He awoke to pain. It bloomed behind his eyes and radiated across the entirety of his head so that his only thought was to curl up in a tight protective huddle-but, he couldn't. He was being dragged across a cold, hard floor. Harry struggled to open his eyes against the immense pain and discovered that his sight was useless. There was a rough material sack covering his head and his hands were bound in tight rope above his head and seemed to be held aloft by magic alone. All the blood seemed to have drained out of his hands, they were numb but he could tell the ropes were not inclined to shift.

Harry's face was warm from the heat of his own breath and the lack of fresh air.

The spell was dragging him in someone's wake, Harry could hear the man's boots on the floor as he walked just in front of his captive. His mouth was dry, his lips were shut tight by magic. Learning that not only could he move his arms, he couldn't speak either, alarmed Harry. The feeling of being constrained and knowing that he was powerless scared him more than confronting a dragon. Taking slow breaths, he tried to gather his wits even as his shoulder blades burned with pain.

The sound of their progression bounced off the close walls so that it was all Harry could hear.

Harry couldn't even summon the strength to try and get his feet under him properly. Had his shoes come off, his feet would have likely been a bloody mess due to the way they were being drug across the ragged stone of the corridor.

There was a slight burning in his scar that Harry hadn't felt in quite a while. The dread pooling in his gut seemed to reach its limit, he felt close to losing the meager contents of his stomach as the pain in his head, and in a hundred other places, drove him to queasiness.

Harry closed his eyes tightly and tried to organized his thoughts, they were a jumbled mess of questions. The overwhelming sense that he was missing something rose above all the other questions. He was so confused, it was as if his mind was reaching for answers that they couldn't quite grasp.

How had this happened?

Thomas. The man solely responsible for his kidnapping-but, why did he want Harry? It had to be him leading the way, but where were they going?

He couldn't remember, or had he even been told?

There was something else, someone else that was in danger and Harry had to help her. Her name was...Elizabeth, and she had two children...and her husband was dead, or at least she thought he was in bad condition if Voldemort had kept him alive. If Harry didn't help them soon, the rest of the small family would be dead or horribly injured as well. Someone else had died-someone connected to Thomas-now the thought was gone. Or had it been there in the first place...what was wrong with him?

Trying to piece all the thoughts together made his head throb even harder and Harry gave up for the moment. This was what he knew; something had happened to him, something that made him feel uneasy and worried. He didn't remember going unconscious, just pouring Thomas's tea and waiting for the man to speak.

Now he was here with no idea where he was going or how to prepare himself. Was this the moment he'd finally die? No more rants about why he had to die, no more ceremonious gatherings...no more friends dying just because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. They were finally just going to drag him down a dark hall and cut his throat.

Their progression down the hall paused and Harry heard the person leading the way clear his throat, and then, someone was knocking. Three short raps on a door that must have been quite large for the sound was dull to Harry's ears.

There was a moment of silence, and Harry found that his breathing had almost stopped in an attempt to not miss any information he could use to his advantage.

A mighty and sudden creaking made Harry stiffen. It was not one door but two that opened before them, and even though Harry could hear that and knew that this was no small place they found themselves in, he was unable to see what lay beyond the doors and his inability to prepare himself had trepidation creeping into every pore of his being.

There was a murmuring from beyond the door that was almost a hum to Harry's covered ears. It was not a pleasant sound.

He had an audience and that could only mean one thing. The painful prickling in his scar began again, but Harry already knew where he was and just what lay ahead for him.

"Thomas," Voldemort's voice was silky and amused. "Back again so soon...if you continue this I fear I won't have any enemies left, and then who would I practice on?"

The group of Death Eaters were still, only the least intelligent ones making sounds of amusements. Most of them knew exactly who their Lord would use for 'practice'. You didn't become a devoted follower of the Dark Lord for the affection he would show you, he wasn't known for his kindness.

Thomas stepped forward, his polished shoes making sharp sounds in the quiet that surrounded them.

He spoke as he walked, his tone sure and steady, though his feet did seem to falter the closer he got to where Voldemort must have stood.

"My most magnificent Lord," he came to a stop and Harry knew he must have bowed low as his voice seemed to suddenly deepen. "Thank you for taking time to give me an audience with you, I'm glad you've called everyone."

