Harry leant his head back against the wall and sighed.  For three days now he had been stuck in this place, this…cell, for lack of a better word.  At least he thought it was three days; he couldn’t really be sure of the passing of time here.  He was currently situated on the floor against one damp and dirty wall in a rather large stone room, legs spread out before him.  Made completely of large boulder-like stones, the room was quite expansive and leant one’s mind to think of a dungeon, with its dampness and dreary atmosphere.  Oddly enough, for all its dirt and bleariness, the room was brightly, almost cheerily lit by some unseen source.   Almost as if it were attempting to lull the occupants into a false sense of security.  Well, if it was, it was failing miserably at it.

Harry put his hands down to rest on the grime-encrusted floor.  He could feel the particles of dirt rubbing against his palms as he pressed down.  Had he been Hermione, he would have cringed at the uncleanliness of the whole situation.  As it was, he was probably almost as dirty as the room itself by now.  Although come to think of it, he hadn’t noticed a smell…

As if conjured by his thoughts, a sudden wave of fetid aroma hit him.

“Ugh…” He wrinkled his nose in displeasure, vowing to find a washroom as soon as he was able.  Not that they really offered a lot of hospitality in this place.  After all, he was a prisoner here.  No, he corrected himself, not a prisoner but a fellow compatriot; he was a Death Eater now, and he mustn’t forget that, as that little annoying voice so joyfully kept reminding him.

No, damn it.  Quit doing that!  Once again his thoughts had circled back around to thinking about how he had got here – the fact that he was a Death Eater.  No matter how hard he tried, he just could not comprehend why he had become a Death Eater.  What on earth could have caused him to turn to the Dark?  What had happened?   Voldemort had talked about how he had ‘come to his senses’, but nothing was said about what actually happened to instigate such a change in Harry.  It was not like he would have just woken up one day and said “I feel like joining Voldemort!”

Try as hard as he might, Harry could not think of a good enough reason to defect to Voldemort’s side.   He would never allow himself to sink so low as to do such a thing.  Hell, it was more likely that he would break away from it all and make his own side in the war before he would join Voldemort’s.

For three days now, he had been traveling this same never-ending road again and again in his thoughts.  While he was happy enough not to have to interact with the other Death Eaters, with nothing else to do in the cell, that unfortunately left him free to be with all his thoughts.  He had far more time than was probably healthy to contemplate his situation and its implications.  Harry was sure that if something didn’t give soon, he was going to drive himself insane thinking of all the “what if” and “maybe this” scenarios.  The only contact he had had at all had been when the Death Eater from the initiation ceremony had very unceremoniously dropped Harry, only half-conscious with shock and pain, on the floor of the cell.  A wordless drying spell flung carelessly in his direction had thankfully eased the cold of the room, but only enough so that he wouldn’t become severely ill.  The man had then whirled around with robes flapping ominously, leaving behind nothing but a resounding BOOM shuddering through the door, which had instantly faded into nothingness definitively sealing Harry and his fate inside.

Since that point, he had had no contact with any creatures, human or otherwise.  Thrice a day food appeared on a pristine but depressing tray, reminiscent of what he had seen given to the inmates on cop shows Dudley used to watch.  In the corner of the room popped a shiny silver pail whenever he needed to relieve himself, something he had been wary of when it had first appeared.  No sooner had he thought about his need when it popped into existence.  It had done so ever since.

Strangely enough the temperature seemed to hardly fluctuate – never becoming comfortable or warm, but never dropping low enough to cause him an illness either.  That was probably a good thing, seeing as he had been given no blankets, pillows, or cloth of any kind with which to gain even a slight reprieve from the unforgiving stone walls and floor.  Honestly, he was surprised he had yet to get sick, in his current situation.  Every time he woke up, he found himself increasingly stiff and sore.  The last time he had felt this bad was when he had pneumonia broken wrist from Dudley having pushed him in the pond in the middle of winter, and Aunt Petunia had “forgotten” to take him to the doctor.  Really now, he should have been used to this type of treatment from living with the Dursley’s; but at least there he had been given a mattress of some sort, no matter how small and cramped his cupboard had become.

Snick.

He was abruptly jerked from his thoughts as a door appeared seemingly out of nowhere.  He brought his head up to peer at the two figures shrouded in light, the sudden appearance of their dark visages out of place amongst the clarity and brilliance of the room.  Harry squinted, trying to discern who had finally broken the monotony of his chamber.  Two sets of steel eyes bored back at him from shadowed hoods, polar opposites – one deepest black, one silvery white.  A solid wall appeared behind them once again as the door closed.

He opened his mouth in confusion but was cut off before he could speak a word.

“Well now, look at this poor desecrate creature we’ve found.”

“Dear me, you’re right.  The wretch can’t even keep himself unsoiled.  How tragic.”

Indignance arose in Harry.  It wasn’t his fault his accommodations were less than stellar.  They’d put him here after all.

“Yes, well, this is Potter we’re talking about here.  He couldn’t help himself even if we gave him all the resources in the world.  I truly do not see what our Lord sees in him.”

