"Wakey, wakey, Potter!"

Smack! Harry gasps and jerks back, cheek stinging and the slap echoing in the space around him. Snapping his eyes open, an empty warehouse of rough concrete flooring, bare brick walls and rusted steel trusses tilts into view, followed by a man leaning in with a wide grin on thin lips.

"There you are. Very good. I need you awake so I can tell you why I'm going to kill you."

"Thicknesse?" Harry rasps and the smile widens.

His face is sunken, the bones protruding and the cheeks caving in. His skin is a sickly pallor and his black hair hangs stripy with dirt to his chin. There's a glint in his eyes and a cruel twist to his lips. Compared to Harry's vague recollection of Thicknesse's mugshots from five years ago, it looks like Azkaban has not been kind to the man.

"Oooh, you know who I am? Did my mistress tell you about me?"

"What mistress?" Harry asks. Thicknesse is probably referring to Mrs Zabini - which would bring to question what their relationship really is after all these years - but he needs to stall for time to assess the situation. Flexing his hands behind his back carefully so that Thicknesse won't notice, he finds that his wrists have been tied together tightly with what feels like spellwork rather than actual rope that would be easier to work out of. What's worse is that his outer robe and jacket have been taken off, laying in a pile of red off to the side, and his wand is there with them, out of reach.

Has Thicknesse searched his pockets? Has he found Harry's wand? The list? If he gets his hands on that list...

"What mistress?"

From the corner of his eye, Harry sees the palm come swiping and turns his head with the blow to lessen the impact. Thicknesse's fingers catch on the frame of Harry's glasses and rips them off his face, sending them flying and clattering to the floor.

Shit, Harry thinks and blinks when the world turns to a blur. Not good.

"I will never take another mistress than Mrs Zabini!" Thicknesse rages. "I'm not like you traitors! I'm loyal! I'd never betray her!"

Traitor. Wasn't that the word used in the note they found in Hawkworth's home? I know about your affair, traitor.

"Of course you wouldn't," Harry agrees, flexing his legs and rolling his ankles - they've been tired together, but aren't attached to the chair. He pushes his head forwards as far as he can to catch Thickenesse's eye when he's about to glance down. "You're loyal, aren't you? Truly loyal."

Thickenesse tips his head to the side, his smile turning indulgent, and draws a knife, a thin thing, sharp as a paper cut. Harry keeps it in the corner of his eye as he looks into the sickly light deep in those dark eyes.

"You think you're smart, don't you? You're not," Thickenesse hisses, shaking his head in slow, big shakes. "If you were, you'd know flattery isn't going to help. You'd know what you've done, why you're here." He leans closer, his free hand coming up to grab Harry's hair and pull him in so that their noses are almost touching. This close, Harry can't see Thickenesse's other hand, the one holding the knife. "If you were smart, you would have gotten rid of that other woman as soon as my mistress looked your way."

Ginny, Harry thinks with splitting clarity, then there's a streak of searing pain blazing across his chest. It takes the breath out of him, his mouth falling open in a silent scream and his eyes snapping wide. He can't breathe, and then he can, and his first breath comes out in a scream. Thickenesse throws Harry's head to the side and steps back, out of range from the blood running like a warm stream down Harry's front and splattering to the ground.

"You're such a disappointment, Potter," he says and shakes his head as Harry gasps through the pain, his scream still echoing in his ears. "She hates Aurors, so when she picked you I thought you must be something special. I thought maybe, just maybe, she'd finally found someone worthy of her. Someone who understands what a gift she is, who will treat her like the goddess she is."

Thickenesse squats down and angles his head to the side, looking up into Harry's face. The knife, now bloody, dangles loosely in his hand. "But what did you do? Instead of treasuring her attention and giving her the devotion she deserves, what did you do, Potter?"

He whispers the last few words and locks eyes with Harry, and when silence settles between them, Harry realises Thickenesse is actually waiting for a reply.

What did you do, Potter?

What do I do?

Harry swallows and reigns in the impulse to glance towards his robes. Through the blazing pain across his chest and the headache throbbing anew in his head, he has to find a way to waylay Thickenesse, to buy time and escape. The pictures of Cresswell, Midgen, Twycross and Hawkworth flash before his eyes, slashed open before their murder. Thickenesse likes to torture his victims, needs them to know what they've done wrong before he kills them.

He won't kill me just yet.

"It's not that kind of relationship," he whispers and Thickenesse's eyes narrow. "We're not… together."

"Are you trying to tell me you should be forgiven because she hasn't fucked you?" he hisses. "You think it means you can be disloyal?"