"Not everyone, just the ones that wanted a hand in torturing you if this proves to be a waste of time."

Thomas was quiet as cackles and snorts of laughter came from a few of the Death Eaters. Harry couldn't sort out who was present, and he didn't dare think too much on the manner lest Voldemort catch a glimpse of his thoughts.

Voldemort smiled, and continued, talking to those that were gathered. "Eleven of my faithful servants remain at Azkaban, but not for long. They will soon be released and return to my side, for I am a generous Lord...and now, why are we here Thomas?"

"I wouldn't dream of wasting your time, my Lord, I only seek to serve you and aid you in the greatest way possible."

Harry could almost feel the Legilimency Voldemort was sure to be using on Thomas. He wanted to know the answers before he even asked, and did Thomas really have the power to deny him that?

"How exactly do you imagine that I require any aid from you?"

This was dangerous ground and Thomas muttered something nervously, Harry was dragged forward. If he hadn't felt so sick, he might have been embarrassed by the sight he probably made. Unable to put his feet underneath him, being partially dragged across the stone floor. The spell stopped and Harry was suddenly pushed down to his knees, and his arms were allowed to fall forward after what felt like hours. Harry inhaled sharply, biting back a cry of pain as his arms and shoulders protested at the abuse they had suffered. His breathing was immediately easier though, even through the pain and Harry closed his eyes in relief. Thomas placed a hand atop his bowed head.

"Forgive me, Lord, if I said something presumptuous. I only seek to please you, and what better way to do that than by presenting you with another annoyance to cut down as you wish?"

With that Thomas whipped the cloth off of Harry's head in one swift movement.

The Death Eaters were deathly quiet as Harry's dark hair flew up with the movement of the cloth, and then fell about his head again in an unmanageable mop. But even those that hadn't glimpsed the lightening bolt shaped scar knew who this was and many moved closer eager to see and hear what would transpire between their Master and the boy people claimed as a hero.

Harry blinked at the sudden change of lighting and the feeling of several unyielding eyes on his kneeling form. The room was large, just as he had suspected, the walls were lined by several gold gilded mirrors. Harry saw himself in one, kneeling on the floor looking filthy and exhausted and Thomas standing above him, proud and haughty.

He turned his head and glared up at Thomas who smirked down at him and laid a rough hand on top of his head as if he was something owned.

Harry fought against the magic that was holding him down and shook his head harshly to free himself of the blasted man's touch. Thomas let go of him, probably just realizing how dirty his captive's hair was and also so he could take a step back as Voldemort strode forward to stand directly in front of Harry and stare at him with emotionless red eyes.

"Mr. Potter, what an unexpected surprise." Voldemort's red eyes pierced him, and Harry looked back steadily. He felt the slimy touch of Legilimency on his mind, and felt images of how he'd come to be there pulled harshly from him. He didn't even bother to try and hide the images, there was nothing among his most recent memories the sadistic man could use against him.

"Nothing to say?" Voldemort looked from Harry to Thomas. "Do remove the silencing spell, since Harry doesn't seem to have the ability to do so himself."

With a quick gesture, the spell was broken and Harry found he could move his mouth again. His arms were still tied in front of him, and now he could see that the thick rope had rubbed at his skin around his wrists until it was raw and bleeding. Strange, they didn't even hurt.

Turning his eyes up at Voldemort, Harry prepared for pain. It was inevitable, just a matter of time.

"If you wanted me to visit you so badly, you could have just sent an invitation," Harry said, his voice was hoarse but his eyes met Voldemort's evenly even as he knelt at his feet, unable to stand.

The Dark Lord smiled thinly, he would have look amused if Harry hadn't been able to feel the anger coming from him. He was keeping his ire hidden, but it was there.

"As amusing as he is, I don't recall asking for you to bring me Potter," Voldemort said to Thomas, turning away from Harry as if he'd suddenly lost interest in him.

Tension now seemed to radiate off of Thomas, along with growing confusion.

"But...Master, surely you--I thought you'd appreciate that I did what others could not--"

Voldemort cut him off sharply, "I reward my helpers, Thomas. It was foolish of you, however, to think that I required it."

Harry tensed up even more, knowing what was going to happen next. He'd seen what happened when Voldemort was displeased.

Thomas barely let loose another syllable before Voldemort had his gasping on the ground from a lazily uttered, "Crucio!"

