eyes roved around at the walls, watching, waiting. Someone was coming, he could feel it…….

He was lying on the floor, his body wracked with pain as his stomach contracted painfully. The stubby fingernails of the hand dug into the skin of his other arm as he fought the convulsions.

“Hurts, doesn't it, Potter?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

Hurt…..hurts….hurts…..

Strong hands gripped his arms, holding him upright. The world swam around his eyes and he had to fight to keep his eyes open.

“Look Potter, I have a surprise for you,” said the cold voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry raised his head slightly and saw the figures of his aunt, uncle, and cousin across the room.

“The very people that gave you to me. Your last remaining relatives. How does it feel to be betrayed by your own flesh and blood?” Harry didn't bother to reply.

“Perhaps you would like to choose which dies first?” Harry bit back a sharp reply of no and remained silent.

“Very well then. Bring me the youngest one,” said Voldemort. Dudley was dragged forward and Voldemort smiled evilly at him.

“Any last words?” he asked. Dudley quivered in fear and stared at Voldemort. Voldemort stared coldly back.

“Avada Kedavra.” Green light shot from his wand and as it neared Dudley, Harry screamed, “No!”

Harry found himself bolt upright in bed and Snape standing beside him with his wand out. Harry couldn't bear the thought that Snape might have been touching him while he slept. Somehow, just the thought of anyone touching him sent prickles up and down his spine. Snape reached into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out a vial of reddish-brown potion.

“No,” said Harry. “No, no, no, no, no!” His voice grew louder with each repetition of the word.

“Just get the hell away from me! I don't want any of your fucking potions! I don't need your help!”

“Fine,” snarled Snape as he stalked to the door. “Then I won't help you.” He slammed the door behind him as he left.

Good riddance, thought Harry spitefully as he settled into his pillows; welcoming the reprieve from Snape's presence.

Several hours later, he wasn't so confidant about his decision, about not needing the potions. The burning ache had begun again, not only in his legs, but nearly every part of his body. He was starting to find the idea of the potions across the room very seductive.

Damn, he thought. All the potions were across the room, well out of his reach. He knew from his last experience that getting out of bed was not an option. And he had no idea where his wand was, so he couldn't Summon them.

He would just have to suffer, then. There was no way he was going to beg for Snape's help. He would be fine without the potions.

He would, he told himself resolutely. Harry shook slightly and clenched his hands around the blankets.

Once again, he wondered exactly what had happened to make him hurt so much. Just how long had he been captured for?

God, this was maddeningly painful. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, trying not to cry out. As he shook in pain, he was finally granted the mercy of unconsciousness. But unconsciousness didn't free him from the torture.

He lay shivering, half-naked on a cold stone floor. He looked feverishly up at the blurry figures in black that surrounded him. He clutched his stomach as the burning inside him persisted.

Eventually, he gave up and half sat up to throw up a strange liquid that burned his insides as it came up. He fell limply to the side as the Death Eaters' laughter mocked his weakness. Harry felt himself being flipped over and a potion was being forced down his throat.

“No, no,” he cried weakly and tried to push the hand away. Both his wrists were caught in a tight grip and pinned down and with another hand; his mouth and nose were covered. He was forced to swallow convulsively, and then he was released.

Harry sat up again and found himself back in bed, but he had not dreamed being force-fed a potion. Snape was standing beside him, looking extremely angry.

“Idiot boy, do you realize how much you have probably compromised your treatment?” Even though the potion had alleviated most of the pain, he wasn't about to let on to Snape.

“I thought I told you I didn't want your help?” growled Harry. “Get out and leave me alone!”

“No,” said Snape calmly.

“I don't want you in here!” said Harry.

“I really don't care what you want, Potter,” snapped Snape. Harry narrowed his eyes, ignoring how it made his head hurt worse.

“I don't want you helping me,” he said angrily.

“You'll get my help whether you want it or not,” sneered Snape. “Now, are you going to take these potions or do I have to make you?” Harry glared fiercely at the man.

“Make me,” he challenged.

“Insolent boy,” muttered Snape as he pulled out his wand. Harry tensed, bracing himself.

“Immobulus.” Instantly, Harry found himself unable to move and forced to lie there helplessly as Snape advanced with several potions.

For an instant, an image of a black-cloaked figure advancing on him, potions in hand wavered across his vision. The image reverted to Snape and Harry shivered in horror. He felt sick and uneasy as the first vial was poured into his mouth.

‘Poison!' his mind shrieked. But Snape wouldn't poison him, would be? Not after he'd rescued him.

Minutes later, Snape had given him all of the potions and released the spell. Harry curled up on his side with his back to Snape. Snape was a vicious bastard; he knew that. But why did the man have to be so horrible?

Harry felt like throwing something at him. He remembered the book at his side, and picking it up, hurled it at Snape.

At nearly the last second before it would hit him, Snape pulled out his wand and stopped the book in midair.

“Do not try that again,” he hissed, flinging the book back down onto Harry's bed. Eyes blazing, Harry shoved the book off his bed and onto the floor.

“You know, Potter, as long as you continue to act like a child, I will continue to treat you like one,” said Snape. Harry glared at him.

“I don't care,” he said. “You're still an insufferable arsehole.”

