Chapter Warnings: Rape and torture/violence.
Chapter 29
For Severus, the last week of the school term was agony. He resorted to downing a shot or two of vodka every night to keep himself from doing something stupid, like stalking out the school and Apparating to the hospital to free his son. He took his bad mood out on the students and teachers alike, knowing he was causing talk as people wondered why he was so bothered by the mysterious disappearance of the Boy Who Lived, but he couldn't help it.
They knew where he was. The night Harry vanished, Black and Lupin turned up at Hogwarts to report that Harry and Potter hadn't made it back. Severus knew instantly where they were. The emerald pendant was the same temperature then as it was when Severus answered the Dark Lord's summons during the school term.
"Lucius," Black snarled when Severus reported it in Dumbledore's office, kicking a chair and running both hands through his hair. "That fucking bastard came for James again, and took Harry too."
"Or Potter's working with him," Severus had suggested, and got punched.
Severus still considered it a possibility, no matter what everyone else believed about Potter's innocence. He'd never been convinced that Potter escaped on his own, even if Lucius and Voldemort claimed otherwise. He knew his own trust within the ranks was still slightly suspect, even after his work this summer, and that titbit of information was something Voldemort would certainly keep close to the chest.
Dumbledore refused to let Severus go to Harry, and no one else could. Voldemort's hospital was as well protected against outsiders as Grimmauld Place was.
"He hasn't summoned you," Dumbledore said as Severus paced his office. "He's not expecting you until term ends. You'll only risk your position—"
"Fuck my position!" Severus yelled. "My son has been kidnapped—again!—and you want me to do nothing."
"Voldemort seeks to recruit him," Dumbledore said sternly. "He will not kill Harry yet, and you cannot walk in there and simply let Harry go. You will only get the both of you killed."
Severus snarled, stalked out, and went to find his vodka.
Finally term ended, with the Weasley twins setting off a motherlode of fireworks that rained the school with leaflets for their new shop in Diagon Alley. Only Flitwick's hand on his arm stopped Severus from setting them all on fire; Minerva looked as if she wanted to do the same thing. He knew she had a bottle of aged firewhisky in her office that she'd been saving for precisely this day. Under different circumstances, he'd have joined her in celebrating the final departure of Fred and George Weasley.
As it was, the moment the last carriage left the school grounds and the students were officially no longer his problem, he ran for his rooms to fetch his mask, tucking it into his pocket as he returned to the castle front doors. Most of the teachers were gone, and someone had done Filch the courtesy of clearing up the remaining Weasley Wizard Wheezes leaflets, but Dumbledore stood just outside the front doors.
"Be careful, Severus," he warned as Severus passed him. "Don't risk your position if Voldemort shows no sign of killing Harry."
Severus said nothing, just ran for the gate, pulled on his mask, and Disapparated.
The emerald pendant instantly grew hot against his chest when he appeared outside the hospital, and he put a hand over it, relishing the warmth piercing through his robes, then went to the small meeting room to give his usual end of year report. Voldemort asked for information from Hogwarts and on the Order, and wanted to know everything they knew or suspected about Harry and Potter's disappearance.
When he was done, Voldemort didn't immediately dismiss him.
"Remove your mask, Severus."
He did so, slipping it into his pocket.
"I'm sure that you've been wondering about the well-being of your son."
"No, my lord."
"No?"
"I care no more for him now than I did last year." The words made him feel sick, but sounded plausible. Lying was a skill he perfected a long time ago.
"Do you think I killed him?"
"No, my lord."
"Such a rapid response. Why so certain?"
"You wouldn't let his death go unnoticed," Severus said. "Even if you didn't want public acknowledgement that you did it yourself, you would still want everyone to know he was dead."
Voldemort laughed softly. "I forget sometimes how observant you are, Severus. How clever. You are right, of course. Tell me, does he know you belong to me?"
"He knows I am marked," Severus said slowly, cautious. "Like others he believes I am repentant, a spy for Dumbledore."
"So much for a child to know."
"His godfather would have him know everything. There was no keeping it from him."
"Then perhaps it's time he knew the truth."
Severus dared a glance up, but Voldemort's face was inscrutable.
"He's in the fourth bedroom on the left, on the top floor. You may see him."
"My lord, I don't care to—"
"Go see your son, Severus," Voldemort said, and Severus snapped his mouth shut. "Tell Lucius I wish to see him, and to bring Mr Potter."
He bowed, and turned to leave, only for Voldemort to call his name again.
"Keep your wand away from young Harry."
"You don't wish me to hurt him?" Severus asked, wary, uncertain. He could feel the tell-tale flicker in his mind of the Dark Lord reading his thoughts.
Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. "Hurt him if you wish, if it would convince him to join me, but keep your wand out of his reach."
So he knew about Harry's ability to cast wand magic even when chained. Severus covered his disappointment with confusion. "Is he not under magic restrictions, my lord?"
"It would seem those are effective only so long as he doesn't have a wand," Voldemort said, "which I'm sure you weren't aware of, or you would have told me."
"Of course, my lord. I'm stunned to hear it."
For a moment, neither spoke or moved. Severus focused on feelings of shock and surprise, hiding memories of Dumbledore's cuffs on Harry's wrists, not thinking of how they'd almost killed him.
He wasn't worried about that now. Voldemort would murder Harry long before any magic restraints could drain the life from him.
Voldemort turned away. "Go."
Severus left. Outside the meeting room he stopped, took a deep breath and let it out slow. This felt like a trap, but he had to go; Voldemort would hear if he didn't. He would just have to be careful about what he said and did.
He headed for the stairs, but paused along the way when he heard sounds from the common room. He peered through the partially open door before pushing it open and entering. Lucius sat around one of the tables with Bellatrix, Antonin, and Yaxley, playing cards. Potter sat at the other table, bent over a bit of parchment and writing with more intensity than most of Severus' students. He glanced over at Severus and they exchanged glares, then Potter flicked his gaze to Lucius before returning his attention to the parchment.
"Severus," Lucius greeted. "How nice to see you. How are things at Hogwarts?"
"If the Dark Lord hadn't forbidden it, I'd kill Madam Umbridge myself."
Bellatrix and Antonin shot him slight frowns. Yaxley smirked. Lucius didn't look up from his cards.
"I sympathise, but she is useful to our cause at least."
"The woman's not so bad," Yaxley countered. "You just need to know how to deal with her. I raise two seconds."
"Call," Antonin said. "Shouldn't she be gone from Hogwarts by now? The curse on the Defence position and all that?"
"So far she seems to have defeated it," Severus said with a grimace.
"Give it time," Yaxley said. "By law, the school year lasts from the first of September to the thirty-first of August. Something disastrous might happen over the summer."
"One hopes," Severus said. "Lucius, the Dark Lord wants to see you and Potter."
Lucius swore. "Time to wrap this up. What's the pot at?"
"Seven seconds," Antonin said.
"Then I raise three seconds," Lucius said, looking to Bellatrix.
"Call," she said, and looked to Yaxley. He glanced between the two, looked down at his cards, and sighed.
"Fold."
Antonin did the same. Bellatrix smiled. "Prepare to pay up, Lucius," she crowed, and laid down a straight flush.
Lucius sighed and stood. "The best player wins, of course."
Bellatrix drew her wand. "So glad you agree."
"As such, I hope you're prepared to pay, Bella," Lucius said, and laid down his own cards—a royal flush. He drew his wand. "Now will do, I think. Bella first?"
She snarled, but stowed her wand and moved away from the table. Severus stepped aside, clearing a space around her, and Lucius aimed his wand.
"Count from Severus," he said, and then: "Crucio!"
Bellatrix went down screaming. Severus counted out thirteen long seconds, and then Lucius ended the curse, looking satisfied.
"Better luck next time," he said to Bellatrix, who glared up at him, but couldn't speak through her gasping breaths. "Who's next? Preston?"
"Seven seconds?" Severus asked as Preston moved forward with gritted teeth. Antonin confirmed and Severus counted it out as Lucius tortured Preston, then did the same for Antonin.
When it was done, Lucius stowed his wand, looking smug. "Come along, James."
Potter set down his quill and stood, obediently following Lucius out the room. Severus left the others clearing up the game and headed for the stairs, climbing them steadily despite an urge to run up them. There was no one in the upstairs corridor; Severus approached the fourth door on the left slowly, glancing around as he reached for the handle. He paused when he touched it, taking a deep breath to brace himself for what might be inside, then pushed it open.
His breath caught. The room was empty of furniture, leaving only Harry to draw Severus' attention. He was curled on the floor, wrists shackled, clothes gone. His skin was littered with bruises and cuts and—Severus swallowed down bile—a bite mark. He was clean of any fresh blood, but shivering all over, and when the door shut behind Severus he jerked his head up, looking around with terrified eyes. He didn't relax when he saw who it was, and that broke Severus' heart.
Severus went forwards, crouching by Harry, who pushed himself into a sitting position, knees tucked up to his chest. He flinched when Severus reached for him.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"Help me," Harry begged. "Please. I'm sorry I was a brat to you, just please get us out of here."