Harry looked away from where Thomas was screaming on the floor, even hating the man for all that he'd done, he knew the immense pain the Cruciastus brought on. The Death Eater's moved restlessly, some glad that the painful curse was not aimed at them, others gleefully watching the obvious pain the young man was in. Their reflections in the mirrors was like a black shifting mass and it was undeniable how outnumbered he was.

Voldemort ended the curse and walked back towards Harry, gazing down at him with an almost bored look on his snake-like face.

"Little Harry is no more a threat now then he was two years ago, I had reasons for keeping him alive, Thomas."

Harry felt Voldemort was bluffing, of course he wanted Harry dead. As long as Harry remained alive, he served as a reminder for everyone that the Dark Lord had been defeated once, he'd been reduced to a spirit. A pitiful shell that waited in the darkness for years.

Thomas was still shaking as he climbed to his feet and stood with his head bowed. "I...I apologize."

Harry glanced at his capturers bowed face, and saw the way his eyes were dark with barely hidden rage. Voldemort ignored Thomas and turned toward the gathered Death Eaters.

"I told young Harry, just a couple of months ago that he was foolish and that he would soon loose everything. Since we have Harry with us, even though I'll admit it was not something I had planned on, we may as well have a little fun." Voldemort turned to him, and his wand was in his hand. "What do you think of that, Harry?"

"I'm just wondering if I'll die of old age before you quit talking."

A Death Eater hissed at Harry's retort and moved forward, "Master, please, please let me be the first to make his scream-"

Voldemort held up his hand to silence the Death Eater, and Harry continued talking and fought the spell that tried to hold him down.

"No, honestly, I wonder if you even know the meaning of the word 'soon'. How long ago was it that you crawled your way out of a cauldron, like a potion ingredient someone forgot to squish thoroughly and told me, 'After tonight if they speak of you, they will only speak of how you begged for death,' You told me I'd die that night, Tom."

The spell released it's power over him suddenly, and Harry didn't question why as he stood shakily to his feet, the whole room watching him.

"Maybe you're growing forgetful in your old age, but it seems to me that I'm still alive, and when people speak of me, they only mention how many times I've walked away from you."

There was no mirth in Voldemort's gaze now, he could pretend that Harry was but an amusing nuisance, but Harry was learning that his words had power. The Death Eaters were listening, many had been there the past two times Harry and Voldemort had met. Maybe they were beginning to wonder why their powerful Master had let this young man live.

Thomas crept closer in the silence that followed Harry's words.

"Master, there is one person that Potter seemed to grow quite attached to in the short time I had him in my...care."

Knowing immediately what he was suggesting, Harry couldn't hide how his eyes widened. Voldemort was watching him, saw how his face seemed to drain of color and the facade of carelessness wilted.

"Ah, yes. His weakness of caring for people, love..." he said in a bemused and disgusted way. "Why, when Bellatrix sent Black to his death I heard reports on how many thought you'd go flying in after him. That would have made my life too easy, I suppose," Voldemort laughed and the Death Eaters joined in. "Let's see how much you care about Miss Murdock dying, and if that doesn't break you Thomas says she has two children. Their lives could have all been spared, if not for the stupidity of her husband."

Voldemort gazed in a mockingly regretful way toward the door in which Harry had been dragged through.

He should have prepared himself mentally, or not looked at all. Knowing that Voldemort was the lowest sort of being he'd ever come across should have told him what he'd see. He ruled with fear, and left reminders used to keep that fear present in his followers minds.

Even knowing this, Harry turned and immediately stopped breathing.

Stormy Murdock was suspended from the ceiling by magic. His eyes had been gouged out, his mouth left open and oozing a black substance. His chest, once strong had been torn open so his intestines poured out to trail to the ground.

"For all his talk, when the time came for him to die, no one was here to save him," Voldemort said as Harry turned away and tried to keep from throwing up. Green eyes met red and Lord Voldemort smiled again and then looked to Thomas.

"Bring her."
.................. 

Snape had told Draco to tread carefully. He hadn't told him to stop using the spell, he hadn't told him to get back to work on finding a way to murder Dumbledore...and even though these were things Draco knew he should be doing, he just couldn't make himself focus.

Somewhere, Potter could be dying, and if he was, then Dumbledore would probably lay down and die too.