Snape took a deep breath and turned away. Harry watched angrily as Snape looked through a large box sitting on the table across the room.

Snape came back with a large roll of bandages and a bottle of dark liquid.

“Are you going to cooperate now, Potter?” asked Snape, acting as though the past few minutes had never happened. Harry knew he was going to have to.

“Fine,” he said huffily.

“Give me your arm,” ordered Snape. Harry bit back a reply and held out his right arm.

He watched in fascination as Snape began unrolling the bandages on his arm. As the first parts of his arm were uncovered, Harry felt like he was going to be sick.

Angry red slashes criss-crossed his arm. They stung when exposed to the air, though they were covered with a maroon potion. Or was it blood?

He couldn't tell and closed his eyes as the last of the bandages on his arm were removed. He swallowed tightly against a wave of nausea and tried to focus on breathing slowly and deeply.

“Keep concentrating on that, Potter. I don't need you passing out on me.”

Strange, Snape's words sounded almost comforting. No, he was imagining things.

He hissed in pain as he felt something cold being poured over the cuts. He then felt hands rubbing the potion in even further.

“Stop,” he murmured.

“This has to be done,” said Snape as he finished and started wrapping new bandages around Harry's arm. His left arm was worse looking, with strange green streaks interspersed among the cuts.

“What are the green streaks?” asked Harry.

“Reaction to a potion,” said Snape simply and repeated the process from his right arm on his left. Harry grimaced as Snape moved on to his legs.

“I don't think you need to watch this, Potter,” said Snape.

“Why not?” Harry demanded to know.

“Because I don't think it's a good idea,” said Snape.

Harry shook his head and watched anyways. As Snape unwrapped the bandages, Harry was suddenly enveloped in a vision.

He could smell acrid, burning flesh. He heard the crackling of flames and the cheering of Death Eaters.

He shook his head to clear the vision from it and looked away from Snape. A strange feeling of unease fell over him as he resolutely stared across the room.

“What is wrong with you now, Potter?” asked Snape irritably.

“Nothing, I just--” Harry stopped abruptly, not wanting to tell Snape what he'd heard.

“Just what?” pressed Snape.

“I could hear fire for a second,” admitted Harry.

“Fire,” Snape murmured. His black eyes were suddenly haunted, as though he was remembering something unpleasant.

“Does that mean my memory is coming back?” asked Harry.

“Perhaps,” said Snape and resumed the task of taking care of Harry's wounds.

Several days passed by, with Harry's injuries being tended to carefully by Snape. He was slowly recovering, though he still got that burning pain whenever the time between potions was too long.

Harry was starting to get sick of his room, so he was quite pleased when Snape came in with a pair of crutches.

“It's about time you started fending for yourself.” said Snape and thrust the crutches at Harry, who took them and carefully scooted to the edge of his bed. He gently pushed off and then he was upright with his full weight supported by the crutches.

“Follow me,” said Snape and led Harry out of the room. Harry was shown the kitchen, living room, Snape's room, and the library.

“You can go anywhere you like, except my room and outside,” said Snape. “If you feel unwell, then go back to your room or get me.”

“Where are we?” asked Harry.

“A safe house arranged by Dumbledore,” said Snape. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other things to be doing.” Snape walked off, leaving Harry alone in front of the library.

Harry leaned forward and pushed open the door. He hobbled along after it and found several shelves filled with books.

As he examined them, he found that very few of them were spellbooks. The majority of them looked to be just stories. He didn't know that there were Wizarding storybooks.

'Must be Dumbledore's doing,' he thought as he picked out a book and settled in on a squashy armchair to read a book called My First Wand.

It wasn't long before he grew tired from all the exertion. There was no way he was going to make it back to his room, so he put the book aside and curled up in the chair.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he heard Snape's voice groan, “Potter.” Harry merely closed his eyes and drifted back off.

Harry was awoken from his light sleep by jostling steps. Snape wasn't carrying him, was he?

He heard the creak of a door and felt himself being gently lowered to a bed. Harry blinked open his eyes and found that he was in his room.

“Potter, do be sure and go to sleep in your own bed next time,” said Snape and walked out.

Harry rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He couldn't believe that Snape had carried him. Why couldn't he have just levitated him and saved him the embarrassment.

He sighed and let himself drift back into sleep. Once again, he found himself in memories of the past…

A heavy weight pressed into his stomach. He opened his eyes and found a black-cloaked figure holding a gleaming silver knife. Harry's eyes widened in terror and he panicked.

He bucked wildly on the ground, trying to throw the Death Eater off of him. The Death Eater reached out quickly and slashed at his flailing arms. Harry gasped and clutched his bleeding arm.

The tip of the blade was held against his throat.

“Behave Potter, or you will die a most painful death,” purred a male voice that Harry didn't recognize.

Harry froze, unable to do anything except watch the sharp knife with his eyes. All it would take was one quick movement and he would be as good as dead.

The Death Eater abruptly stood and pulled a small goblet out of his robes. He held it out to Harry, who looked at it suspiciously.

“Would you like some water?” asked the Death Eater. As suspicious as the offer was, he was thirsty. As he reached for the goblet, he was suddenly jolted out of sleep by the sound of a door closing.

He blinked open his eyes to find Snape standing at the table across the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” said Snape almost cheerfully.

