A/N: I am making no money or cash from this story in any way. The only way I am paid for pushing around J.K. Rowlings' characters is in my reviews (and flames), wink. So no prosecution, please – I'm only playing with these poor sods for my own amusement.

Anyway, here we are. First of all, I realised that you all needed to know what was happening to Harry behind the scenes of Part the First, as it wasn't really fully explained. So, here it is – this first chapter corresponds to Chapters 10 and 11 of Part the First. Don't read this if you are averse to yet another cliffie.

And, as is often the case, the title says it all.

Chapter 1: Torture and Travel

Harry awoke slowly, groggily, staring at the dank walls around him. Despair rose like a viciously caged bird in his chest.

It's true, then, he thought, dully, they – they have me…

With a silent sob, Harry tried to curl up into a ball, but his stiffened, stinging muscles wouldn't let him. What had his kidnappers slipped him the night before? He remembered dimly the slow, pleasurable walk in Diagon Alley, the glint in Ginny's eyes as she grinned at him, that last time, and –

The screams that heralded the attack. Harry shivered now, wanting desperately to huddle against the damp wall of his small cell, to protect himself from the sheer horror of the situation.

The Dementors had somehow come first, swooping down here and there on frightened, despairing passers-by trying to cast the Patronus, but not being fast enough, not being able to move fast enough, not struggling hard enough against the sharp, awful cold…He'd seen, fleetingly, two frightened adult wizards cornered, eyes blazing with hate and terror, screaming "Expecto patronum!" over and over, their two small silver guardians not being enough to stall the seven hungry Dementors. Ginny had taken action first, screaming the charm at them, a medium-sized silver blur moving – running to help. Prongs had followed soon after, only just managing to break the tight circle of doom round the two pale wizards, who had collapsed into the dust.

The Death Eaters had not waited long to appear. The cracks of multiple apparitions had enraged Harry, pushing him to dive into the fray erupting around him, snarling as his wand emitted random bursts of potent, destructive energy. The most borderline hexes and curses had flowed from his lips and his wand as he and Ginny fought back to back, and Harry recalled the surprise of seeing her red hair drift to the ground as a powerful stunner struck her – the way he'd shrieked curses at them all, until a sudden grab from behind – he couldn't watch them all – he couldn't – had distracted him, and enabled them to wrench his wand from his hands and cut the Order medallion from him, filling him with cold, fear, and something worse – betrayal.

Harry closed his eyes.

The last thing he could remember, as he'd growled with impotence and frustration, was the telltale jerk behind his navel.

No – no – portkey, he'd shrilled inside. Then, all too quickly, there had been shadows round him, congratulating themselves, and darkness, and pain as they poured a hot, scorching potion down his throat, into his writhing, fighting system…then begun to cast…

Clang.

Harry looked up, to see the cell door slide slowly open, admitting – of all the people – Romulus Veron, and his shining, sparkling cloak.

Harry's head spun with the magnitude of this betrayal.

"You," he said, simply, still trying to gather his wayward, twitching arms and legs together. "You – you're here." Harry's left shoulder gave a violent shake as he tried to stretch his arm to rub his – still clothed – left leg.

"Yes, Potter," Romulus smiled his sickly sweet smile. "I'm here." Harry forced his hands to stop shaking and trying to drag his uncooperative limbs together. He tried to think, but his brain came up with more flashes – Ron's frantic yell from far away as Ginny's pale body and impossibly red hair crumpled beside him, Ginny's bright eyes just that morning when they were laughing at something, something –

"You're here," Harry said, lamely.

The sizzle of spells entering his body, boiling his blood as Rabastan Lestrange laughed so happily-

He shook his head and clasped his hands – why were they sweaty? – together. "Should've expected you to be here," Harry felt himself saying absently. "Should've known…"

"No, Potter," Romulus' smile turned into a faintly nasty grin. "Dumbledore should have known." The short figure crossed over to Harry's trembling, sweating figure and bent gently over him, reaching out to his dark hair. "You shouldn't have known, Potter," he continued, his voice soft and strange. "After all, you're just a boy – just a young, foolish boy who takes it into his head that he has some sort of foolish responsibility for this all…" He bent lower over Harry, tracing greedy fingers over Harry's damp face. "So very, very young…"

"Romulus," a smooth sneer came from the cell door, halting Veron's thin fingers as they began to drift over Harry's chest. The tall form of Lucius Malfoy appeared, leaning against the open door jamb.