"Don't apologise to me," Severus said, hating the sound of his voice. Then: "What do you mean 'us'?"
"Please."
"Harry, you said us. Who else is there?"
Harry shook his head. "No, you said he cared. You said."
"Said who cared? Harry, what are you talking—" He broke off with an angry sigh, remembering that Harry heard voices.
Harry didn't answer. He drew back, out of Severus' reach, and hooked his chained hands over his legs, hugging himself into a tighter ball. "You should go," he said in a quiet voice, dropping his gaze to his knees. "If he catches you here…"
"He said I could see you."
Harry glanced up, wary. "He wants you to torture me?"
"I don't know," Severus admitted. "But I won't. I will not hurt you, Harry."
"Even if he tells you to?"
Severus hesitated, looked around. Was it a trap? Even if it wasn't, the room was undoubtedly monitored. He hadn't seen the Assistant since he came in the house. If they heard him say something traitorous…
"It's okay," Harry said, resigned. "You have to do what he says. It's not like you ever cared for me anyway. Just… you're not allowed to use the Cruciatus. Only he does that, when he comes to ask if I'll join him. But it makes me seize and he doesn't want my mind to snap." He laughed then, a bitter noise that made Severus want to hug him. "As if it's not already."
"I will not torture you," he said, quiet but firm. "Not ever."
He drew his wand, and tried not to take it personally when Harry flinched. He waved it and conjured a simple robe straight onto Harry. He twitched as it settled onto him, but looked at Severus with gratitude.
Then he snatched Severus' wand away, pointed it at his face, and said, "Stupefy."
Harry pushed Snape's unconscious body aside, but before he could do anything else, Snape's wand leapt out of his fingers. It flew across the room and smacked into the suddenly appearing hand of the Assistant. His invisibility slipped away and Harry tensed, watching him warily, then couldn't help a flinch when the Assistant waved his hand, expecting pain. None came. Instead, Snape groaned, and Harry looked down to see him waking up. He blinked blearily a few times, then sat up abruptly.
"Harry!"
Harry glanced over at the Assistant and Snape whirled, got to his feet, stood between them.
"What now?" he said to the Assistant, who shrugged.
"Nothing. No, really. My orders were very clear. If you did or said anything that construed a betrayal, I was to lock you in a cage. If you tried to help him escape, I was to lock you in a cage. If you gave him your wand, I was to lock you in a cage. You did none of those things, so I've no orders to do anything to you."
He threw Snape's wand gently into the air and it floated across the distance to him. Snape grabbed it, instantly aiming it at the Assistant.
"I wouldn't bother. You can't hurt me, Severus."
"Why don't you help him when you have before?" Snape asked. "Or was this always your end game, to have him tortured to death instead of killed quickly?"
"I have my orders. I obey them," the Assistant said quietly, then cocked his head slightly, and said, "Bella is coming. You should probably leave now, Severus."
Harry cringed away, eyes going to the door. "Is Frederick—?" he asked, voice shamefully weak, scared.
"No," the Assistant said quietly. "He's got his favourite punching bag back, he'll probably not come by for a little while."
Snape spun, looking down at him. Harry couldn't meet his gaze. "Frederick Nott?"
Harry shrugged. He didn't know the man's last name, he just knew that he liked violence that left physical marks, even if it didn't make Harry scream like Bellatrix's spells did, and that he liked Harry to fight when he raped him. Harry didn't know who was worse. Bellatrix was viciously creative in finding ways to hurt him, in making him scream and beg for mercy even without resorting to the Cruciatus Curse, but there was something unspeakably awful about what Frederick did to him even when it hurt less.
"Son of a bitch," Snape said, voice trembling with anger. "I'll fucking kill him."
"That," said a voice just outside the room, "sounds like the words of a traitor."
The door swung open and Bellatrix stepped inside, smiling that crazy grin of hers, wand twirling between her fingers. Harry scrambled back until he hit the wall. Snape turned on her, barely getting a shield up in time to deflect the curse she threw. He retaliated with one of his own, and then they were duelling.
Harry had never seen a real duel before. He'd watched students lob spells at each other, but that was nothing like this. Snape and Bellatrix rarely spoke, spells coming silent and fast, sometimes jets of light, sometimes conjured and transfigured objects, sometimes nothing until a shimmer rippled through a shield charm.
Meanwhile the Assistant stood in the corner, watching it all and doing nothing except to catch Harry's eye and shake his head when Harry considered creeping around the duellers to the still open door.