“What are you so happy about?” asked Harry grumpily.

“I do believe I've found a solution to your memory problem,” said Snape. He held up two vials, one filled with red liquid, the other with yellow.

Gryffindor colors, thought Harry.

“What are those?” asked Harry.

“The yellow is a sleeping draught; the red is a memory restorative. They only work when combined with each other. The red must be poured into the yellow, otherwise it creates a fast-acting poison.”

Snape mixed the two potions together as he spoke and held the orange colored mixture out to Harry.

“But I just woke up!” protested Harry.

“Do you want your memory back or not?” asked Snape.

“Yes,” muttered Harry and took the potion. It smelled and tasted strongly of rotten eggs.

“Can't you at least try to make them taste good?” complained Harry as a fog settled over his mind. He thought he heard Snape saying something, but his mind was too foggy to process anything that was said to him. He fell backwards onto the soft pillows on his bed and into a deep sleep.

Surprisingly, this time he found himself upright. His shirt was gone and he could feel cold stone pressing into his back .Cold metal wrapped around his arms, holding them above his head and keeping him against the wall. He tugged at the chains, but found that they were securely attached to the wall.

‘Shite,' he thought as he saw a Death Eater walk in with a tiny smoking cauldron.

Harry didn't like the foreboding feeling that had settled in his stomach. That feeling only grew when the cauldron was spelled to hover in the air and the Death Eater came forward with his wand drawn.

What was in the cauldron? Potions….or something worse? His stomach churned at that thought.

“So, Mr. Potter, having fun?” asked the Death Eater menacingly. Harry glared defiantly at him.

“We need to do something about that defiance,” said the Death Eater and flicked his wand. Harry drew in a quick breath as something searingly hot touched his chest and slid down.

“Did that hurt, Potter?” mocked the Death Eater.

Harry bit his lip, not wanting any more of the liquid on him. The wand was flicked again, and more of the liquid made its way down his chest. He gasped aloud that time and felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes.

Harry gritted his teeth as even more of the liquid ran down his flesh. He would not scream, he would not beg for mercy.

“I know you want to scream,” murmured the Death Eater as he dragged his wand across Harry's cheek, leaving a hot trail behind.

Harry's breathing grew ragged as he struggled not to cry out. The wand slid down his neck and crossed his chest.

A small whimper escaped his lips and he clenched his teeth harder, determined not to make another sound.

“Dare I, Potter?” said the Death eater with his wand pressed dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans. Harry closed his eyes tightly and stiffened his body.

‘No, no, no,' his mind screamed.

The wand moved back and forth across his stomach, layering the hot liquid, sending it gliding downwards. A sudden spurt of the liquid splayed across his stomach and poured downwards. At that point, Harry's resolve ended.

He screamed and strained at his bonds, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the hot liquid that had poured onto his groin. The Death Eater laughed viciously.

“Get it off, get it off!” Harry cried as he fought to escape the chains that pinned him to the wall.

The chains suddenly vanished and he collapsed to the ground. He clawed viciously at his skin, trying in vain to get rid of the burning. All the while the Death Eater laughed.

“Stop it,” Harry pleaded. “Please stop it.”

He heard a door open and close, and the mad laughter ceased. Harry continued to writhe in agony on the floor. Eventually, the burning subsided and he lay still on the dirty ground.

Not that the heat was gone, the room started to grow chilly. Harry shivered and curled into a ball.

A seemingly interminable time passed before he heard the door open again. He raised his head slightly and saw a glimpse of a figure in black before his head hit the ground again with a jarring thud.

“Aww, look how weak bitty baby Potter's gotten!” exclaimed a woman's voice.

“Bellatrix,” growled Harry.

“Why Harry, you remembered me!” purred Bellatrix.

“It's not hard, you're a murderer,” said Harry angrily.

“Ah, my dear cousin Black. He was a murderer too, you know,” she said.

“He was not!” said Harry.

“But you like murderers, don't you?” asked Bellatrix softly, ignoring what he'd said. “But then again, you're a murderer too. I like murderers. Only murderers can truly appreciate life.”

She knelt beside him and placed her hands on his scratched stomach. She bent over and lightly kissed his stomach, trailing kisses down to his belly button.

She smoothly slid her hands down and quickly undid the button and zipper. She moved her hands to his hips and slid his jeans down.

‘Oh God,' screamed the voice in his head.

He broke out of the stupor she had held him in and scrabbled backwards.

“Oh no you don't!” said Bellatrix and quickly cast Immobulus on him. She slid his jeans down the rest of the way and stared down at him.

“Aww, is wittle baby Potter still in training pants?” she mocked. “Golden Snitch boxers are for babies. It's a good thing you won't be wearing them for much longer.”

Harry felt his face grow hot. This couldn't be happening. He tried to reach into himself for some bit of magic, as he done when threatened by the Dursleys before, but failed.

He lay, unable to move as Bellatrix stripped off his boxers and threw them aside.

“Tut, tut, still not up, we'll have to fix that,” commented Bellatrix.

She stripped off her own clothes quickly, until she was down to her black bra and panties. Harry was unable to look away as she took off both and revealed her large, supple breasts and thick crop of hair. Unwillingly, he felt his own arousal.