"Lucius," the shorter man straightened, withdrawing his pale, thin fingers from Harry's torso, the hungry look in his eyes making Harry feel sick to his stomach. Suddenly, it all came together in his head, the way Veron had always looked at him, the constant favouring in lessons, the way he'd kept touching Harry in that stupid detention…

He wants me, Harry thought wildly to himself, disgust and fear mixing together in his stomach, rising to choke him –

"You do know the Dark Lord said he was to be untouched, don't you, Romulus?" Lucius drawled, the sneer lingering on his pale face. Veron straightened fully, his face flushing as he glared at Malfoy. Harry felt a shudder working its way through his limbs as he closed his eyes, refusing to torture himself by watching this standoff, the spectacle of this horrible man trying to – to claim – his body –

"What the Dark Lord does not know…" Romulus began. Lucius cut him off sharply.

" – he will find out, Romulus," Lucius straightened, gesturing at the now embarrassed traitor. "Finish your little…greeting, and go and wait with the others. His time will come…"

"I find that hard to believe," Harry found himself saying, "When I'm unchained, Malfoy." His body was shaking harder than ever, making him stutter his words, but he had to try, had to say something, anything…

"Oh, the Dark Lord needs no chains, Potter," Lucius drawled, a cruel smile drifting across his face. "It's an astonishingly simple potion…if you set one foot out of your cell without a Death Eater, you'll strangle to death." Watching the colour drain from Harry's face, he continued. "Why – with a proper escort, you'll be choking and shaking all the way to the Dark Lord's throne. By the time you face him, you'll be begging for the antidote…" Lucius' eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, drawing level with a smirking Romulus. "I've half a mind to test the mechanism myself, unless you ask…nicely…"

"I'd rather die than beg," Harry said, coughing hard as spasms shook him even harder. He turned his eyes on the still reddened Romulus. "I only hope to take you with me, you stinking traitor." Romulus' face brightened, and his high colour receded remarkably.

"Really, Harry? And how would you do that?" he chuckled throatily, hungry, disgusting eyes raking Harry's frame again. "Cough on me for my treachery, I suppose…" The cold look in Harry's eyes gave him pause for a moment, as Harry, through sheer will, forced the shaking to stop.

"Conjure a knife, like you taught us, Romulus," Harry slurred, a cold smile coming to his lips. "Bleed you dry…" His eyes narrowed, glowing softly with power. "Watch you kick around…in the dust…" Harry's eyes shut slowly, as if he was sleepy with pleasure, savouring the gruesome sight in his imagination.

Unseen by Harry, Romulus' face turned red, then white, again, as he took one menacing step towards the weak body before him.

"Don't worry, Romulus," Lucius' warm, aristocratic tones sounded again, filling the hollow cell. Harry felt a foot kick him in the chest – then lower – he doubled over with pain, limbs awkwardly splaying out, unable to come together, his mind dazedly wondering what would happen to him now…

Lucius' voice came closer, even as a hand reached in and touched him there…

"I'm sure the Dark Lord will let you have your fun when he's quite finished…" Malfoy's voice emanated from just above Harry as he went still with rage and disgust and shame as he heard the heated breath near him quicken in anticipation. The hand receded finally, filling Harry with an almost tangible relief, aftershocks of disgust and fear running through him.

"I do believe you're right, Lucius," Veron's deep voice came again.

And, as footsteps sounded, moving away, shutting the door on his pain and shame with a hard clang, Harry knew one thing for certain.

He would die before that – that man touched him again.

And, God willing, he would take him with him, into the cold darkness that swirled round him warmly, invitingly, that would finally soothe his pain…

He awoke abruptly, heat flaring nearby.