Bellatrix went down suddenly, crumpling to the floor and dropping her wand. Her arms and legs bent in, her hands curled in at odd angles, her jaw clenched, and she twitched, apparently in pain but unable to scream. Harry could guess what was wrong with her because she'd done the same thing to him once—a spell that made all the muscles abruptly tighten. She'd never done it as long as Snape had, though, and judging by the wild look of panic and fear in her eyes, that was a good thing.
A spell flew through the door. Snape barely deflected it in time, and turned defensive as Antonin slipped through the door. Antonin cast a counter-curse on Bellatrix, but made no more attacks on Snape, just stood prepared to fight.
"Why haven't you caged him?" he asked the Assistant angrily. "You were ordered to stop him if he betrayed us."
The Assistant shrugged. "Duelling between us isn't treachery, it's just a bit of friendly rivalry, and Bella started it. He hasn't said or done anything questionable, nor has he tried to help Harry escape."
"He stands in our way," Bellatrix said, struggling to her feet on shaky legs. "He swore to kill one of our own. He's a traitor!"
"If Fred raped Cissy I'm sure you'd swear to kill him, too. You can't blame Severus for getting defensive about family."
"Wait, what?" Antonin said. "Family? To Harry?"
"He's the kid's dad, you idiot," Bellatrix said, shooting Antonin a disparaging look.
Antonin looked between Harry and Snape. "He—really? Don't look at me like that," he added when Snape and Bellatrix both rolled their eyes. "No one told me, how was I supposed to know? Someone could have mentioned this when I was talking to him, I could have done a better job convincing him if I'd known Snape was his dad instead of Potter."
"I still wouldn't have joined," Harry said quietly, then wished he hadn't when Antonin and Bellatrix both looked at him. Antonin hadn't hurt him—had in fact come once to heal him a little, presumably so Bellatrix and Frederick didn't kill him—but Harry had no trust for anyone with a Dark Mark on their arm.
Snape jerked his wand suddenly in a sweeping horizontal motion and the other three Death Eaters were knocked off their feet. He followed it through in a turn towards Harry and flung a spell at him, but a shield of blue burst up in front of Harry before it struck.
"I really wish you hadn't done that, Severus," the Assistant said, and then Snape was gently levitated into the corner where the bed used to be and a row of bars curved around in front of him, and his wand flew to the Assistant's hand. The others stood up, all except Harry.
"Fetch the Dark Lord," Bellatrix ordered Antonin, who left the room. Bellatrix went to the bars, grinning through at Snape. "I knew this day would come eventually. I'm going to enjoy punishing you, traitor."
She pointed her wand through the bars. "Crucio."
Snape went down screaming. Harry covered his ears, but it didn't help much.
"Enough, Bellatrix."
She stopped the curse and stepped aside as Voldemort entered the room. Snape stood up, looking out at Voldemort. Harry lowered his hands, wishing he could melt through the wall behind him. The constant ache in his head spiked, as it always did when Voldemort came in the room.
"James Potter told me you were telling Dumbledore more than I allowed, but I confess I'd hoped he was mistaken. I'm disappointed in you, Severus. Lucius was convinced you wouldn't risk yourself in a vain attempt to help your son."
"Lucius doesn't know me," Snape said.
"I don't think any of us know you or where your loyalties lie. Do you even know yourself?"
Snape said nothing. Voldemort didn't seem surprised, but it was so difficult to tell.
"You will watch your son kneel to me, Severus, or you will watch him die, and then you will pay for your treachery." He turned to Harry then. "Will you join me?"
"No," Harry said, cowering away from him. It did him no good.
"Crucio."
"I don't remember what it feels like," Harry said a day later. He lay with a blanket pulled over him, his shackles once again charmed to the floor. Snape was across the room, also lying on the floor with a blanket.
The Assistant had come by earlier with the blankets, and dispelled the cage, replacing it with shackles on Snape's wrists and ankles, with a chain from his ankles to the wall. It reduced him to a shuffle and forestalled any escape attempts, but left him able to reach the small bathroom connected to the room.
Not long after he'd left, Bellatrix came by. She put an Itching Hex on Harry and charmed his shackles, leaving him writhing on the floor, trying to scratch an itch that'd never go, while she put the Cruciatus Curse on Snape, mocking him between short bouts. Only when Harry was sobbing and screaming for mercy did she finally remove the hex and move onto to other tortures.
When she got bored of them, Antonin came by. He healed Harry's injuries but didn't do anything to take away the pain. He tried to talk to Harry like he had before, but Snape had snarled at him so viciously to go away that he left again.
And then, as always, Voldemort came by at sundown to ask if Harry was ready to join, and use the Cruciatus Curse when Harry said no.
"Don't remember what what feels like?" Snape asked, not bothering to look over at Harry. He was still twitching occasionally, curled on his side and hugging himself.
