Harry sobbed against the dungeon wall, eyes closed, animal sounds of pain escaping his mouth as his newly healed wounds were reopened, and scabs ripped from their seams. Blood leaked down in rivers from his back and onto the floor in a disgusting puddle that made bile rise in the back of his throat. He should have been used to it by now, Harry thought, a fog crowding his mind as he floated away from the pain. In the beginning he had fought the fog, thinking it some magical trick to enslave his mind, but now he took solace in it each time his jailers returned. In the fog he was bodiless, separated from his injured self who was screaming outside the fog, there was no injury, no feeling, no pain. Harry's arm was not his arm when he was in the fog, it was an arm that he could not truly feel.

Bellatrix's cruel and sadistic laughter echoed through the cell as she whipped him, one of her milder techniques of torture. Perhaps she had had a happy day, and that was why she went slightly easier on him. Harry knew he was not the only prisoner, when first imprisoned he had stumbled past many cells, but since he never heard nor saw another living soul his whole existence revolved around himself and Bellatrix.

He mused that his whole world was in this cell, he knew every inch of it. He knew how many cracks there were on the ceiling. He knew where the smudges of faeces from past inmates lay. Harry was dulled to the smell, he barely recognised it any more, and what had once set him coughing now felt like clean musky air that he cherished, especially on the days where they practiced water torture. That sent a thrill of fear through him as he remembered when they were training new Death Eaters in that technique, Harry had almost killed himself from his abstinence of liquids altogether after that experience.

He knew where he slept, which wall was his favourite, the rough texture of unpolished stone under his fingers. Harry recognised the warm spot of the room, from when his blood would cool and no longer feel pleasant to his always cold body. He knew where his crapping corner was, and his eating corner. Harry even had a little recovery spot which was just lovely, it smelt a little better than the rest of the cell and he could swear there was some sort of green field on the other side of the wall, something beautiful, he was sure. Sometimes he would lift his hand to the wall and feel the life that pulsed through the wall.

He knew where he could hook his fingers into the wall grooves, which had been made from scratching fingernails until there was something to hold onto. He also knew where he could trim his nails.

Harry shivered slightly against the wall, the sharp edge of the whip coming down on his back with a sharp smack. Bellatrix giggled in that insane, but ultimately endearing way of hers,

"Giving up so soon, Potter?"

Harry thought he might be in love. Her wild and tangled locks, the black tufts that reminded him of Sirius, the slightly mad sheen that reminded him so much of Luna's. Bellatrix wasn't that bad, she called him Potter after all, and sometimes she would come and listen to him while he screamed. Well, sure, she was the one to cause the screams but, everyone needs a hobby.

Sometimes he cleaned, which let him fall into a deeper fog, like the one he had used at the Dursleys. Sometimes he would sweep all the blood into the faeces corner, and brush himself off. Harry could feel the skin tearing as he cleaned himself, but it was better to control the hurt in his opinion, only sometimes. He didn't want to loose too much blood, or he would faint...

Harry didn't like sleeping. The terror of falling into that world of unknown, of tasting the good in life only to have it dredged away when he woke, the beautiful feel of soft skin and clean clothes, the smell of fresh food, the warmth of other humans, the feel of when his eyes opened and he knew it had only been a dream. The despair that fell down, the concrete in his limbs as he knew it was not real, the days when he drifted into not knowing what was real, if he was real, if Bellatrix was real.

Harry moaned,

"I love you Bellabeeeeeee."

Bellatrix snarled, hitting the whip down even harder, so hard that his weak and empty bones lost their support and dropped him into the warm puddle of blood. She was feisty, it was one of the things he liked about her, she wasn't afraid to speak her mind or hurt him. Bellatrix had curved hips to die for, crinkled skin with character, a wildness, a freedom that hung about her like her bloodied blouse. She was incandescent in the small light that she brought with her when she tortured him.

Bella brought the light, without Bellatrix Harry was only in darkness, she was his world.

"I'll show you what love is."

She howled, and Harry felt a mad smile grace his lips as she brought out her wand. God, he loved her wand. She showed him that magic was real, that Harry had magic. She was a reminder of everything he loved in the world, she was his bridge to the outside. He didn't know what he would do without her.