A hard kick in the shoulder got his eyes open, and another two raised him to his knees. His scar burnt with just bearable agony.

It was time.

Harry opened his eyes, and dazed, pained green locked with gleeful red.

"So," Voldemort said, savouring the word on his nonexistent lips. "We meet again, Harry,"

The Cruciatus curse hit him from somewhere behind, but did not bring screams to his lips. Harry simply accepted the pain, using the outright agony to fuel the rage within him.

So much, so much this thing had taken from him…

Harry closed his eyes.

Hours had become days, and days, weeks, and still he sat in the cell, wasting away. He remembered the first time Voldemort had brought him to the gathering place, remembered when he'd still screamed from the pain of the Cruciatus, from the debilitating agony of the unnamed blood-boiling curse the Lestrange brothers favoured. At the end, Voldemort had stepped forward, almost negligently tossing Harry's wand between his freakish fingertips.

"You only need to ask, Harry," the creature before him crooned, twirling the holly wand in the air with his yew. "All you need to do is beg me for the right to duel once more, and it shall be yours…"

Harry refused, bloody lips forming a soundless "no". Voldemort laughed, and twirled his own wand at him lazily.

He supposed now, dully, that he'd thought his defiance would make some kind of difference…

"Rodolphus, you've had your turn – out of the way – " Avery's smooth voice, made harsh with pleasure, intoned the slashing curse twice. With each incantation stabbing pain like never before implanted itself in Harry's torso again and again…

"Since you resist…Imperio…"

Again, the pleasurable mist took hold. Harry's keen mind slashed through it, breaking the spell almost immediately, defiance giving him strength.

"No…never…"

"Very well," Voldemort laughed, tossing aside the holly and taking up the yew. "Crucio."

And Harry had screamed for a long, long time…

"Will you beg, Harry?" Voldemort asked, almost boredly, not even bothering to rise from his throne.

"The Dark Lord grows impatient, Harry," Romulus' soft, deadly voice came to him, even as those awful hands touched him again. "I have made my pledge – he will grant me the use of you, if you do not yield – "

Harry reached into his core, seizing the rage that had grown in him since that night, that night that that man had finally…Harry's mouth formed into a silent snarl even as Bellatrix Lestrange's lilting laugh could be heard behind him.

He'd bleed Veron tonight, if he had to do it with his own hands…

"The boy has been…used, Master," Severus Snape's cold voice rang out in the gathering.

"It was my will, Severus," the Dark Lord replied, carelessly, even as the horror threatened to suffocate Harry then and there, and the pain where there should not have been pain –

"Heal him, Severus…"

Harry remembered that moment acutely…the sordid memory lurched to the forefront of his mind even now –

"You TRAITOROUS BASTARD!" Harry screamed, throat raw, seeing Severus Snape's familiar frame before his unsteady eyes for the first time.

This betrayal hurt so much, so much –

"Be silent, Potter," Snape spat, flicking his wand.

My father, Harry thought, dazedly - my own father…

The now-familiar pain of the Cruciatus curse ran through Harry's limbs, but he continued to scream the words of malice, as much in hope as in fear and betrayal, as he wondered, in the depth of his heavily occluded mind, why, why no one was there to save –

Harry's stomach clenched in anticipation, even as the cold, comforting weight of the tiny Order medallion beat against his skin. Thank God he'd been wrong about Snape – he'd have gone mad at this moment, this very moment, as he felt the blood seep from crevices and cuts all over him…

"Potter!"