The second figure paused to turn towards Harry.  Harry could feel the eyes raking over him and shivered in a sudden cold sweat.

“From what one would think of your descriptions, the boy does have a surprising appeal.  Surely even you can see that?  The lithe body, those emerald eyes, the ragged hair…”  Even from what little he could see of the man’s face, Harry could see a strange gleam in his eyes as he devoured Harry with his eyes.  Harry squirmed, glaring at the man in contempt.  The man caught this and laughed, a smooth roiling wave that made his skin prickle with discomfort.

“And that temper.  That’s the one point you were right on, my friend.  And it is exactly that which attracts our Lord the most – after all, it is so like his own, and so desirable to crush.”  A flash of teeth shone from beneath the hood.

Harry was done listening to this.  “Who are you people?”

“So demanding, as if he were a Lord,” one mocked.

 “Just like his father,” spat the other.

A stirring of familiarity tingled.  He knew these people.

“You…” his questioning look was mingled with dawning horror.

“Really, it took you this long to figure it out, Potter?  You’re more of a twittering numbskull than I thought.  It’s a wonder how you ever came to conclude that the Light was the losing side.” The first man stepped forward as he reached a pale spidery hand up to drop his hood.  It flowed smoothly onto his shoulders as a twisted sneer of derision was directed at Harry.  The black eyes glittered with malice, sallow skin glowing with an eerie nauseating light.

“Hello, Potter.” Lips twisted upwards in a chilling smile.

Harry instantly propelled himself backwards, putting distance between the two of them.  He scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to place himself on even footing with the two men, hands and feet slipping on the grit of the floor.

“Oh dear. Severus, I do believe you’ve scared the boy.”  The concerned tone was at odds with the feral shine that laced the other man’s face as he too stepped forward and threw off his hood.  Silvery-blond hair spilled like liquid out over his shoulders, the high pointed features giving the aristocratic face a decidedly menacing edge.

“And this was to be the savior of the wizarding world.” Severus scorned.

An ugly look twisted Harry’s face.  “Snape,” he spat.  Growling, he turned towards his lighter companion. “Malfoy.”

“Wonderful!  Now that we’ve all introduced ourselves, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Lucius remarked dryly.

“I have absolutely no business with the likes of either of you.”  Harry clenched his fists.

“Au contraire, my pretty little tiger.  You are every bit our business.” He began to advance forward.  Harry took a hasty step backwards, crouching and flexing his hands instinctively.  His fingers closed on empty air and he swore inwardly as he realized his wand was nowhere to be found.  Duh.  Like they’d leave him with a weapon.  Eyes blazing with defiant anger met cold burning ones.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

Lucius gave him a look, while Severus raised a single eyebrow in the background, crossing his arms. 

“You cannot tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.  Oh, perhaps I’m speaking of the Dark Mark sitting there on your arm.  After all, hearing you beg for it was so lovely; none of us could How could we deny such a wonderful opportunity to see you put in your rightful place once and for all?  Perhaps you need a reminder

“I didn’t ask for that,” he denied vehemently.  He wasn’t about to give in to his fears in front of these men.  “I don’t know how I got here, but I did not ask for it.  I didn’t ask for anything from that bastard, and I’m not about to do anything you or he says, just because of some stupid tattoo.”

“Surely even you aren’t so much a dunderhead that you cannot realize what the Dark Mark implies,” drawled Severus disbelievingly.  “You are now the Dark Lord’s servant.  You will do his will, and you will do it without question.  You cannot fight it.  Surely you found this out during your initiation ceremony.”  He laughed at the rigid boy.  “You are pathetic, trying to fight him.  He always wins.

He paused to level an open stare at Harry.  “You are his servant, his property, and what he desires will be your command.  If you try to resist, you’ll just cause yourself more pain and trouble than it’s worth, in the end.  You belong to him.”

“If you think I’ll ever kow-tow to Voldemort’s wishes, you’re mad.”

Severus’ jaw clenched as a nerve above his eye started pulsing and his eyes glinted dangerously.  “Do not say his name.”

“Why not?  I’m not afraid of Voldemort.” Severus jolted the tiniest bit.  “Oh, are you?” Harry taunted, stepping out onto thin ice.  “I’m sorry, perhaps if you don’t like me saying ‘Voldemort’, you should just leave me alone, as Voldemort has seen fit to do, since Voldemort himself doesn’t appear to want to grace me with his presence.  You do know that prolonged exposure to what you fear is the best way to overcome it, don’t you?  Like ‘Voldemort’.  In psychology it’s called ‘exposure ther – ’”

Harry suddenly found his breath gone, pinned harshly against the rough stone of the wall and feet dangling inches above the floor.  He struggled to suck in a modicum of air, but with each effort his chest constricted tighter and tighter.  As each moment passed without a breath, he struggled more frantically, eyes wild.  They fixed on Snape, who stood with his stance rigid and wand flung out, focused on Harry.