‘No, no, no,' he thought, forcing himself to think of anything except the curvaceous woman standing completely naked in front of him.

“That's more like it,” said Bellatrix as she knelt beside him again. She waved her wand and Harry felt something soft beneath him. Harry lay helplessly as Bellatrix lowered herself onto his body.

Her hands massaged his shoulders as she left more kisses across his chest. Her tongue darted out to glide smoothly across his flesh.

“Such pure flesh,” murmured Bellatrix. She stretched out, pressing herself to his chest.

“The Dark Lord honors me by letting me break you in.” She slid upwards, against his throbbing erection, to nibble at his neck and ears.

“So delicious,” she purred. She reached for her wand and waved it over him.

“I want to hear you scream when we come,” she whispered seductively.

“I won't,” said Harry defiantly.

“Yes, you will,” said Bellatrix. “You've never been with a woman before. I can tell. You will come with me and I will partake of your seed.”

If Harry could have, he would have vomited. But he couldn't, and there was no way to escape this. Harry whimpered as Bellatrix lowered herself onto him.

Harry woke up gasping for breath. He dived out of bed and grabbed for his crutches. He had to get a shower. He had to get the feel of her off of him. He felt dirty, horribly unclean.

Where was the bathroom? He turned in an awkward circle, searching for another door, one that led to a bathroom. He had to get clean. He had to get rid of all traces of her.

The door opened, and Harry turned panicked eyes to find Snape.

“Where's the bathroom?” he asked breathlessly.

“Down the hall. Why?” said Snape.

“I have to take a shower,” said Harry and headed towards the door.

“I know spells that will work just fine. You don't need to get your bandages wet,” said Snape.

“No, you don't understand,” said Harry as he tried to push past Snape.

Snape grabbed his arm and Harry flinched, lost control of the crutches, and fell to the floor. When Snape moved to help him up, he scooted backwards awkwardly.

“Don't touch me,” he said, looking wildly for a way to escape. His crutches were lying next to Snape, but he wasn't going to risk being touched by the man. Snape frowned slightly and pushed the crutches toward him with his foot.

“Get back up so you can return to bed,” said Snape.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head desperately. “I can't go back to sleep. I have to take a shower.”

“Stop your pathetic mewling and get back to bed. You look quite clean to me,” said Snape impatiently.

“Please,” begged Harry.

He couldn't tell Snape what he'd seen. He couldn't. Snape would ridicule him for it; he knew that. All the while, the feeling of being unclean was driving him mad. Snape sighed and looked down at him.

“All right Potter, but you have ten minutes, no more,” said Snape.

“Thank you sir,” said Harry gratefully as he levered himself up with his crutches.

Snape led him down the hall to a plain bathroom. The instant the door closed behind Snape, Harry hurriedly pulled off his clothes while balancing precariously on his crutches.

He finally sank into the bathtub with a sigh of relief. He turned on the main tap and led scalding hot water pour out, then turned on several ones of soap.

Harry grabbed a washcloth and began scrubbing viciously at his skin. The marks that were nearly healed turned a fiery red again with Harry's desperate attempt to remove all traces of her from his body.

It wasn't enough, though. She was in his pores, in his veins. He abandoned the washcloth and scratched his skin with his stubby fingernails. Tiny droplets of blood oozed from the scratches, dripping into the water and coloring it red. He hissed in pain as the water seared his skin and seeped into the scratches.

“Potter!” he heard Snape's voice from outside the room. “You've been in there long enough!”

No, it hadn't been long enough. He wasn't clean yet. Snape wouldn't come in there, would he? Harry cast a horrified look at the door and resumed rubbing at his skin with the washcloth.

“I'm not finished yet!” called Harry. The door flew open and Snape stomped in.

“Hey!” yelled Harry. “Get out of here!”

Thankfully, Snape kept his gaze well away from Harry. He grabbed a towel off the rack and threw it in Harry's direction.

“I told you ten minutes and it's been well past fifteen,” growled Snape. “Get dressed now or I will make you.”

Harry glared at Snape, but obediently took the towel. He dressed carefully while seated on the edge of the bathtub with a wary eye on Snape.

When he was finished, Snape pushed his crutches closer with the toe of one black boot. Harry was positive he had seen boots like that before, he just couldn't remember where….

“Back to your room, Potter,” said Snape and opened the door. Harry hobbled after him, still thinking longingly of the scalding hot water.

Snape ushered Harry into his room and ordered him to get into bed. Harry unwilling complied. Only when Snape came to him with the orangish restorative did he balk openly.

“Potter, if you ever want your memories back, I'd suggest you drink it!” growled Snape.

After seeing …that …with …her, he wasn't so sure he wanted his memories back anymore. He took the potion, though, knowing that if he didn't Snape could always force him to drink it. The potion quickly took effect and Harry fell into his forgotten memories.

Harry was screaming as his arms were pinned behind his back so tightly that it felt as though his muscles would tear.

“Let go,” he screamed, mortified to be begging his captors.

“And why would we do that?” asked a man and laughed. Harry began to lose his resolve. He would never get out of this hell. No one could save him. The only person who could was currently masquerading as a Death Eater himself. And it would be beyond even his power to get Harry out of there. He hung his head in defeat.