The harsh whisper pierced through the dull haze of pain in Harry's mind, giving him the strength to curl himself into a ball – the extra torture hurt less that way –

"Potter – drink this – "

Harry drank, not caring what it was. He'd just be hurt more either way – what did it matter if it was his father that hurt him – it'd just be one more kick, one more curse, one more drop of blood –

"Stop rambling!" Snape's voice now held an unheard-of note of sheer hysteria. Hands grasped his shoulders, eliciting a violent reaction from Harry –

"Don't touch me – don't touch me – " Harry muttered, increasingly louder, trying to scramble away from the hands –

"Wonder what the Ministry would say now – if they could see their little hero, bleeding in the dust…" Lucius Malfoy's drawl, heightened with anticipation, hammered at his ears. "Wonder what they'd say if they could've seen you begging last night – "

The Death Eaters roared with laughter, as Lucius affected a high, frightened tone. "Leave me alone – please – I don't want it – please – "

Harry kept his eyes closed, holding on to the feeling of the cool metal sticking to his chest, trying hard to think of water, trying not to think of Lucius and Veron and their hands –

More pain seared his nerves, and Harry began to claw at his filthy rags, at his violently itching skin – to make it stop –

"Look at him," Lucius Malfoy's voice jeered, close by. "I bet he wants it now – "

Harry tried to stop clawing at himself, willed himself not to cry out as Lucius approached him again, laughing…as those hands touched him once more, Harry willed the shreds of the last memory back to the front of his mind, reminding himself that this would be the last time…

"Harry, please – listen to me – "

The struggles paused for a moment, then continued. Suddenly, something cool and hard touched his skin. Panic flared through Harry's brain, nearly erasing all thought as his struggles and grunts intensified, the memory of what Veron had promised to do to him just after he'd been dragged into his cell filling him with abject terror. Snape muttered some incantation, and Harry's body stilled, magically. Harry began to cry, the tears coming from the well deep within him. It drained dry abruptly, turning his weeping into dry sobs as Snape's hands ran over his body, preparing him for who knows what.

"Drink – please – "

Harry drank again, his heartbeat starting to slow. Whatever Snape wanted to do to him would be done soon – nothing really mattered anymore –

"Harry, here…" Harry felt the cold object being bound to his neck, "…that is an Order medallion keyed to you – yours was – it was removed in the attack." Snape's arms abruptly encircled him, lifting him up, forcing him to open his eyes. "Listen to me, Harry – the next time Voldemort tells you to – to beg, do it – try and fire off one of those confusion spells you practiced in my – my dungeon – I'll – I'll try to reach you and give you a portkey – it'll activate when you say the password " help"… Harry? Can you say that?"

"Yes," Harry ground out, somehow, hope welling in his chest against his will as Snape's arms tightened painfully.

"Forgive me – there is no other way – Albus needs me – I could not – I was – I could not help – "

"Go." Harry could hear the footsteps approaching; his hearing had been honed by several days of waiting and listening – for those soft, crisp footsteps that heralded the return of that – that man…

Snape squeezed him fiercely once more, now spitting out words of abuse and rising, barking a mild curse that Harry started to scream hoarsely to –

And was gone. The voice and footsteps that spoke laughingly to Severus belonged to – to Lucius Malfoy, who had returned to check on their famous captive, and perhaps to touch him like he and Veron had last night –

Harry shielded the medallion with his body, and began to collect his rage and pain, began to stockpile every shred of magical energy he possessed for what he now hoped would be his final confrontation with the Dark Lord.

For now, he allowed himself to hope.

The cell door shut, and he could hear footsteps walking away, and the betrayal he'd felt on hearing his father's voice lessened a little, as he realised Severus had persuaded Lucius to wait for the evening's 'festivities' instead…

"I'll do it," his voice rang out, even as the pain ceased, as Lucius' vile hands and limbs withdrew, as his limbs twitched. "I'll beg…"

Voldemort's low laugh cut through the jeers of the Death Eaters.

"Beg, then, Potter – and do not waste my time," Voldemort chuckled, red eyes gleaming with delight. "Or perhaps you require – persuasion, yet – " He flicked his wand towards a delighted Romulus, who stepped forward into the midst of the gathering, unbuttoning his robes, shaky with desire –

It was then, that Harry finally snapped.

Using his Occlumency to focus the roiling torment within him, he willed the sharpest knife into existence as hard as he could. Even if he died tonight, trying to escape, he wanted to slice this man wide open, and watch him gurgle his blood away into the grey dust beneath…

Amazingly, something more fell into his weak hands, made strong by rage.