Draco blinked and stopped his pacing as that thought rolled around in his head. So, why should he waste time looking through those dusty old books if someone had already taken care of the problem.

For some reason, he wasn't as happy with this 'solution' as he should have been.

Draco had cast the viewing spell five times since Potter had been stabbed by that Muggle, and if anyone asked him he would deny it and call them a liar. To his chagrin, he knew the spell by heart now. He had woken up last night dripping in sweat and images of blood, a large yelling Muggle, and a horrible peach colored bedroom still plagued his mind.

This was worse than when his favorite mystery author had ended his last book with a cliffhanger so large some readers suggested mutiny.

He had to know what was happening. Snape wouldn't bother telling him anything unless he asked, and Draco didn't think he could handle the man's cutting comments at the moment.

"Draco, if I didn't know you better, I'd almost think you were worried," he'd say, and Draco would have to grit his teeth and play nice. The respect and fear he felt for his Professor wouldn't be enough to stop him from saying something that would probably get him in trouble.

Scowling, Draco locked all the doors to his room and cast the spell, loathing himself for being so curious.

Lucius Malfoy would have been ashamed at the way his son gawked at the clear surface that appeared in front of him. Draco blinked and ignored the nasty comments that lingered at the back of his head, his father was in prison and couldn't see him now. Not for the first time, he was quite glad of this.

Just like the spell was designed to do, Potter came into focus and Draco was aghast at where he was. A momentary look around the scene showed just how much danger he was in.

The Dark Lord, tall and terrifying stood in front of Potter who was clearly weak and looked close to being sick. Behind them stood a multitude of Death Eaters, dressed in the same robes Draco had once found hidden in his father's study.

The room was lit badly from above, the candles provided light, but from where Draco watched, it was hard to see if Potter was injured or just sick at the lack of decor.

With a large bang, the doors behind Potter slammed open and in walked a man that couldn't have been much older than Draco himself. He was well dressed, his cloak of seemingly good quality and behind him followed a lady. She held her head high, not in a haughty manner, but in the same way Draco's mother did when other's whispered about what had happened to her husband behind their hands.

Her hands were not bound, she'd not been forcefully brought here but her eyes went straight to Potter, and Draco saw something flicker across her face, though he didn't know what emotion to associate it with. Hope?

Potter didn't look like he'd be helping anyone anytime soon.

"Elizabeth," the Dark Lord said. Draco held himself stiffly, and watched, a part of him terrified that somehow, his father's Master would sense the spell he had cast and turn red eyes on him, staring at him through the glass.

"I did not offer your husband a chance to change his allegiance before I allowed my Death Eaters to rip him apart...it seems a waste though to let you, so young and talented, go to the same fate without at least me offering."

Her face had a streak of dirt that went from her left temple to her cheekbone. Even dirt did noting to diminish the fact that she was lovely, her eyes were bright with intelligence. She stared at Potter, who looked back at her sadly.

No words were said between them, but Elizabeth turned her head towards the corner of the room, in the direction of the door she'd just walked through. The corner of the room was dark, that could be the only reason Draco had not noticed the mangled body that hung their facing the group gathered below.

She slowly turned back to Voldemort, her face was resigned but peaceful. She looked at him like he was a puzzle and shook her head slowly.

"You've become so immersed in your greed and desire to live for eternity that you've lost everything worth living for. You won't win, Voldemort. No one wants to serve someone who rules with fear."

"You are as foolish as Potter."

Elizabeth's eyes met Potter's and she didn't seem defeated, even knowing that she may soon die. Draco wanted to know how she managed to not look afraid when facing death.

"I don't think hope is the same as foolishness, you will fall, your reign of terror can only last so long."

"I grow tired of this," the Dark Lord snapped.

Potter moved as if to step towards her and the man next to him grabbed his shirt collar roughly.

"Let go!" Potter growled and moved to strike him even with his hands bound. A gesture was made and in seconds Potter had been grabbed by the arms, a Death Eater on each side.

"I should keep you around just for laughs," the Dark Lord said lazily as Potter struggled against the hands of his much larger capturers. "Worse than a Muggle, you're so helpless. I don't know how anyone could imagine you'd ever be anything more than a little boy with an astonishing amount of luck."