He heard laughter, then a silky voice say, “You've broken him already?”

“Ah, Snape, you've arrived at last. He's not broken, don't worry,” said a feminine voice.

“Very good,” said Snape.

Harry heard a soft rustling noise and raised his eyes to see Snape kneeling in front of him. Harry felt sick as his eyes met the dark ones of Snape. The man's eyes held no pity, no remorse.

“You bastard,” he choked out. Snape's lips quirked into a smirk.

“You think your teacher is incapable of being a Death Eater? Perhaps a few lessons are in order,” said Snape.

No, he knew Snape was a Death Eater, but Snape had rescued him. This had to be an act, a show put on for the Death Eaters. It wasn't real. It was all a feint. It had to be, he thought desperately. Snape's smirk grew broader and he raised his wand.

“Crucio,” he said quietly and Harry's body was suddenly wracked with pain. Harry screamed, hoping for it to end and praying that this was an act. Because he didn't know if he could handle it if Snape had helped more than this.

The curse was ended and Harry lay gasping for breath on the cold floor. His muscles screamed in agony as he raised himself up to a sitting position.

“You're evil, absolutely evil. Dumbledore was mad to trust you,” he hissed.

“Oh was he now?” sneered Snape.

“Yes,” said Harry. “You're nothing but a lying, scheming Death Eater!”

“Ah, but Dumbledore doesn't know that, does he? And he won't ever know,” said Snape softly.

“Yes he will find out!” said Harry hotly.

“You actually think he's going to come rescue you?” asked Snape.

“Yes,” said Harry firmly, but he felt a niggling doubt in the back of his mind.

“Well, you're sadly mistaken then,” said Snape viciously. “He's not coming for you. No one is. You're going to die in here, all alone.”

“I--you're lying,” stammered Harry.

“No, I'm not. Dumbledore trusts me far more than you know, pathetic boy,” said Snape. He flicked his wand and a long strand of leather appeared. “And as for you calling me a liar…”

He flicked the leather and it cracked through the air and collided painfully with his chest. Harry double over, clutching the spot the whip had hit him. He heard the cracking noise again and felt the whip lash against his back.

Snape Vanished the whip and shoved Harry backwards. He knelt down with his knees pressing on Harry's legs. Harry fought to get the man off of him, but quickly found himself with his wrists and ankles chained to the floor.

Snape tore away what was left of his shirt and brandished a knife. Harry watched anxiously as Snape pressed the tip of the knife to his chest and pressed down, drawing a few drops of blood. He slowly moved the knife, tracing the letters F-R-E-A-K. Harry's hands shook slightly as blood oozed from the letters and onto the floor.

“Scared, Potter?” mocked Snape.

Harry was scared of this and what lay ahead for him in captivity, but he mustered up enough courage to hiss, “You wish.”

Snape growled deep in his throat and slapped Harry. Harry turned his head back and glared at Snape. The man merely raised his hand and hit Harry again, this time with the flat side of the knife. Harry winced as the sharp edge bit into his cheek. Snape smirked malevolently and dragged the knife down Harry's chest, etching a twisted, curving line into Harry's flesh.

“Please stop,” begged Harry.

“Do you promise to behave now?” asked Snape, the knife still pressed to Harry's skin.

“Yes,” Harry choked out.

“Good,” said Snape. “And to reinforce that…”

Snape pulled a think bit of leather from his robes and wrapped it around Harry's neck. He tapped it with his wand and then smirked at Harry.

“You will listen to me or you will be sorry.”

Harry had no doubt that the collar was designed to make him obey and he didn't want to even tempt Snape. He lay motionless with his wrists still bound and stared up at Snape, into the man's pitiless gaze.

Snape flicked his wand and Harry flinched, expecting the worst, but his bonds merely disappeared and Snape stepped back with his calculating gaze set on Harry. Harry remained still, disturbed by the intensity of the look Snape was giving him. The man looked as though he might pounce upon Harry at any minute. He did not need that to happen; Bellatrix had been bad enough. Harry became uncomfortably aware that he was still lying in blood. His blood.

“Get up and get on your knees,” ordered Snape abruptly as Harry was attempting to quell his nausea at the sick smell. Harry did so, but apparently not fast enough for Snape. He felt a stinging jolt shoot through his spine and nearly fell face down on the dirty floor.

“That's what you get for not obeying me,” said Snape.

“But what did I do?” protested Harry.

“Silence!” ordered Snape. “You will not speak at all unless I tell you to.” He flicked his wand and another debilitating shock ran through Harry's body. “Understood?”

Harry said “Yes, sir” a little shakily.

“You will stay where you are until I return,” said Snape and walked out, leaving Harry alone with the group of Death Eaters who stared at him and whispered amongst themselves. The cold floor made his knees protest, but Harry didn't dare move an inch. Even moving that much would probably set Snape off.

About ten minutes later, the door opened to admit Snape and a black-cloaked figure. The person accompanying Snape threw back his hood to reveal the serpentine face and red eyes of Voldemort. Harry locked eyes with the man and at once realized that that was a mistake.

He could feel Voldemort's presence ripping ruthlessly through his mind, searching for only one thing: the knowledge of how to destroy him. The prophecy that controlled his life. No! He had to stop him. But he didn't know how. Snape had never shown him how.

