Harry awoke with a throbbing headache. Where the hell am I? He thought to himself. He wasn’t panicked; life for him had been too unpredictable to panic at something this small, but he was concerned. He went to move his hands to his temples wanting to assuage the fierce pounding in his head, but found his hands were bound behind him. He was in a dark room; cool but rough wooden floorboards supported his weight. Further examination of the room revealed the outline of a small door. Harry shook his head when he realized where he was--- the cupboard below the stairs in Number 4 Privet Drive.Straining, Harry heard voices just outside his cupboard.

“We can’t leave him in there forever,” a husky female voice cooed.

Harry heard a slap followed by a deep, grumbling voice that grated his sore head, “We’ll leave him in there until I say he can be removed. The Dark Lord will be visiting soon, we cannot afford an attempted escape on the brat’s part.”

Harry was confused. He knew he was in the Dursley’s house, yet the voices were not those of his aunt and uncle. Furthermore, the man had mentioned Voldemort. But the Dursley’s are afraid of magic, Harry mused to himself, more amused than upset. After a few more moments he heard scrapings outside the door followed by the sound of locks being undone.

Harry squinted as a sudden bright light assaulted his tired eyes. A portly man stood before him. After a moment’s hesitation the man squatted down bringing himself to Harry’s eye level.

“Boy, you are going to be stuck here a long time,” Vernon leered at Harry. “We are currently entertaining a group that call themselves Death Eaters. Petunia and I have been rewarded already with great sums. We just have to deliver you. A man calling himself Voldemort will be visiting within the week. Meanwhile you will do our chores and behave as you’ve been taught. A man named Lucius Malfoy,” Vernon paused a moment fumbling the unfamiliar name, “will be giving you lessons throughout the week. I expect to hear not a peep from you. Understood?”

Harry openly stared at the man whose house he had lived in for almost his entire life. It had never occurred to him that the Dursley’s might get friendly with Voldemort if the Dark Lord offered them money. Slowly nodding to avoid causing further pain to his sore head, he felt the small space behind him for his wand; he recalled leaving it in his back pocket. Vernon unfortunately noticed his movement. He kicked out fiercely hitting Harry directly in the ribs. Harry gasped from the sharp pain that reverberated through his side.

“If you’re looking for your wand I’ll save you the trouble,” Vernon Dursley drawled flippantly, ignoring the moan of pain that came from the teen before him. “Voldemort snapped it.”

Harry gulped and gasped in horror as his uncle grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face just inches from his uncle’s. “I’m one of them now, Harry. Watch your step,” he spat, before shoving the boy roughly to the floor. Harry watched, aghast, as the beefy man pulled up his sleeve and shoved the Dark Mark burned on his forearm in Harry’s face. 

It had been three days and Harry was still being kept in his cupboard. He’d seen Malfoy four times and had quickly gathered that his lessons were to be nothing more than practice sessions for the Death Eater; the Death Eater used the boy as a target for anything from dark curses to physical violence.Harry was allowed no food and given one glass of water a day. After his first lesson with Malfoy, he had nursed himself as best he could. His most recent lesson had left him cradling a sprained wrist. He was having trouble breathing as well and was positive Malfoy had cracked at least two ribs when he’d thrown the teen against a wall.

Seeing no immediate end in sight, Harry made a plan to escape. Had he been in his right mind he possibly would have reconsidered, but atop being deprived of nourishment, the Death Eaters were making sure he didn’t get more than an hour of consecutive sleep. A masked man would slip into his cupboard at least once every hour and place a well-aimed kick or punch, whichever suited him, to ensure that Harry had no rest. 

Harry awoke with a start- his clothes were soaked with sweat and his hair was matted.That makes number 3, Harry thought bemusedly to himself. He had been counting the number of nightmares he had a day, unsure if he did it for entertainment or just simply a distraction from the pain that was resounding through his body.

The thud of someone descending the stairs above him startled him out of his thoughts. From the sounds in the rest of the house, Harry figured it was around lunch- the time that Malfoy always visited for his lessons.

A rough hand grabbed Harry from under his cupboard and dragged him to the basement of the muggle house. Malfoy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, calmly waiting Harry’s arrival. Harry had yet to gather the courage to ask the Death Eater how he had escaped Azkaban but was still immensely curious- perhaps today he’d ask.

“Hello, Harry,” the blonde man said coolly. “Ready?”

Harry had not the energy to nod and just stood there, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

“Crucio!” yelled Malfoy.

Harry writhed on the floor in agony but had learned to stay quiet; the first day the man had only continued his torture longer once he learned the boy would cry out- Harry was not going to give him the pleasure of hearing his pain. This man was the same as his uncle; the more Harry showed the pain he felt, the more the older man inflicted.

After a few moments Malfoy lifted the spell. He seemed bored. A hooded figure had joined him and was whispering quietly to the blonde man. Harry was horrified when he saw an evil smile dance upon the Death Eater’s lips.

Slowly, deliberately, Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it at a defenseless Harry. “Sectumsempra,” he shouted.

Harry couldn’t help it. He screamed; a bloodcurdling, chilling, pain filled scream echoed through the halls of Number 4 Privet Drive. Blood gushed out from his wounds, seeping into his baggy clothes. It poured from a long slash along his chest that continued halfway up his neck. A dark chuckle emitted from the throat of the Death Eater.

“Serves you right, Potter,” he sneered. “Maybe this will teach you to respect your betters.”

Harry was loosing blood fast and couldn’t care less what Malfoy was saying. He desperately tried to stop the bleeding, pressing his ratty shirt to the large gash. After what seemed like hours to Harry, but in reality could have only been a minute or two, the cold, blonde man began waving his wand about Harry. Slowly and painfully his wound was being stitched together; blood still continued to flow from his chest. With jerky movements Harry tried to sit up but failed. He looked up at Malfoy and was afraid when his eyes met the coldest, most uncaring orbs he had ever seen.

In a low growl, the Death Eater spat, “Crucio!”

Harry allowed himself only one agonized yelp before clenching his mouth shut. The pain was becoming too much and he felt himself quickly loosing awareness. After a brief moment he knew no more and was borne away to the oblivion of darkness. 

It was dusk. Harry could tell by the sound of the crickets. Slowly he came around, not daring to move for fear of upsetting his injuries and realized he was still in the basement of his uncle’s house. He had no idea how much blood he had lost but knew he was in pretty bad shape. He lay still a moment, taking inventory of his injuries. Sprained wrist, cracked ribs, sketchily stitched and possibly soon to be mortal wound, assorted bruises, and possible concussion- he knew he was not in any condition to move, yet he felt he must escape.Gradually he eased himself into a sitting position but thought it to be a rash mistake when his head began pounding fiercely. Escape, he thought brusquely. I must escape now.

Gathering his courage he slowly crawled to the stairwell. On his hands and knees, Harry began navigating his way towards the door. A sudden noise at the door caused him to shrink into the shadows. The doorknob rattled and from the doorway emerged Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.