Hoplessness by Hopeless Wanderer

In Severus's opinion time was such a malicious thing. Some thought it would effect people, after all humans aged as the time passed, human's functionality was based on time itself.

In his point of view, time was just a name. Just that, a name that humans chose to let others knowledge their suffering. Most of the prisoners were like that, the potion master could hear them wailing, whimpering in their cells, wishing for death, hungry or thirsty based on the time they've been deprived of those things, saddened and broken down as each day passed and nothing happened.

They knew no matter how long they stayed, /Nothing / was going to happen, there was no

hope, since their leader was in one of those cells himself, at the tender age of sixteen.

The war was lost. Many died, and those who didn't, wished for death, of course the dark Lord was not that generous to grant their wishes, he had kept the major ones, Severus knew for a fact that Longbottom and the two older Weasleys were still alive, among seas of prisoners, lost and tortured and hopeless, for quite some time.

Everyone died, everyone who mattered anyway. Some would call him heartless, but he did not feel any remorse to mention that, out loud or to himself, the order of the Phoenix didn't exist anymore because there was no leader, no member rather... To fight Voldemort.

He was the only surviver who wasn't a prisoner, still in his post as a double agent. As dimwitted as some of the remaining order members were, they never blew his cover, either they hoped he would eventually save him, or they had been driven to insanity already.

He didn't care either way, he had learned to bend and flex and stretch in every situation, yes the world was coming to an end, yes people were dying left and right and yes, there was no hope. But that was the key wasn't it? Hopelessness.

Out of all of the manor's residence, well the dungeons anyway, Potter seemed to be the only one also coming to the same conclusion.

Members, wizards, even the minister, had begged for mercy the moment they were captured, begging for forgiveness, painfully aware of their morbid future. Potter wasn't one of them.

Severus grudgingly respected him, he respected Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy who never gave up. Apparently, until the day he finally died.

Severus had never seen a prisoner maintaining so much dignity and grace as Potter had, the way the child held his chin high, his shoulders board, and refused to be
touched, just scaring the deatheaters off with his all high and mighty look as if they were lower than him, the way he just sat in the middle of his cell, cross legged, his hands resting calmly on his knees and his eyes closed as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Snape was on guard duty more than often, specially by Potter's cell, seemingly because the dark old trusted him with the boy, rather than leaving him with Crabb and Goyl.

From the day one, Potter moved to the center of the room, clad only in his back and grey stripped prisoner robe, sitting rigidly for a whole day, and night.

Severus couldn't tell if the boy slept at nights still in the same position, or did he stay awake. But the shoulders never hunched, and the blank expression didn't either.

The first week, the boy was all by himself, for the first three days he refused the food and water, or simply didn't knowledge them as he sat on the floor with his eyes closed in concentration.

The deatheaters weren't allowed to touch him, or torture him in any forms, so they couldn't tell him anything or force him into eating. And Potter didn't talk with them anyways.

After Severus asked around he figured that Voldemort has ordered that himself, he had said, quite explicitly, that no one was to touch Harry Potter in any shapes or

forms and he was not to be treated badly, warning them that the consequences will be dire.

Harry seemed to know that as well, Severus could tell from the corky sly grin he gave the deatheaters as they brought him meals the second week. Tempting them, provoking them into action, most didn't out of fear, but the one that did...

It was a simple spell, well a dark simple spell, Nott was being a little reckless, breaking Potter's bone, his cheekbone. But still, the dark Lord killed him out right, not after breaking his bone too. All of his bones, before publicly humiliating and executing Nott and his family.
Severus thought it was extreme, but thought none of it.

Potter still refused food, but had some sense to pass his water to his next door cell, Severus didn't know how, but was certain of it. After two days the thirst and dehydration was too much, even for Potter and the boy finally gave in and drank his water. Still, not touching his food.

When wails of despair rose through the nights, or people screeched in pain and fear, Potter sat in his own little world, as if he couldn't hear the chaos around him, as if the screams were giggle and laughs and as if the deatheaters torturing them were clowns in funny outfits.

That was when Snape started to question the boy's sanity on some levels, the boy was so unpredictable, acting on his own whim. Starving himself, depriving himself

of sleep, and as much water as he could, not talking, not glaring at anyone, not responding to any sounds calling his name. (Some knew he was here) .

Into the week three, Severus figured out exactly why Voldemort didn't want anyone touching the boy.

He couldn't tell if it was day or night,seeing as he couldn't get out of the dungeons himself, but the weather was cold, the temperature fell much more dramatically,

since they were in dungeons, so much that the potion master wondered if there were any dementors around, or if this was a new public torturing technic.

Voldemort himself strode in the dungeons, his giant snake slithering in after him, the essence of terror filled the room abruptly. Every cry died on their lips, he even could see some of them scooting away in fear.