"Crucio."

She whispered malevolently, a red streak of light coursing across the room and hitting Harry square in the back. He shuddered against the ground as the pain started, and felt his mind leave him once again. Harry was one with oblivion, was staring into the sun, the pins and needles that pushed their way into his skin were not there, they were only figments of a dream. He flew, out with the birds, bright light of the meadow surrounding him, the blue of the sky. Dark magic coursed through his veins like a drug as the pain overwhelmed him, he saw through the fog a man arching with pain and screaming. Harry lifted a hand from the non being up to his throat and felt the scream underneath it, it thrummed like a bee's buzzing, it hummed with the vibration of pain. He basked in it, the insanity of his world, of the pain.

His strings were cut and he fell down, back to the ground of the cellar. Bellatrix smiled as if she had not just gifted him with the most vibrant of feelings, it was a cruel smile with many shark teeth. Harry could hardly believe he had despised the red light at first, his old self had not been thankful for the light, he had not loved the feel of adrenalin in his veins, of the clouds, of the bright light that flooded his senses like the pain.

Harry was still shivering on the ground as she twirled the wand in her fingers. He knew Bellatrix was as drunk as him, he could see it in her eyes, the mad Sirius sheen, the biting of her lips. Harry knew she wished to moan with the feeling of magic, just like him. There was a darkness that surrounded her, an aura that Harry could not escape, something he feared, but there was also a passion, a burning, a light.

"Fugit autem mendacium." Bellatrix whispered with an evil smile, and Harry screamed as he felt the spell hit.

"No, please no, anything bu-"

Harry pleaded to his merciless captor as she grinned a wicked grin. Sleep, his worst enemy.

…...

Soft sheets caressed his skin, and Harry was instantly on edge. He kept his eyes closed, not wishing to live through this again, but knowing it was ultimately pointless. Harry would always eventually give in, and then the torture would start again. He tentatively rubbed a hand over his arms, feeling the absence of the ever present scars, the smoothness that simply did not belong. There were no markings of his love, no carved incantations and words to bring him to reality.

He opened his green eyes slowly, the wrong feel of the bed he slept in making him nauseous. Harry let himself take in the grand expanse of the room, he was in a double bed, hangings pulled around him, a warm presence that he could not deny lying next to him. All his pains were gone, they were phantoms in his mind, a ghostly ache that no longer existed. Harry sat up slowly, fearing the worse as he let his body relax.

The non being, as he liked to call it, was the worst torture he had ever experienced. It was a light spell that cast the person into a deep sleep, into a land of dreams, of pleasant dreams that were so realistic that they would eventually believe them to be true. Bellatrix would cast this spell only on special occasions, to bring Harry to believe that he was not a prisoner, but a free person with a good life.

Harry always fell for it in the end, but today he just couldn't deal with it. He wanted to pretend even if it would tear him apart later.

He lifted his hand, so as to brush hair from his face, when he came across the I must not tell lies scar. Harry paused, so he was at least fifteen, and his life had occurred to a similar experience. He looked up to the hangings registering the colour red, Griffindor, okay. He felt uncomfortable with another person in the bed with him, but ultimately let himself relax. For now he would enjoy the non being, seeing as it ended to soon.

A faint part of his mind screamed that it was the non being making him feel so at ease. Harry squashed that voice down, used to stray voices, but ultimately not wanting to deal with it now. Sometimes the non being allowed him to fall into the trap himself, and sometimes it sped things along.

"Potter?"

A rough and husky voice murmured, and Harry turned himself until he was looking straight into the silver eyes of Draco Malfoy. There was fear in them, but also excitement, as they gazed into the depths of the naked body across from them. He said,

"Hi there."

Draco let out a surprised laugh, his voice softened, but a slightly pale sheen to his skin that let Harry know that his 'enemy' was simply hysterical. He asked, as if in shock,

"Did we...?"

Harry lifted up the sheet, seeing his naked skin, before burrowing his head back to the surface. He murmured,

"It would seem so."