"The Cruciatus. I know that it's bad and I think my body remembers because I get really scared when he comes in, but I don't actually properly remember what it feels like 'cause of the seizures."
"Lucky you," Snape muttered.
"You know I said he's afraid of breaking my mind?"
"Mmm."
"He might not. He might fix it."
Snape finally opened his eyes to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"The voice in my head, it shuts up when he tortures me. Not the others, but when he uses the Cruciatus Curse. It's only for a little while though."
Snape shifted, grimaced. "You're still hearing that, then. Have you seen a psychologist yet?"
Harry gave him an incredulous look. "We're held prisoner and that's what you want to scold me for?"
"I am in a great deal of pain," Snape said wearily. "Humour me. Have you?"
"No," Harry said. "And I'm not going to."
Snape made an irritable sound, but apparently didn't have the energy to argue further. "How long have you been hearing it? You said last February that it was a recent development. How recent?"
Harry turned his head up to stare at the ceiling, unable to lay on his back without uncomfortably twisting his arms. "Nearly two years now. Moody—Crouch, I mean—put the Imperius Curse on me, when he was training me for the first task. It started after that."
Snape's face twisted with anger. "Why didn't you tell me he did that? We could have arrested him then, we'd have found out who he was—"
"It was the day he died," Harry interrupted. "Anyway, he said Dumbledore gave him permission to do it."
"And you believed him?" Snape snarled. Harry didn't look at him. Snape's anger faded. "You do. You distrust Dumbledore that much?"
Harry shrugged. Snape sighed.
"What does this voice even say to you?"
"Stuff."
"Such as?"
He's a nosy bastard, isn't he?
Harry passed that on.
"How polite," Snape drawled, then they both looked around as the door opened.
Harry whined, tugging at his chains. "No…"
Snape forced himself shakily to his feet, shuffling to stand in front of Harry. "Nott, if you lay a hand on him—"
"You'll do what?" Frederick Nott interrupted, grinning maliciously at them. "Snarl at me?"
He drew his wand, waved it, and Snape was wrenched away from Harry, slamming into the wall with a gasp and crumpling to the floor. The chain tied to his ankle shackles snaked up, dragging him into the corner, and then looped around his neck, tightening until he was gasping for breath, fingers clawing at it, not enough to kill him but enough to restrain.
"Be a good doggy, Snape, and sit quiet."
Harry shook, cowering back as Nott approached him, the shackles digging into his wrists as he tried to pull away. "No, no, no, he said you wouldn't be here…"
Are you surprised he lied? the voice muttered bitterly. Everyone lies.
"Who told you that?" Frederick asked. Harry shook his head, flinched when Frederick reached for him and avoided the first grab, but then his hand was in Harry's hair, wrenching him up. "Who told you that, Evans?"
"The Assistant," Harry said quickly. "The Assistant, he said it, he said you had your favourite punching bag back."
"My favourite…?"
"Your son," Snape wheezed.
"Theodore?" Frederick laughed. "Oh, no, I don't use him as a punching bag. Don't get me wrong, I've had to discipline him a lot, because I'll not have it said I can't raise my own son properly, but I don't use him for frustration relief. What kind of monster do you think I am?"
He flicked his wand, Banishing Harry's blanket to the other side of the room, then scowled at seeing his robe. "Someone dressed you. Let me guess—Snape."
"You want to hurt someone then hurt me," Snape said. "Leave him alone."
Nott looked at him. "You'd do that? Let me hurt you instead?"
"Torture on Harry is restricted. I'm a traitor, you can do what you like to me."
Nott nodded. "That is true, yes. But you know what else is true?"
He waved his wand and Harry's robe vanished. He cried an objection. Nott kicked him in the gut, and Harry curled in on himself, wheezing. Nott stomped down on his shoulder and it popped out the socket, and Harry screamed.
"Leave him the fuck alone!"
"What's true is that I get off on the pain, and the fight. You know that, Snape. Everyone around here knows it. And what do you think causes more pain—torturing and raping you, or torturing and raping your brat while you have to watch and can't do anything to help?"
Don't fight, the voice said as Nott pushed Harry onto his front, kneeling over him with a knee either side of his hips. Don't fight him. He likes it when you fight, just be quiet and take it.
Harry tried, but Nott began by putting his wand to Harry's back, flicking it like he was trying light a match, and Harry's flesh slashed open. Harry jerked and cried out, then forced himself not to as it happened again and again. He couldn't help twitching with each new cut, but he forced himself not to struggle and made no more noise than a whimper.
But then Nott bent down and bit him and he couldn't help twisting, trying to squirm away.