‘THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…'

Harry tried to close his eyes, turn his face away, anything to keep Voldemort from hearing the prophecy, but he couldn't move his gaze from Voldemort's eyes.

‘…BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER, FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES…THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…'

Voldemort smiled evilly and Harry dropped his head to face his knees, his eyes prickling with unshed tears. He had failed. Voldemort would kill him now.

“So, Potter, what is this power I know not? It seems to me that you are nothing but a defenseless little child. My equal? You are nothing. Nothing,” said Voldemort. “Severus, he is yours. Be sure and bring him to me when you get bored with him.”

Harry heard the door shut with a loud snap and then a soft “Crucio.”

Pain ripped through his body and he screamed.

Harry woke tangled in his bedcovers and panting heavily. Oh God. Snape had helped them. He had been one of the Death Eaters to torture him. The click of the door opening made Harry stop untangling himself and reach with both hands to scrabble at his neck to see if the collar was still there. He froze with his hands on his neck when he saw Snape come in.

He quickly dropped his hands and stared at Snape with wide eyes. When he'd been captured, that had all been an act, hadn't it? It had to have been. Dumbledore would have never made him stay with Snape if the man really was a Death Eater.

“Potter, what is the matter with you now?” asked Snape irritatedly.

Harry remained silent. What if it hadn't been an act? What if this was all a sick game, Voldemort still had him and Snape was still evil?

Snape advanced on Harry, his dark eyes boring into Harry’s green ones. Harry was too afraid to even look away. He knew that Snape was an excellent Legilimens and he knew exactly what Snape was doing. He finally recovered enough to turn his face away, but Snape grabbed his chin and forced his face up. Harry felt cold dread as Snape delved through his memories, dragging up all the most recent ones, the ones with him in them.

Snape finally released Harry’s mind after seeing himself put the Cruciatus on Harry. He took a step backwards, looking startled. Harry swallowed his fear and said “Professor?” softly.

“Potter, that wasn’t me,” said Snape, his voice sounding strangely choked.

“What?” asked Harry.

“I have no idea who that was, but it definitely wasn’t me. The Dark Lord had sent me off to make more Polyjuice, a strengthened--” Snape stumbled backwards, looking sick. “That’s what they wanted it for.”

Harry had never before seen the cold Potions Master so shocked. His face as ashen and his eyes almost wild. All at once, he seemed to snap back to his usual acerbic self.

“Potter, I shall return momentarily. You will not leave this room,” Snape snapped and hurried out of the room.

Harry leaned against the head of the bed, confused by all of this. If Snape hadn’t been the one doing… doing those things to him... then who had? And why hadn’t Snape been allowed in there? Further, how had he gotten away?

He was pondering whether to go and investigate what Snape was doing when the man came in carrying a Pensieve. Harry’s stomach lurched as he realized that Snape was going to look at his memories. Snape set the Pensieve down on Harry’s bed and he tried to inch away from it.

“Potter, stay still,” said Snape irritably. Harry felt the tip of a wand being pressed against his temple and he fought not to flinch. “Think of all the memories that have me in them. Think hard.”

Harry unwillingly focused on the things he wanted to forget, of Snape carving words in his flesh, casting curses on him. He whimpered softly as Snape quietly uttered a spell. He felt a gentle pulling sensation and the memories were gone. He had a vague recollection of something Snape-related, but couldn’t remember more than that.

Harry felt the fingers of his right hand wrapped around the handle of a wand. His wand. Touching it made him feel cold and sick, but he kept holding it. Snape wrapped his hand around his wrist and pushed it forward, into the silvery liquid flowing in the Pensieve. And then they were falling, falling into his memories.

Harry scrunched his eyes shut as soon as he saw himself being pinned down, screaming for mercy he wouldn’t get. Snape’s grip on his wrist remained tight, grounding him to reality. He heard Snape’s silky voice and kept his eyes shut. He knew what would be coming next. The torture. Oh God, the torture.

His breath caught in this throat and he sank to his knees. Snape released his wrist and instead, he felt a hand fall lightly onto his shoulder. Harry covered his ears with his hands when his own screams started up again.

The memories seemed to last for an eternity, but finally, he felt himself being propelled back into reality. Snape released his shoulder, but Harry remained huddled on the bed.

“Potter, I am going to return your memories now,” said Snape.

“Professor, can’t you just not put them back. I don’t want to have to remember that,” said Harry softly.

“I have to. To heal fully, you need to know the extent of the damage. You will not be able to leave this house until you are healed mentally and physically,” said Snape almost regretfully. Harry heard a whispered spell and then he could recall everything.

“No,” he moaned softly as he held his head in his hands. He suddenly smelled something minty near him.

“Drink this Potter. It will help,” said Snape softly. Harry lifted his head and drank the cool liquid that had been held near him.

Instantly, his head cleared and the memories dulled in intensity. He looked intently at Snape, who was now seated beside his bed, ready for the discussion they were probably going to have.

Snape picked up the Pensieve and moved it to the floor, out of the way, and then looked at Harry.

“Potter, I was not the man that tortured you, nor will I ever display wonton acts of cruelty towards you. Do not think that I like you in the slightest, however. I am here to do a job, and that is to ensure that you are completely healed and able to face the world once more,” said Snape.