He kneeled respectfully, across Potter's cell. Voldemort merely passed him, opening the cell with a flick of his hand. Oddly, he could hear Harry laughing softly, he didn't dare to look at Potter through the open cell and he looked away, standing by the door as a guard as he was supposed to.

"Potter. Enjoying your... New arrangements?" the voice hissed sarcastically, sending shivers down Severus's spine.

"I really do, this cell is rather comfy, cozier than my room." his voice was husky, hoarse from the lack of use, and still as arrogant as Severus once remembered in his
potion class. He oddly felt choked up at the thought.

"I'm happy to hear that Potter." The voice answered back, and Harry smiled brightly, his disfigured face lighting up, not fazed at all by the man's brutality, or the snake tangling itself around his seated form.

"What happened to Nott? I haven't seen him in a long while it seems."

Voldemort chuckled ruefully, red rubby eyes gleaming in amusement. "Taken care of."

"That's good, he was being arrogant. Let me guess, massacred?" Severus was frowning, did the boy thought of this as some kind of joke? He spoke like he was speaking with his flew classmates rather than the dark Lord, able to kill him by a flick of wand.

"All of them. You don't seem scared."

"I'm not." the tone was honest, the boy truly had nothing to lose.

"You think you will die merely by starving yourself?" the monster gazed at the plates of stale food, some surrendered with rats.

"They make better use of it than I do anyway. I'll be dead in a few weeks." Harry said, nodding at the rats, filthy creatures devouring the stale food savagely.

"You are really out of your mind Potter." the dark Lord stated calmly conjuring a chair for himself.

"Why you're only figuring that now, why are you here?" Potter finally moved, waving the snake from his body, he sat on his knees, his green eyes hard and defiant.

"To have some fun."

"If you wanted /fun/ you would've tortured me in public where all of your minions could see us. Don't waste my time."

"Your time?" Tom riddle drawled dangerously, hissing rather than speaking.

"I'm writing a book." Harry shrugged. "In my here.." he tapped his forehead, grinning.

"Pathetic." the monster snapped, closing his red rubby eyes.

"Pathetic or not, I'm not about to tell you anything." he crossed his arms, and Severus thought the boy would be dead within seconds. He was wrong.

"I don't need anything Potter. Merely your screams. Crucio." Harry was on the ground writhing, Severus could hear the teen letting hisses out of his gritted teeth, his

body rigid, shaking and writhing on the filthy floor. Severus didn't hear any screams.

After two minutes, Severus wished the the spell would end, even though he wasn't the one under the curse. With the rate that Potter was going, there would be no teeth left, or he would suffer from brain damage, there was no out let.

Potter did not scream, he didn't even open his mouth, from the crook of the door Severus could see Potter's eyeballs moving around the sockets madly, blood running down his hands where he had undoubted injured himself. Unnerving.

Voldemort finally lifted the curse, eyes glinting in
amusement. Harry gassed for breath, spitting out a bloodied tooth out of his mouth savagely.

"Still stubborn I see, Harry. It's refreshing to see."

"For a sick bastard like you, a shower would be also refreshing Tom." Severus felt his eyes widen, and his mouth falling open, merlin he mouthed, then he clamped his lips together so Voldemort wouldn't hear him containing his laughter, merlin he did not remember having the urge to laugh like this in decades.

Oh god, Potter was really mad, talking to the dark Lord like that... He would be dead.

"Sectumsempra!" the snake like man cried out in rage, his wand trained on Harry's frail frame.

Harry cried out, more in surprise than pain it seemed, and doubled over.

"You will learn to show some respect Potter." The man hissed and Nagini lunged at the boy who lived, pressing down on his wound with her huge rough scales.

Potter muffled his cries in his arms, and lied on the ground twitching. His face exactly facing the door, and Severus's pitying gaze.

Potter smiled, blood dripping down his chin.

"That would be the day you dance in tutus." Severus smirked, Harry recoiled as the Snake hissed and tightened its body around Harry's bleeding waist.

Voldemort was basically spitting in rage, he stood up and walked to Potter, Nagini slithered away immediate and Severus turned his head away so he wouldn't get caught.

The potion master had heard numerous prisoners being whipped all the time, even when he wasn't on a full time spy job. But hearing Potter finally crying out as he was whipped again and again and again for hours.

He felt like crying, Severus recalled his every potion class with the child, undergoing his constant verbal abuse, always belittling him for what his father was, and now hearing the boy crying locked in his cell with a monster torturing him for hours, Severus wanted redemption, he felt like he should do something, end the pain.

Other prisoners seemed surprised as well, Severus could hear cries of out rage corrupting the dungeons as Potter screamed at the top of his lungs, no words, no pleading, just screams.