Nott laughed, spitting blood. "That's more like it!"
Hips ground against Harry's backside and he shuddered, but forced himself to do nothing more as the voice muttered, Don't fight. Don't fight. Don't fight.
"What's that you're muttering?"
Don't fight, don't fight, don't fight.
"Don't fight? You just gonna lay there and let me get on with it? You know it's not rape if you want it, in which case I'll go call Preston. He's more discriminating than me—I'll take anyone but he only likes boys your age—but he likes them compliant. If you actually want to get fucked, then I guess I should let him know."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, tears of pain and shame spilling down his face, but did nothing else, just kept echoing the voice's mantra. A hand slid between his stomach and the floor.
"Nott, let him go!"
Nott laughed. "Why? He wants it, Snape. Is that right, Evans? You want this?"
A palm pressed to his belly then moved further down. Harry shook.
Don't fight, don't fight, don't fight—
"No!" Harry cried, eyes snapping open, feeling tears spill down his cheeks. He struggled, bucked, tried to throw Nott off. "No, don't, don't, get off me!"
"Yes," Nott hissed. "Fight me."
Harry did. He couldn't stand to just lie there under Nott's heavy weight and get told he wanted the disgusting feeling of that man against him, the pain, the overwhelming sense of violation and helplessness. He had to fight because the alternative was worse.
Afterwards, he didn't even get the reprieve of being left alone. He pressed his face to the floor as Nott climbed off him and went to Snape, refusing to watch but unable to block his ears as Nott assaulted Snape. His goading didn't prompt Snape to fight like Harry, but he did something that made Snape scream.
When he finally left Harry glanced around to see Snape crumpled on the floor, curled in on himself, eyes squeezed shut and face twisted with pain. There was a smear of blood on his hip and more on the floor, but Harry couldn't tell where it came from.
Harry looked away again, not wanting to meet his gaze, and wondered if he should just give in and say yes.
Two weeks after they first took him, Voldemort didn't come, and instead of the old house elf bringing their food it was the Assistant. Another man accompanied him, a tall one with long greying blonde hair, who lingered in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. Preston Yaxley, Harry recognised from the Daily Prophet report on the Azkaban escape. Snape tensed when they appeared, but he seemed more wary of Yaxley than of the Assistant.
Bellatrix had left Harry's shackles unstuck last time she visited, so Harry lay on the floor by one wall, a blanket pulled over him, saying nothing as the Assistant set down a tray with two bowls and two glasses then approached Snape. He was in worse condition than Harry, several bones broken, numerous wounds seeping blood, and suffering a perpetual shake from the Cruciatus Curse. He hadn't spoken in over a day and Harry had had to help him drink and drag himself to the bathroom.
Snape watched the Assistant approach, but didn't even have the energy to flinch from him when the Assistant laid a hand on his bare shoulder. For a moment nothing else happened, but then Snape gave a small sigh and Harry saw his injuries healing over. He grimaced at one point, twisting slightly, but then relaxed with a groan of relief, and the Assistant drew back. He conjured a robe straight onto Snape and floated over a bowl of soup and glass of water, helped Snape drink, then rose and came over to Harry.
Despite what he'd just witnessed, Harry flinched from him, tugging his blanket tighter, but when the Assistant touched him, it was just to cup his cheek. Like Snape, Harry's injuries healed up, taking some of the pain to leave him only the perpetual ache the Cruciatus Curse left in his bones.
When he was done, the Assistant sat back on his heels, letting Harry drink. Neither Harry or Snape touched the soup, though Snape hadn't eaten since Nott first attacked him, and Harry hadn't in a day.
When Harry set down his empty glass, the Assistant finally spoke.
"Harry, you need to say yes."
"I'm not a Death Eater."
"Harry, this is your last chance. His patience has run out. If you don't say yes, he'll—"
"Harry!"
Harry flicked his eyes over to Yaxley, but the Assistant flinched as if he'd been whipped and Harry realised Yaxley wasn't talking to him. He looked back to the Assistant.
"I can't tell you what he'll do," the Assistant said, "but it will break you, I promise you that. Say yes now."
"Why is he so insistent? Why does he want me so badly?"
The Assistant shook his head. "Honestly, by this point, he doesn't. I mean, he wants you in the ranks, but all the work he's going to now—that's not because he's desperate for you, it's because he wants you to break. It's not about getting you to work for him, it's just about getting you to change your mind."
"He wants to win," Snape said from the corner. Harry didn't look over.
"And he will," the Assistant said. "I promise you, Harry, he will win. You'll agree to work with him before sunrise, but if you do it now—before I leave this room—then it will be much better for you, it really will."