“What was the point of doing that to me?” asked Harry.

"To break you down so that he could secure the prophecy. In the end, it did him no good, though,” said Snape.

“What?” asked Harry.

“Knowing the prophecy di--has done him no good,” said Snape. “Now, if that is all, I have potions to be working on.”

“No, that’s not all!” said Harry loudly. “I want to know why we’re here, in this house, not in a Wizarding hospital or Hogwarts?”

“I can’t answer those questions,” said Snape. He handed another vial of potion to Harry, picked up the Pensieve, and walked out of the room. Harry shook his head slightly and downed the potion, not caring at that point what it did to him. His memories were of hell with Death Eaters and Snape wouldn’t answer his questions. He was currently living in a house with a man that hated him and was only helping him because that was what Dumbledore had told him to do.

He dropped the vial onto his bed and lay back against the pillows. His mind grew fuzzy and he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch the room spinning crazily.

It wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep. His dreams were full of darkness, screaming, and the smell of smoke.

He woke with a start and was immediately handed the orangish restorative. Though he wanted to refuse, he knew it would be best to get the memories over with. He drank it with a feeling that the parts with Snape weren’t going to be the worse and fell back into his memories.

It seemed quite a bit of time had passed, as he was lying, shivering on the stone floor. He was half-curled to preserve what little warmth was left in his body, with chills running up and down his spine.

When he heard the door open with a loud bang, he had barely enough strength to open his eyes and see who had come to torture him now. All he could make out was a dark blur, and he shut his eyes again.

He didn’t move when he heard the clanking of chains and felt them attached to his legs. His arms were yanked behind his back, leaving his head to fall to the floor and his wrists were chained too.

He was dragged up from the floor by the chains, and his feet scraped painfully against the rocky ground as he was dragged to another room.

His scar burned fiercely as he was deposited on the ground. He heard a loud clanking noise, and then the chains were picked up again and attached to something behind him, leaving him to dangle, his toes inches from the ground. Harry’s wrists took the brunt of the pain, as he didn’t have the strength to pull himself into a more comfortable position.

A blurry, black-robed figure made its way toward him. As the figure came closer, he recognized it as Voldemort. Voldemort circled him predatorily for a minute, then he raised his wand.

“Crucio!”

The curse was sheer agony for Harry, and he was glad when it was lifted. Voldemort circled him again as he began to speak.

“Harry Potter, the bane of my existence. How is it you could have possibly survived this long? Perhaps my Death Eaters weren’t harsh enough with you…”

Harry tried to ignore Voldemort over the pounding in his head and the protests of his stomach, but the man’s voice leeched into his very soul. Voldemort growled softly and stalked away.

“You may all have a go at him, but do be sure of one thing--make him scream.”

And scream he did. A seemingly interminable time passed, with each of Voldemort’s servants trying to get him to scream the loudest. Harry retreated into his mind, trying to keep his sanity, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he cracked. He could feel his wild magic straining to escape him, to wreak havoc on his tormentors.

He didn’t try to reign it in, and when it escaped, it sent a dazzling glow of light everywhere. Harry closed his eyes, temporarily blinded by the blast, and heard things crashing down around him. Whatever he had been chained to crashed to the ground, pinning one of his legs under it.

He lay still, having no energy to try and escape. He heard screams and smelled smoke. He heard the crackling of flames as they drew nearer to where he lay, then the acrid smell of burning flesh as the fire reached him.

The burning didn’t last long, though. He heard several spells and the chains and the heavy object pinning him to the ground were removed. He felt arms wrap around his battered body before falling unconscious.

The next time Harry woke, he felt as though his entire body was on fire. He moaned softly as he felt a cool liquid being rubbed into his legs. He opened his eyes against the pounding pain in his temples and saw Snape applying some sort of potion to his legs.

Snape looked over and quietly said, “Rest.”

Harry immediately closed his eyes again.

Harry opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. He panted slightly as he tried to control the prickling in his eyes. He remembered everything. He pressed his forehead to his knees, desperately trying to push the memories away. He heard the door bang open and looked up to see Snape.

“What is the matter with you now?” said Snape irritably.

Harry lifted his head and shook it in disbelief. He grabbed the crutches that leaned on his bed and got out of bed. He hobbled over to Snape and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed.

“What are you talking about, Potter?” asked Snape.

“I know, Snape. I know everything. I know how you risked your life to get me out of Voldemort’s hideout. I know how many hours you spent healing me,” said Harry in a choked voice.

“And I care about this why?” asked Snape.

“Don’t you dare do that, Goddammit!” shouted Harry. “Don’t pretend that this is just a job. If it was just a job that you had to do, then why were you telling me stories? Why the hell were you singing to me?” Harry felt a pressing ache in his chest and turned away. Snape would never admit to not being the sadicious bastard everyone thought he was.

“Potter, why must you be so difficult?” growled Snape. Harry ignored him.

“Dammit, Potter. Fine, I’ll admit it. I don’t hate you. Are you happy now?”

Harry turned back around and saw that Snape was scowling. Harry grinned.

“Yes, for now,” he said.

Snape muttered something that sounded suspiciously like impudent child and then ordered him back into bed. Harry did so willingly, knowing that Snape would stop being such an arsehole.