Other guards tried to calm the prisoners down, cursing them with crucios or hitting them physically, but their urge seemed too great for that it seemed, every time Potter screamed, other cells cried out in rage with him, Severus thought he would go deaf if he spend another second in the dungeons, but he couldn't get out.

Not unless Voldemort ordered him to.

The day was finally over. No one was more glad than Severus, all of the prisoners were knocked out, either from. The exhaustion or put under a sleeping charm.

Potter himself had passed out hours ago, blissfully lying in his own blood, barely alive but functional enough to survive a few days.

To Severus's dismay, that was not the only day, torture continued on a daily basis from that day on, for two weeks, Voldemort somehow had found out that Harry was passing his water to his next cell and had taken it on Potter himself.

By the end of the week, Potter was unrecognizable, a deatheater healed him just enough to last for another week before putting a tray in his cell.

The protests did not die out, every time Voldemort was in the cell, Potter contained his cries, knowing that the others would probably get the worst of it for trying to
defend him, but to no avail.

Every whimper echoed into screams of protest, yells in out rage and profanities. Every scream Potter let out was met with a grievous silence before the protests started again. The scene was disturbing and sad, even for Severus.

It got to a point when Potter pleaded, not for his own life, but for the others. He pleaded them to not to scream, even shouting at them to shut the hell up, he begged

Voldemort to take him away from these prisoners to torture, anywhere but here. Voldemort however seemed to like this new game, so never did put a stop to it, he

even let the door stay open while torturing Potter, so the sound could get out more effectively, it was pure sadism.

People died more than usual in those weeks, dying while protesting, yelling out curses and profanities to the dark Lord for torturing a child.

Three weeks after this chaos, it finally ended. Potter was supposed to be executed on a Monday morning that week, publicly beheaded, instead of using the killing

curse Voldemort was going to use a guillotine, of all things. Just to he sure that Potter had no way of coming back.

The news got around, soon everyone in the wizarding world knew of Potter's fate, about to be publicly executed on his birthday. Potter, as far as Severus knew,

seemed fine. Almost a little happy to finally die. That also week, no one came in to torture him, Voldemort was too busy and the deatheaters still weren't allowed to touch him.

Severus felt dread pooling in his stomach, when Voldemort asked him to bring Potter to the podium on the execution day. He walked to the cell with uncertain steps and opened the door. There Potter stood, as proud as he was nearly a month ago, every bit of skin covered in some sort of injury, his face completely disfigured, but the shoulders were still board, the chin was held high and the steps were confident.

Severus said none as he supported the boy's weight and pulled him over the podium, both ignoring seas of cries echoing through the streets. Harry James was to be executed in Hogsmeade's Main square, where every living witches and wizards were required to come and watch the child's beheading.

Harry stood near the guillotine , knowing this was his last chance to ever see or say anything. He and Snape were the only ones on the wooden podium, Snape securing his bonds on his hands, about to blindfold him.

"Professor?" he whispered quietly, his chapped lips barely moving. Snape paused, indicating that he was listening to the child's last words.

"I just realized something." the boy leaked his lips, and gave a small smile.

"Death must be earned." he shook his head as if sharing a secret joke.

"Potter?" he moved to his feet, securing the shackles with his wand.

"I did it. I earned one thing that he didn't." the boy looked like he would whoop and jump around in happiness. Several felt his heart clench, his own throat closing up.

"That comment was darker than my wardrobe Potter." he put the blindfold around Harry's eyes, tying them loosely. Harry hid his smile.

"The woman next to my cell. She's pregnant. Save her. Please, Severus." the boy's smile disappeared as he furiously whispered. Severus did a double take, inwardly
gasping as Potter used his surname.

Severus blankly looked ahead, guiding Potter to kneel down across the guillotine.

"I'm sorry Harry." He muttered, placing Harry's neck between the wooden lunettes and clasped them shut.

Harry smiled widely. "You said my name. I'm happy."

Snape stepped back, and looked ahead, he wished he could close his eyes, he wished he could tune out Voldemort's horrible laugh, he wished he could go back and fix everything.

The blade came down swiftly, Severus took a deep breath, cringing as the blade contacted with flesh, specks of blood flying around, and Harry's beheaded head rolling on the wooden stage.

Severus looked away as Voldemort picked it up, unable to look. He put every ounce of self control he had to keep the tears from forming in his eyes, to keep his heart from giving away as if he saw the gentle smile remained on
Harry's bloodied face. As if he was having his last laugh.

Time was such a malicious thing. The thing he now needed more than ever, to pay his debt to Harry, to fulfil his last wish.

He knew he would die, but so did Harry. Harry died with grace, then so could he.

Hope shined in his eyes as he left for the dungeons again. Eternal hope.