The rubies on the hilt…the name…

The sword of Godric Gryffindor.

The whole clearing was still for a moment of absolute shock, at this boy, this foolish, abused, suffering little fool, who had –

The sword whistled through the air, Harry under it, Romulus Veron's scream rending the air even as his blood began to pour from the strange wounds that the sword and Harry's whispered, venomous spell left gaping in his body…

"Crucio!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Abrumpo artii!"

"Diffindo Magnus!"

"Surreo Sanguia!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The cries of spells laced the air, as Harry turned in desperation, sword in hand, calling to his wand, the wood responding to his very thought.

"Accio wand!"

And all hell broke lose, as the eleven inches of sturdy holly met its rightful wielder. Voldemort lost sight of his nemesis as the boy slashed through a circle of his followers as they assaulted him randomly, and began to stun and kill them in his acute need to reach the boy.

"Stand DOWN, you fools!" he shrieked, trying to find the boy's magical signature among the sizzle and slash of spells. Finally, in reckless need, he roared, "FINITE INCANTATEM!" and all came to an abrupt halt. "Where is he?"

Harry's rage kept him going for one long, arduous mile, the magic of the sword seeming to coat him through and through, hiding him so he slipped easily round the thrashing Death Eaters that seemed, for a long time, to be everywhere – slashing through one that got in his way, even.

He'd no idea where he was, and was rapidly ceasing to care. The sword was still light in his hand – magically, no doubt, he thought dazedly, avoiding tree roots and uneven humps of earth as he continued to run through the sparse forest that seemed to surround Voldemort's new headquarters.

Snape didn't reach me, the thought thudded in Harry's brain again and again, as he slashed and ducked and ran. He didn't reach me in time…

Harry tried to regulate his harsh, uneven breathing, as a giant stitch formed in side. Digging his fingers into his torso, he encountered slick blood. He ignored it, his weary, shaky legs pumping as leaves slashed at his pale face. What to do, what to do –

His right hand began to ache – perhaps – the sword –

He kept on.

On and on and on…

The stitch grew, adding to the flickering, sharp pains and hollow aches that struck everywhere. Harry slowed, his breath becoming a desperate rasp, as he forced himself to keep going.

There had to be shelter somewhere…

Harry slowed to a walk, and then to a stop, his body burning. Tears pricked his eyes – god, even his eyes hurt – as he tried to will his tired system on, and found that he could not. He tried to slow his rough breathing, tried to gather the strength to go on, but could not.

His right hand tightened compulsively round the sword hilt.

"I won't go back" he spoke into the frigid night air, gripping the sword even harder. "I'll k-kill myself first…"

The medallion, something within him urged. Mind blank with exhaustion, he reached for it, and wondered why the cool metal burned hot; wondered what he was supposed to say to activate it; felt tears prick his eyelids once more as it grew cold again.

"Help me," he whispered brokenly to the surrounding forest. "Help me…"

Master?

A low hiss seemed to come from nearby. Harry shook his head violently, fearing he'd gone mad –

Master – you spoke – you need help –

A cold coil slithered slowly onto his foot, startling him. Harry dropped his gaze – a snake –

Relief like nothing he'd known for the past hour blossomed through his chest. Harry bent painfully, nudging the snake; picking it up when it wove its almost invisible head sluggishly in his general direction.

I need help…Harry hissed softly, holding the snake closer to his warmth. Is there – shelter – big enough for my kind – nearby?

The snake sluggishly wound round his left arm, its dark head glittering like a large jewel in the dim light. Harry, lowering the strangely light sword of Gryffindor, began to shiver in cold and exhaustion. Maybe I didn't say that right – maybe the snake didn't understa –

There is shelter close by, came the snake's sleepy hiss. Follow the path you have chosen, master – you will enter a clearing – there is an empty farm there. It paused. Will that shelter you well?

It will, Harry replied, his voice rough with hope. He began to move, calling, though he did not realise it, on the magic in the sword to keep him moving till he found the farm. He walked for what seemed like hours, stumbling over tree roots and weakly slashing against the branches in his way. Suddenly, there was fresher air before him – he'd reached the clearing.