You said we wouldn't agree, the voice said when Harry hesitated to answer. Harry bit his lip to keep from answering it aloud.
'We don't know what he'll do to us.'
You'd change your mind then? Work for the man that killed your mother? That tortured you, let others torture you, let that man rape you? I will not allow you.
'It's not up to you.'
I am a part of you, I can make you. We should not bow to that man. You will not join him.
'Why? So we can be tortured more? So we can be raped again? I've had enough. I want it to stop. You wanted me to join him in the first place. To use him and then kill him.'
Then say it, the voice snarled. If you really mean to join him, then say it now. Say yes.
Harry opened his mouth. "I'm not a Death Eater."
I thought so.
The Assistant sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry. I really am."
"We're going," Yaxley said, and the Assistant stood.
"I'm sorry," he said again and left.
Harry looked at Snape. "What's he going to do?"
"I don't know," Snape said quietly. "He's never courted anyone this long. Most people don't get to refuse him more than once, twice at most." He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was even softer and Harry had to strain to hear it. "If I had to guess, I'd say he'll probably kill your friends."
That night, Sirius and Remus were out of the house when they were attacked. With three days until the full moon, Remus was always glad to wear himself out; the wolfsbane gave him the mind of a man, but he still felt the wolf underneath and it didn't like being confined to the space of a single room, so tiring himself out before the change made it less restless.
Getting Sirius out of the house right then was even more important. He'd broken a lot of things in the past two weeks, bursts of anger at their inability to rescue Harry and James driving him to destruction. It didn't help that even three years after escaping Azkaban, he sometimes felt trapped when he was inside, irrationally afraid that the doors would lock on him and the Dementors would come. Working off some of that restless energy with a run through the forest would hopefully help at least a little.
Fighting Death Eaters definitely helped. They found a group of them outside the house when they got back, attempting and failing to break through the protective charms. Remus and Sirius couldn't get past them into the house, but Sirius didn't seem to care.
It was the first real battle they'd had during this war, all their previous work being in subterfuge and misinformation and recruitment. Remus had forgotten what it was like to fight like this, how difficult it could be exchanging spells and fighting for your life.
Sirius showed no sign of having any such problems. He physically assaulted people as much as he cursed them and he didn't seem to care that they were outnumbered three to one. If anything, he looked grimly pleased at finally getting to attack someone with abandon, releasing all his frustrations on their attackers.
It was inevitable they would lose, but it was Remus trying to call for help that lost them. He sent one Death Eater down with two broken kneecaps, and took a moment to send a Patronus message for help, thinking he was safe for that long, but then a curse hit him from behind. Purple flame flashed in the edges of his vision, hot pain burst through his back and chest, and the last thing he heard before he went crashing down was Sirius screaming his name.
In Oxford, Hermione lounged on her window seat, her lattice-work bay windows thrown open to feel the cool night air, and a book lay open but ignored on her lap. She watched a pair of bats flying around her garden, swooping and soaring, darting around the trees and over the eaves of the surrounding houses. Someone down the street had techno music turned up loud enough to reach her, and it was as if the bats danced to it.
When the cloaked, masked figure appeared in her back garden, she was so startled that she nearly didn't move. Only at the last minute did she dive away from the window, and the bolt of red light passed through the spot where she'd been and crashed into the ceiling. She heard a shout from down the hall in her parents' room, but she ignored it, scrambling to her feet and rushing for her bedside drawer, for her wand.
She never reached it. There was a crack, and the masked figure was suddenly in her bedroom. Her bedroom door burst open and she just had time to see her mother's shocked and terrified face, and then with a burst of red light and a bang, everything went dark.
In Kilnwick, a small village in East Yorkshire that homed a number of magical families, the Longbottom home was quiet and dark. Augusta Longbottom was a firm believer in 'early to bed, early to rise', and she had strict rules about her grandson waking her up during the night.
But the peace was broken when a wizard tried to sneak through the front door. Augusta's intruder alarms went off and the screech of a mermaid out of water rattled through the whole village. Augusta was out of her bed in an instant, snatching up her wand and dressing gown and rushing down to face the intruder. By the time Neville managed to pick himself up from the floor after falling out of his own bed, Augusta was already battling the intruder with more skill than anyone would have expected from an old lady.
In the end, it was luck that let the intruder win. Neville, eager to help, rushed down the stairs with his rope-bound copy of Monster Book of Monsters, the thickest book he had. He intended to bang it over the head of the intruder. Unfortunately, he tripped at the bottom of the stairs, dropped the book into his grandmother's path, and she went crashing over. The intruder, deciding not to waste time getting into another fight, leapt over her, grabbed Neville about the throat, and Disapparated.
