Pettigrew couldn't believe his own luck. As the family rat he had obviously been right in the middle of every discussion and could glean from it that the Dark Lord had indeed returned. Never having changed back into his human self for more than 10 years, his Dark Mark had lain dormant. He had been planning his escape from the Weasleys and return to his Lord, but he knew his master too well. He knew that crawling back to him on his hands and knees would not get him any favor with the Dark Lord. So being supposed dead until the right opportunity presented itself, was the wisest decision he could take, even Pettigrew understood that much.

But who would have thought the best opportunity would present itself in the form of Harry Potter, practically stumbling into his arms? Scabbers had been trying to find scraps in the kitchen - the twins liked to hide their vegetables instead of eating them - when he heard the floo. Curious who would be flooing in at this time of night, Scabbers had gone investigating and been faced with a smile of fate - Harry Potter, alone, defenseless, ready to grab!

Pettigrew did just that and spun on the spot. Harry immediately emptied his stomach on the walk, while Pettigrew drew up the sleeve of his left arm and sent a summon to his master. In return his arm started to burn and with a whimper, he grabbed Harry again and apparated a second time. Harry felt too disoriented, being apparated twice and for the very first time in his life, that he didn't realize Pettigrew falling to his knees or the person he was standing right in front of.

'My Lord, my most gracious Lord. I wish to return to your side and to convince you of my sincerity… Look at the present I brought you!'

At that Harry looked up and felt his insides turn cold. Voldemort in all his horrible glory - red eyed, snake faced, slit nosed - stood right before him. Harry felt his knees weaken but didn't disgrace himself by falling to them.

'Harry Potter.' Voldemort said, his voice trembling with euphoria 'Indeed, Wormtail, a gift that will spare you the pain you doubtlessly deserve.'

Wormtail trembled on his knees, his head bent low.

'Leave me with my guest, Wormtail. I will summon you, when I have need.'

Wormtail was gone with a plop and Harry almost wished he had stayed, whoever he was. He couldn't suppress the shudder that went through him, when Voldemort tipped his chin up with his wand and smiled a satisfied, cruel smile at him.

'Oh my sweet child, do not fear for your life. You are far more precious, more important than that. You will stay hidden, the apple of my eye, until I have use for you.' Voldemort purred 'How fortunate to have finally gotten to you. For in the Chamber I realized something. You are so important to me, that I cannot tell you how I shudder from remembering, that I was putting your life on the line before. To think I had almost harmed myself!'

Voldemort stepped even closer, leaning down to speak into Harry's face directly 'You see. That day I lost everything and marked you'

He moved his wand to Harry's forehead and pushed his fringe away to show the lightning bolt scar. 'That day I was stripped from my body to live the miserable life of a restless spirit – as I told you before, I believe – but I realized this was not all! My soul had been split as well and a part of it resides right here.'

He traced the scar with the tip of his wand, smiling cruelly 'So, my precious, darling child. I will keep you safe and tucked away. Which of course does not mean…' Voldemort leaned closer to Harry's ear and whispered 'unharmed.'

Even though Harry was trembling from fear, he scratched up his Gryffindor courage and turned his head just enough to spit directly into Voldemort's ear. As satisfying as it was, it was certainly a horrible mistake. Voldemort shouted an enraged 'Crutio!' and Harry lay writhing, screaming on the floor.

'I see.' Voldemort said after lifting the curse 'I see, there is still a lot to learn. But make no mistake. You will learn, my pet. You will never defy me again.'

Those words were the starting shot for a whole series of tortures. With the help of magic, he would be healed in an instant, only to be tortured again. He felt his mind splitting at the agony. But the Death Eaters saw it as a game to bring up one reason or another and have the Dark Lord inflict pain over pain on the small thirteen year old. They would leave the wounds for the night, to fester and throb, to sting and burn, so he could barely sleep. The next morning they would come back and heal them, only to inflict worse right afterwards.

Harry had hoped in the beginning, he might be able to glean some information, but all he learned was that one Death Eater was worse than the next. They all had their preferences as to how they liked to see him suffer. That would be their reward for a successful mission. Voldemort didn't let anybody lay a hand on his precious Horcrux, he inflicted the pain himself, taking pleasure in the cruel demands of his followers.

Burning, cutting, scratching, piercing, breaking – there were many ways to hurt. To Harry's immense relief none of them rivaled Julian's means and Voldemort didn't even get the idea. Harry thought that maybe he was too inhuman to have those desires any longer and as he wouldn't let anyone else so much as touch Harry, there was no way he was going to offer him up as a price to be taken this way.

Harry learned fast that keeping still and enduring the torture with minimum of fight was the fastest way to end it. But whenever they found a new way to draw screams from him, he would fight, rebel, struggle – and that would earn him more pain, more healing, more pain.

Worse of it all was the dwindling hope of being saved, of getting back to Hogwarts and his friends. Suddenly he felt like there could be nothing better than Hagrid's bone crushing hug, or Hermione's relieved smile, or Ron clapping him on the shoulder. Mrs. Weasley's tender, warm hug. Safety, Security, Stability. He craved it now more than ever before in his life. He couldn't cry out for his parents, because they would never come. But who else was there to cry out to?

If only someone could hear him scream.

This went on for several agonizing days, until rescue appeared out of nowhere. It was because for the first and only time Voldemort had afforded one of his followers the right to play with him directly. Bellatrix had earned it for her undying loyalty, he had said. But that put Harry in a position of not being easily healed by spells alone. It would require more than that...

It was the only way. This is what Snape kept repeating to himself. But he knew that he would blow his cover and rescue the boy even if it was only for his overwhelming sympathy for the child's struggles and the enormous guilt he felt over losing him. As he apparated and bent his knee before his master, he already knew why he was there.