Well, he was less of an arsehole, thought Harry as he was finally allowed to leave his bed again, though he still had to use the crutches. The beam had crushed his leg and though Snape had healed it, it was still weak.

“When can we get out of here?” questioned Harry as he followed Snape out of his room.

“As soon as you’re healed and Dumbledore says it’s safe,” replied Snape.

“Why do we have to wait until it’s safe?” asked Harry. “No one’s safe with Voldemort out there.”

Snape suddenly whirled, stopping Harry in his tracks.

“Come with me,” said Snape, leading Harry into the library. Harry sat near the door in a large armchair, but Snape remained standing.

“It is time to tell you the truth,” he said.

“What truth? I thought I knew everything,” said Harry, feeling confused.

“The truth about the night I rescued you,” said Snape. “Your memories do not suffice to tell you what happened after you lost consciousness.”

“What don’t I know?” asked Harry.

“The Dark Lord is dead. He died when you released that wild magic. Even if that hadn’t done the job, the beam that you knocked down would have done so,” said Snape quietly.

“He’s dead?” asked Harry in disbelief.

“Yes,” confirmed Snape.

“Then why am I still here?” asked Harry.

“Because you are not yet fully healed,” answered Snape.

Several weeks passed by, with Harry rapidly regaining his strength. Finally, the day came when Snape told him to gather his things. They were to take a Portkey to Hogwarts.

When Harry was ready to go, Snape held out an empty ink bottle and Harry took it. They were quickly hurtled through space and arrived seconds later in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts.

“This way,” said Snape, leading the way to the Great Hall. When he flung the doors open, Harry gasped in shock. Standing around a table were Ron, Hermione, Ginny, all his other friends, members of the Order, and teachers.

“Welcome back, Harry!” they said in unison. Harry’s eyes prickled uncomfortably, and soon, he found himself surrounded by smiling faces. But before he was swept away by the crowd, he quickly mouthed ‘thank you’ to Severus Snape, his savior.

Life resumed for Harry much as it had left off. He discovered that the Dursleys had been arrested for giving him to Voldemort. He also learned that he was Sirius' sole heir. He also discovered that no matter where he went, he would always have someone with him. It was as though they were afraid to leave him alone for one second. But still, life went on.

After they left Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione each went on to careers that suited them. Ron played professional Quidditch and Hermione found work with the Ministry testing new spells. But Harry couldn't seem to find something that was right for him.

Knowing that his parents' gold would support him for a long time, he bought a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere, where no one would ever find him. He ceased contact with everyone, save for one person. Severus Snape. The bond that they had formed continued to exist even while Harry hid from his former life.

Snape kept Harry up to date on everything that was happening. Ron and Hermione's first child, Fudge's resignation, and the passing of the greatest wizard who had ever lived, Albus Dumbledore. Harry didn't attend the funeral. He knew that the world would be different now, and he wasn't certain he ever wanted to return.

More years passed, with Snape dutifully sending information. Births, deaths, and anything deemed to be of importance. As the lonely years passed, Harry realized that more and more wizards of his generation were dying. Soon, he would be the only one left. Finally, some fifty years after he had left the wizarding world, the news stopped coming.

After a week of waiting, Harry cracked open his old school trunk and took out a softly shimmering cloak, one that hadn't been used in over fifty years. His dad's old Invisibility Cloak. He shook it out and draped it over himself before Apparating away.

He reappeared outside The Leaky Cauldron, the one place he was certain he could get information. He quickly cast a Metamorph spell and then removed the cloak.

When he entered the pub, he saw that Tom was no longer the bartender. Some other old wizard was wiping down the counter with a rag.

“Excuse me,” said Harry as he walked up to the bar.

“Whaddaya need, sir?” asked the man.

“I'd like to enquire if you know anything as to the whereabouts of Severus Snape,” said Harry.

“Severus Snape?” asked the bartender in surprise. “Well, you're a week too late. He was buried a week ago.”

“Where?” asked Harry. The bartender gave directions to a cemetery on the outskirts of London.

“Thank you,” said Harry as he left the pub and Apparated away again.

He reappeared outside a wrought-iron fence that was rusting badly. The gate squealed loudly as he opened it and entered the cemetery. A small sign with peeling paint greeted him.

‘Here lies our war heroes,' read the sign.

Tears prickled at his eyes as he recognized names on many of the crumbling stones. When he reached the newest mound of earth, he dropped to his knees.

‘Here lies Severus Snape,' the small granite stone read simply.

Harry bowed his head and wept. He cried for all of the forgotten heroes. His friends' names surrounded him and it seemed that everyone had forgotten them, all save for two people, one of which now lay dead.

How could everyone had forgotten so quickly? How could they have just forgotten what all these people had done for them?

Tears poured down his face and he wanted to scream in rage, anguish, and even fear. He was all alone now, the last of the survivors.

Feeling as though someone had ripped his heart out, he stood and exited the cemetery. He Apparated home and returned to his lonely existence.

Two days later the Boy-Who-Lived was found dead in his house by two wizards who had gotten lost in the woods. Harry was buried alongside Severus Snape in the cemetery he had visited only two days before.

The last of the war heroes had finally gone to join his friends. It was all over.