In Dobwalls, Cornwall, Eric Villiers was fast asleep and blissfully unaware that, down the hall, his son was wanking furiously to the Playboy magazines he'd found in the abandoned schoolhouse where the local Muggle teenagers liked to hang out. Eric was a chronic insomniac and often resorted to strong sleeping potions to get through the night. He also didn't have any alarms on his home, not being skilled at such charms or familiar enough with the Muggle alternative. As such, he never even knew there was an intruder in the house.
Cid knew, because the intruder crept into his room just as he was reaching his peak. For a boy so prone to vulgarities, this was actually the first time he'd ever been caught with his pants down, and it was highly embarrassing.
"Wow," said the intruder, and Cid's embarrassment only got worse when he realised it was a woman. "Why didn't I get to kidnap one of the girls?"
"What? Wait, why are kidnapping me? My dad's got no money, you can't ransom me, and I'm not sure my mum'll pay up. She's really stingy."
"It's a good job I don't intend to ransom you then. For god's sake, pull up your pants, boy."
She waited until Cid yanked up his boxers and pyjama bottoms, and then said, "Thank you," and Stunned him.
In Bath, Tyler was home alone. This wasn't all that unusual, as Marcus worked strange hours, and at fifteen Tyler was old enough to be left alone for a night. When someone knocked on the front door, he ignored it, lounging in his bed watching a video about ninjas and snacking on Every Flavour Beans. He wasn't worried about intruders; Marcus had the best protections on a house that wizards could manage, including some that most people didn't know about. It was the advantage of running the Department of Mysteries.
Which meant that when his door swung open five minutes later and the Assistant stepped into his bedroom, he was so startled he could only gape at him.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Tyler pointed. "You're that bloke from the paper. They said you helped all those Death Eaters break out of Azkaban. What are you doing here? How did you get in? Why didn't the alarms go off?" he asked, panic starting to overwhelm his shock. He scrambled to his feet, sending Every Flavour Beans flying, and wondered where his wand was in the mess littering his bedroom. "Mitzy!"
"There are very few places I can't get into. Your house certainly presented a challenge, but it wasn't impenetrable. Your house elf won't come, by the way."
"If you hurt her—!" Tyler cried, anger filtering through his fear. Mitzy had practically raised him since he was six.
"I just knocked her out, she'll be fine. I just needed her out of the way while I kidnap you."
Tyler's shoulders slumped. "I knew this day would come."
The Assistant blinked. "You did?"
Tyler nodded. "It was inevitable. Son of the head of the D.o.M? Some bad guy was bound to kidnap me eventually to get Marcus to give up his secrets or get them some secret weapon or something. If I come quietly do you promise not to hurt me?"
"I promise not to hurt you even if you don't come quietly."
Tyler thought about that. "That would be useful if my neighbours were close enough to hear me scream. Is there any point in me fighting?"
"No."
Tyler sighed. "Fine. Do I at least get held hostage somewhere nice?"
"Uh… well, it's nothing spectacular, but it's not a dungeon."
"Good enough, I suppose," he said, and crossed the room. When he was close enough, the Assistant took his arm—and Tyler rammed a knee into his groin.
"I'm not that fucking stupid," he said as the Assistant went to his knees with a thin, high pitched noise. Tyler shoved him aside and ran past, but then the air took the consistency of thick treacle, and he barely reached the stairs before the Assistant staggered up to him and grabbed both his arms this time, pulling them behind him and conjuring rope to bind his wrists.
"That," the Assistant said just before they Disapparated, "was totally uncalled for."
A whole team went to the Burrow. The fight there was difficult, but the Death Eaters expected it to be, had planned for it. Most of the people that went were nothing more than a diversion, attackers to keep Molly and Arthur and Bill distracted. Fred and George had an apartment in Diagon Alley above their shop and so, with only three of-age wizards to battle, it wasn't overly difficult for the extraction team to break into the house and find Ron and Ginny while the adults battled.
Ron, to his credit, did a good job at fighting off the men that came for them, and Ginny got one with a Bat-Bogey Hex, but in the end they were still just two children against cruel and skilled Death Eaters, and as soon as Antonin Dolohov had a firm grip on Ginny, he shouted the retreat and Disapparated.
Voldemort himself went to Malfoy Manor, with only Bellatrix to accompany him. Narcissa did a good job of hiding her fear, even when they told her they'd come for Draco. Draco couldn't hide his own fear so well, pale and shaking, and sighing with relief when they agreed to let Narcissa accompany him, but he went with his chin held high.