'Bella has been playing rough with our guest.' Voldemort remarked casually 'Bring your healing potions, we are running low, and administer them. Bring him out afterwards and let's have a round together.'

Snape suppressed the shudder that came up at these words.

'Ah, you will need Nerve Restorative, Burn Salve, Dittany – a lot of that –, Calming Drought, Sleeping Drought and Blood Replenisher, I believe.'

'Yes, Mylord.' He disapparated and leaned a moment on a tree, trying to gather his thoughts. That list alone was gruesome enough to turn his stomach. It had been days since the boy had been taken, what had they been doing to him? On shaky legs he filled up his bag and apparated back to Voldemort's hideout. He was led to the cells, where he found the small form of Harry Potter, huddled in a thin grey blanket, shivering on a mattress. The guard locked him in with Potter and left. Snape went down on his knees and whispered 'Harry?'

The boy flinched as if whipped and shivered harder. Taken by a burst of sympathy, Snape reached out and stroked the messy, dirty hair. The boy stilled under the touch and whimpered 'Please. Not again, please.'

Snape closed his eyes as he felt actually dizzy with rage and hopelessness at the boy's begging.

'Harry. It's me, Professor Snape. I have brought healing potions for you. Won't you take them?'

Harry finally looked up from his blankets, his eyes desperate 'Please, no more. Just let me die, I beg you!'

Snape stared into the young eyes, then leaned forward to whisper 'I am here to rescue you, Harry. I will take you back, understood?' Harry stared blankly at him. Snape reached out again and stroked Harry's cheek. 'It's going to be alright. I promise, everything will be alright. Take the potions, so you're fit enough to travel.'

Harry looked down at Snape's other hand, that held a few vials. He reached out a trembling hand and took one. His hand was trembling so badly, Snape had to guide it to get the potion where it belonged. While Harry took the orally administered healing potions, the potions master cleaned his wounds and poured Dittany over them. He grimaced at the deep, half-healed cuts, some infected. There were burns on the heels of his feet and palms and other sensitive, much used areas. Snape had to mend a couple broken and bruised bones. Soon Harry locked good enough to stand on his own.

'Very good.' Snape murmured and helped him up 'Come now. And remember: I will have to play a part until the right moment presents itself. Until then I cannot reveal the truth or we will both be killed. Play along!'

They soon came back to the Dark Lord, Harry staggering hopelessly behind Snape.

'Ah, you have restored him pretty well' Voldemort said, delighted with his little toy. Mechanically, Harry stepped forward, his head bent low, the messy hair hiding his features 'Leave us! Severus, you stay.'

All others left the room, while Voldemort started circling Harry like a predator. Taking advantage of Voldemort's distraction, Snape began incanting a spell in his head. It was staggeringly hard and tiring to do it silently, but he had no other choice. He felt like blacking out a bit, when he finished it and felt the anti-apparation wards stumble and fall. His eyes found his master, who wasn't suspecting a thing. He was slowly stroking the hair out of Harry's eyes and whispering into his ear. Severus could see the boy tremble and shudder at those words, delivered in a bad parody of a lover.

'He is ready for you, Severus.' Voldemort said finally, giving him a wicked grin 'I believe he didn't break after Bella's game, but you deserve as well as her for bringing him back to... ah, normal.'

Snape stepped forward, unsure of what Voldemort was asking of him to do.

'I have been saving one particular humiliation for the boy, my erstwhile downfall.' Voldemort mused 'I think you are the right choice in this. Rape him.'

The last words were thrown out casually and Voldemort took a mildly interested pose on his throne, as if it was really no big deal. Snape felt like ice was rushing through his veins as he stared at the boy's back, trembling like a leaf. He came up to him and laid his hands on his shoulders. Harry whimpered. Gulping, he turned Harry around and then looked over his head to his master, who was looking on interestedly. Voldemort gave a lazy wave of his hand as if to say 'Get on with it'. To his surprise however, Snape encircled Harry's shoulders gently with his arms and embraced him. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and in an instant plunged his mind into Snape's. But too late.

The last thing Snape heard as he turned on his heel, was the furious scream of 'Avada Kedavra!' intended for his own body. But the green jet of lighting missed him and hit another target, eliciting a furious shout of rage and frustration from Voldemort, that Snape didn't hear any more. As he landed directly in his living room, he lay the limp form in his arms on the floor.

'Oh no, oh no you don't!', he growled as he put his fingers to Harry's throat. No pulse. 'Come on, Harry! Come on!'

But as much as he tried to calm and concentrate on a pulse, there was none. The skin beneath his fingers, still warm, gave no throb of life. Harry Potter lay dead at his feet. In his shock he didn't register Poppy and Albus storming to him and checking Harry for themselves or trying to revive him. He didn't hear their hopeless shouts and effortless attempts at rousing the young form.

At last Snape pushed himself from his stupor and pulled them away from the dead child on his floor. He gathered the boy in his arms and pressed him to his chest. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes and he didn't feel ashamed, when they flowed down his cheeks.

What had this child gone through all his life? All kinds of abuse, so much hatred and pain and suffering. And his last moments were torture, his last memory of angry red eyes, delighting in his pain. Severus sobbed and wept for the young boy in his arms, who had had to give his life without meaning and only to satisfy the thirst of a mad monster. He felt Albus lay a hand on his arm but didn't react to it. He eased his arms a little to look down on the innocent face, the closed green eyes.

He brushed the hair from his forehead and kissed it. It was still so warm, the child still felt so alive. His lips were caressing soft skin, he could almost imagine blood rushing through the boy.