Harry gritted his teeth as he looked about. The farm, as the snake – now asleep – had told him, was truly empty, consisting of a small, run down stone cottage. The medium-sized barn beside it was even worse, the wooden walls rotted through in places. But the barn was closest, and Harry's extra magical energy was nearing its limit, and he knew he had to cast some wards if he wanted to remain alive and unnoticed till he could move properly again, so he turned toward it, feeling the snake's coils rustle sleepily, moving higher up his arm, tongue flickering out to taste the air of the hollowed-out clearing.

This is the place, it announced unnecessarily, slithering farther up his arm until it met the jagged cut on his left arm, where it stopped, tongue flickering out to taste the tainted blood seeping from the cut. You are hurt, the snake said, sharply, even as Harry slipped into the barn through one of the bigger holes in the nearest wall, ignoring the small swell of magical energy that seemed to escape him then. Master, it hissed again, as Harry dropped his wand shakily on the floor, now using the sword to construct the wards he needed.

I am hurt, Harry said slowly, dropping to his knees, wishing for something to lay down on. I will sleep now.

Good, the snake remarked uncertainly, not really understanding why the human was now gathering rags to itself.

Harry, for his own part, thanked whatever power that had smiled down on him this evening. The rags were an insufficient bed at best, but he needed to – to sleep –

The world spun around him, and the last thing he remembered was the snake hissing in alarm.

"The medallion!"

"He's alive – "

"No location – "

"Snape said he'd given it to him – "

The crack of apparition temporarily stilled the mad rush of words and bodies in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, but only for a moment.

"Professor Snape!"

"Harry – "

"BE QUIET!" Snape roared hoarsely through the room, silencing the pale, frightened faces that confronted him. "He escaped – " The room exploded into words and hands reaching for him – "Wait – I could not reach him – they haven't found him – must tell – must tell Albus – must tell him – " The cries of dismay that filled the room shook the walls, Mrs. Weasley's wailing, the loudest of them all.

"Oh my god…"

Snape, exhausted and disheartened, could not speak even as more Order members pressed forward, demanding of him what happened, and where was Harry….

"Severus!" Albus Dumbledore's stern tone penetrated through the babble of voices. He pushed through the frantic group surrounding Snape. "Tell us – tell us what happened – "

"He called a sword – out of thin air – struck Veron – it was madness – I couldn't reach – couldn't reach – " Severus Snape, for what was, perhaps, the first time, began to gulp, hyperventilating in his frustration. The whole room stilled in horror and dismay at the shaking, broken spy before them. "Albus – I gave him the medallion – I did – "

"And you did well, Severus – "

"NO!" Snape's vehement denial cut through the deafening silence like a knife. "You – you don't understand – he's gone – he – he – Potter – he wasn't – wasn't there…" Snape began to shake again, harder, beginning to sound incoherent. "Dark Lord – couldn't find – the Dark Lord – couldn't find – Potter – sent us – search the forest – the Hollow – "

"Calm yourself, Severus – you did your best…"

"The Hollow," Severus Snape repeated, even as a sleeping draught was pressed to his violently shaking lips, as hands forced him to a sitting position in one of the kitchen chairs, "Must search – Hollow – follow the – the medallion…"

And, as Severus Snape, Death Eater and Order spy, descended dizzyingly fast into the encroaching darkness, the last thing he heard was the voice of Dumbledore, as he examined the vibrating medallion on Snape's chest.

"Harry – Stone Hollow – "

Unnoticed by Snape, the whole room, once again, went still.

A/N:

And so begins Part the Second of the Saga of Tobias Snape. As you may easily have guessed, this part of my saga is going to answer a lot of questions – from the last few chapters of Part the First, at the very least, to begin with.

I'm already modifying Chapter 2 – which is going unnamed for now, as I make a few decisions and tidy up the chapter I had prepared. It should be up later tonight, or tomorrow morning, at the least. That said, I'm sorry for the cliffie. ;) All in good time…