Thickenesse grabs his shoulder to hold him still and though he knows what's coming, the pain still tears a scream from his throat when the knife cuts again, branding him with a searing band cutting across the first slash.

"You should get on your knees and kiss her feet if she lets you touch her!" Thickenesse rages as Harry gasps through the pain. "You should bow before her beauty, but you dare treat her like some dirty secret! You should've been proud when the papers connected you, but you're no better than the rest of those filthy traitors!"

He swings the knife again, and Harry's voice cracks mid-scream. He's trembling, his body trying to curl up in protection, straining forwards on the chair and bringing his legs up. His chest is on fire. Breathing hurts, his expanding ribcage widening the long cuts with every breath. Thickenesse grabs his hair and jerks his head up again to stare down into his face.

"You brought this on yourself, Potter. Just like the rest of them." He raises the knife and puts the flat side of it against Harry's cheek. It's slick and warmed by Harry's own blood and he flinches away but the grip on his hair keeps him in place. Thickenesse leans in closer, his eyes wide and unblinking and his breath hot against Harry's face. "I'm going to kill you for mistreating her. Then I'm going to find the next traitor, and the next, until only those who treat her right are left. Only those of us who are loyal deserve to bask in her presence and live to enjoy the memory."

Thickenesse spits the last few words, then tightens his grip on Harry's hair before flinging him to the side. The world tilts, the ground rushing up from the side and Harry's head cracks sharply against the floor. It takes the breath out of him, and the already blurry world flickers in and out of darkness. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels warm stickiness spread along the side of his face. When he opens his eyes, there's red on the concrete floor, a red blotch off to the side… Wait…

… his robes…

… the list…

… the port key…

Rough rope snaggs around his throat and pulls him up and back, jerking him up from the floor. It cut his air and he gasps, desperately kicking with his bound feet. He hits the floor and flails until he finds it again, his toes balancing on the concrete to take the weight off the rope around his neck.

"Wait!" he gasps, coughing. "Wait, I… a deal!"

Thickenesse laughs and comes around into Harry's view, holding the end of the rope in his hands. It's a taught line leading up over one of the trusses and down the other side where Harry will be strangled if Thickenesse gives just one more inch of pull. "Why would I make a deal with you, Potter? You have nothing to offer me."

Harry swallows against the constriction of the rope. "There's a list. It's… we got it… from Zabini," he rasps. "It's everyone… her lovers…"

Thickenesse takes a step closer and the rope slackens. The soles of Harry's boots hit the floor and he sucks in a great breath of air that scorches his throat like cheap firewhiskey.

Please let me have firewhiskey again.

Let me see Ron and Hermione again…

Ginny…

"You've… been using the Prophet, right? But it's… they can't know everything…"

"If you're trying to trick me, Potter…"

"No. No, it's… it's on my robes… I can get it for you…"

Thickenesse drops the rope and moves over to the robes immediately, and Harry's legs give out in relief. He falls to his knees, chest heaving as he breathes through the pain of the cuts.

"Just tell me where it is," Thickenesse demands, snatching the Auror robes off the floor.

"It's hidden," Harry rasps. "I couldn't just keep it… in a pocket… Too dangerous." He grimaces. Dear sweet Merlin, please don't check the pockets.

"Hidden?" Thickenesse snaps.

"I… transfigured it. The top button…"

Thickenesse turns the robes over to find the collar and button. Crouching down, he searches the pile of clothes and picks up Harry's wand.

"Finite incantatem!"

Nothing happens. He grabs the button and stares at it for a moment, then turns to Harry with renewed murder in his eyes.

"Ignorantia," Harry gasps and Thickenesse's eyes narrow. "... juris non excusat."

Thickenesse's eyes widen in realisation and he opens his mouth in a roar - then the portkey activates and sucks him into a whirl that'll take him straight to the Auror office.

In the suddenly quiet warehouse, Harry slumps to the side. Cheek against the cold concrete, he blinks slowly. The portkey is gone. So is his wand, disappeared in Thickenesse's hand. He shifts, pulling against the restraints around his arms and legs, but they're too tight and he's too tired. Turning his head, he sees the overturned chair and the blood around it, the puddle disturbed by the drag mark from when he moved. It leads straight to where he's laying now, and he can feel a new puddle spreading around him.

What time is it? It was late afternoon when he left Mrs Zabini, but now there's no light coming in through the dirty windows. Surely there'll still be someone at the office to arrest Thickenesse? Will Ron be there?

Even if he is, will they find Harry?

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets his head roll to a rest, his eyes slipping shut. His chest… his throat… his head… it's all fading to a distant throb.

It's… cold.

It would be so nice… to just… sleep…