"Go to Hell, Tom," Potter spat.

Voldemort smiled at him, "I imagine you're luck has run out now, Potter. Crucio!"

The pain curse wasn't aimed at him but at the woman who fell to the ground and screamed, her body twisting as pain contorted her face.

"Draco!"

Draco jumped, his heart beating faster than it ever had. The voice had come from outside his room, not from someone in the glass, they were oblivious to his spying.

"Draco," his mother said from outside his bedroom, "Your door is locked...."

Could her timing be any worse? Draco ended the spell as slowly as he dared, Potter was still fighting against his capturers though it was obvious he wasn't strong enough to do any damage.

Teeth gritted, Draco ended the spell, his hand shaking slightly as he pocketed his wand. The last thing he saw was the Dark Lord's cruelly smiling face.
.................. 
It seemed to go on forever. Harry had lost track of how many times they used the cruciatus on her. The Death Eaters on either side of him had forced him on his knees, and his whole body trembled in frustrated anger.

Though the probably couldn't understand the reasons behind it, they knew that letting him watch others suffer, hurt him more than even being under the pain curse himself.

"Nothing to say now, Potter?"

Harry glared up at Voldemort from where he knelt.

"You're the one known for ranting monologues."

Red eyes narrowed. "I'll keep it short for you, crucio!"

It is surprising how quickly one forgets pain, you remember that it was awful, but not exactly how it felt. Pain was his life, all he knew was the all-consuming agony of hundreds of knifes plunging into him repeatedly. His head was going to burst from it, his back was surely going to snap from arching so far back...and yet, he did not scream. Not this time.

When the curse ended, Harry realized that he was lying on the floor. The Death Eaters had dropped him as the first spasm went through his body, but during the curse he'd not even noticed. His hands clenched and spasmed without his permission as he tried to re-gain his breath and get the world to come back into focus.

One thought rose above the pure relief that the pain had stopped...he had not screamed, not once. He weakly pulled himself up into a sitting position and spit a mix of blood and saliva on the floor closet to where one of the Death Eaters stood. He'd bit the inside of his cheek, but it didn't matter.

Voldemort dearly wanted him to beg for death, to scream until his lungs burst. Harry was determined not to give him that.

Roughly, he was pulled up until he was standing in front of Voldemort.

"As my Death Eater's know, I'm a good Master...I'll allow you the chance to tell your little friend goodbye. Go apologize, Potter, if it had not been for you, she might have lived several years more."

The Death Eater threw him down with such force that when his shoulder hit the ground, a great pain went through the entire length of his arm and Harry gasped.

Laughter met his cry of pain.

"Go, Potter, before I change my mind."

Pushing himself up with his uninjured arm, Harry climbed to his feet and took barely two steps toward Elizabeth's fallen body. The cruciatus slammed into his back and once again he was biting back screams as his whole world revolved around pain.

When it ended and laughter bounced off the cavernous walls, Harry crawled straight towards Elizabeth. Blood was smeared across one side of his face, his thrashing had busted his nose open and it ran down his face.

They let him reach her, laughing and sneering at him, calling out cruel words while their Master watched from the side.

"The Boy Who Lived doesn't look very good, I can't imagine how he'll look when the time comes for him to die...I think we will make it a slow death." Voldemort called and a great noise went up as the Death Eaters called out for Harry's blood.

A shaking hand reached out towards Harry as he drew close.

Elizabeth's eyes were open and they met his slowly and with great effort.

"I know you," she said, and then a contented look came over her face, "Harry...."

"I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely, the warm blood running down his face trying to fill his mouth even as he carelessly wiped it away.

"Sorry? By apologizing, you are admitting guilt, and you've done nothing wrong." Her hand caught his and squeezed it. A tremor ran through her body, a result of over-exposure to the cruciatus and Harry swallowed as her eyes shifted around the room confusedly.

"Elizabeth?"

Her eyes went back to him, and once again she looked content. "Oh, Harry....do me a favor, and take care of my cloak. It's always been my favorite, but I don't think I'll be needing it much more...it's old, and worn, the pockets have holes...."

Eyebrows creased with worry, Harry leaned closer as her voice grew softer.

"I'm not afraid, you know, tell them I wasn't afraid."

He was still trying to think of something to say in return when her eyes closed again, and this time, she didn't open them.