“You.  Will.  Not.  Say.  His.  Name.”   Snape looked livid, spitting the words at Harry through clenched teeth.  His hair and robes began to billow gently as his magic was called forth in response to his anger.  “To you he is the Dark Lord, or at the very least ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’.”  He watched impassively while Harry’s eyes began to bug out from exertion.  “Particularly as you are now one of his servants.  He is your Lord, in every sense of the word, and you will address him as such.  Or you will suffer his displeasure at your insolence.  God help you if you ever utter such a disregard in His presence, for none will come to your aid.  You can be assured of that.”

Harry’s scrabbling hands slowly turned to involuntary jerks and twitches and his vision started to blacken at the edges.  Snape’s words seemed to echo hollowly in his head as he continued to futilely fight for a breath.  Snape pressed forward until there was but a hair’s width between their noses, grabbed Harry’s shoulders, and spat the words between them.

“Do you understand me, Potter?”

A hand landed on the black-clad arm.

“Severus.”

Black hair flared, Severus’ head whipping around to glare at the interruption.

“Enough.  We need him alive.  It would not do for our master to have sent us to fetch the boy, only for him to discover that we have taken away his favorite plaything before he’s even had a chance to play with it.”

Eyes glazed with rage suddenly cleared.  Severus abruptly stepped back and his arm jerked, snapping the spell.  The boy’s body dropped to the ground like a stone, shuddering and shaking on the frigid floor.  Harry lay there in a crumpled heap, unmoving, gulping in the life-giving air.  The sounds tore out of his chest, resonating harshly in the terse silence.  He felt as if he had just been on the verge of drowning, and he knew that had it been a few seconds more, it would have been too late.  The knowledge weighed heavily on his chest and he couldn’t tell if he was shaking more from oxygen deprivation or relief.

“Forgive me, Lucius.”  A faint murmur came from Severus as he stared at the puddle of limpness that was Harry.  A silver head inclined towards him.

“I understand, Severus.  Do not let it happen again.” he warned.

“It won’t.”  Lips thinned in anger.  “You.  Potter.  Get up.”

How the hell… I can’t.  Harry could barely summon enough energy to turn his head to look at the men.  Moving a limb was out of the question.  He tried to turn to the man and open his mouth to say as much, but ended up with his face pressed into the floor instead, an indistinguishable moan issuing from him.

“I said get up.”  He paused and Harry could fairly feel the vehemence whipping into his back and side.  “If you don’t, I will assist you.”  A smile curled in his voice.  “And believe me, you shall not like my manner of assistance.”

Harry tried.  He really did.  But the more he tried, the harder it seemed to get, until his arm was four inches above the floor and shaking so badly it blurred.  Severus let out a sigh and stepped forward, boots clacking.  Barring his teeth in a smile, he reached down to grab Harry.

“Nghho!”  A rush of adrenaline hit and Harry rammed his muscles into action, shoving himself away from the hands that had nearly killed him a few scare minutes ago.  He managed to haul himself to his feet before he collapsed against the wall, fingers spread wide to grasp it for dear life.  His legs shook terribly and breath spurted wildly as he fought to keep his feet, hoping and praying that the man wouldn’t come any closer.  Though he couldn’t say why, somehow he knew that he mustn’t let the man touch him.  He would not let Snape touch him.  Not after what he had done.

Deadly cold eyes narrowed and Severus dropped his hand, straightening.  He smirked at Harry.  Lucius folded his arms as he observed the both of them, noting the slight lessening of tension in the boy’s stature.  He gave a small smile and spoke to Harry.

“You are to accompany us.  Our Lord wishes your presence at our meeting this eve.”

Harry turned his attention to Lucius.  “Why?”

“That is for Him to know, and you to find out.  You are simply to come.”

He ground his teeth.  “I’m not going.  Not to him.”  A hacking cough ripped through him.  He leaned heavily against the wall, sagging a bit.

“I don’t see that you are in a position to have an opinion.  Our Lord wishes your presence; thus, you will go.  It is time for you to learn what it is to be a Death Eater.”

A wave of cold dread washed over Harry.  He steeled himself and put on a defiant face to look up at Lucius.  “I told you already.  I am not a Death Eater!”  Cough.  “And I want nothing to do with Voldemort, you, or any other Death Eaters!  I don’t – cough – want to learn – hack – how to be one of – wheeze – you!”  His eyes closed while he panted to catch his breath.  Merlin, shut UP, Harry!  You’re gonna kill yourself – either make them mad or choke to death, take your pick.

“We will escort you there.” Said Lucius, ignoring the tirade.  “Severus?”

Together the two of them approached Harry.  Each grabbed an arm on either side of him, and, ignoring his flinches and squirming, hauled him to the door.  Harry could feel that he would have bruises the next day from the way their fingers dug into his arms. Lucius reached out with his free hand and placed two fingers on the wall, moving to grasp the handle of the wooden door which had once again appeared.  Marching him out the door, Harry was blinded by the sudden darkness of the hallway into which they emerged, door closing and immediately fading away behind them.  The trio turned to the left and he was tugged along in their wake.  He sucked in a sharp breath at the words uttered from the darkness to his left.

“Now begins your training.”