NB: Content warning for abuse.

10th September 19:30

The shadow on the floor kept swaying. Slowly, the movement barely perceptible, it edged left to right. Then a droplet of sweat hit the ground in the place of the shadowed head.

It took him a moment to realise that this was real. Staring at the moisture seeping into the stone, realising the dampness on his own forehead, head angled at the ground.

Harry had blacked out. The brutal summons of consciousness ripped him from blessed relief and the agonies of his current torment dug into his body, drilling through muscle, tendon and gristle.

His tormentor's shadow joined his own. He felt a hand touch him, digging in his armpit and lifting him back to the wall. His body meekly complied. He was in too much pain to resist.

"Potter, wake up," a voice cracked through him like a whip. He realised he had closed his eyes and opened them. His back was pressed against the wall, arms still mercilessly suspended above his head, legs collapsed under him.

When did that happen? He thought, realising his legs had failed him. He moved to push his feet out, to support his weight. The muscles screamed as he did, shaking under him.

He tried to think about how many times he'd been hit with the cruciatus curse. Was that the eighth?

Don't think, just survive.

He knew the man was close, standing over him, his wand held so loosely in his palm. Harry peered through the small gap between his eyelids at the man, huffing audibly through his nose.

He grew suddenly aware of an odour. It took a moment for his frazzled mind to place the scent. Urine.

His own.

He felt it then. The wetness between his legs, the slickness under foot. The horror of it burned away the befuddlement left by the last cruciatus curse and he gasped through his muzzle.

"Just noticed?" The disinterested voice of his tormentor remarked.

Harry raised his head, seeing the robed man in front of him and then felt his confusion dissolve.

Fuck you was what he said, but only two angry sounds mumbled through the leather constricting his face. Rookwood gave him a disinterested look, then pointed his wand.

"Evanesco," he said, cleaning away the spreading puddle under Harry's weakened legs. Harry also felt the unpleasant wetness on his legs wash away.

Rookwood moved in close, suddenly grasping the bottom of the muzzle and wrenching upwards. He stared down at him.

"Don't be ashamed. I've seen men much older than you wet themselves after a single bout," the Death Eater said. "You held control for far more than that. I'm actually impressed. It's like you've known pain all your life."

You have no idea.

He grew aware of the man staring into his eyes, searching them.

Don't look into his eyes. It was extremely likely that the Death Eater had knowledge of legilimency, having worked in the most secretive department of the Ministry with its vast knowledge at his disposal.

Harry focused instead on the heavy lines under the man's eyes. He'd endured two sentences at Azkaban, the experience having left its mark as it did to all those that had spent time at the prison. Small round scars dotted his cheeks. Magical scars? He found himself wondering.

"Some signs of the strain, I see." Harry had no idea what he meant. The Death Eater let go of his muzzle and his head dropped down. "I think you've had enough for now."

Harry let himself go limp, staring into the ground while the odd tremors pulsed through his muscles.

"Take some rest, Potter," Rookwood backed away. Harry inched his head up, sweat sliding down his neck as he saw the Death Eater retreat to the door.

A memory that he had long since pushed into the furthest recesses of his mind bled over reality. He saw the reddened neck of his uncle as he walked away, heard the loud huffing exhalations of a man hardly in control. He could feel the ghost of the angry welts in his back.

The memory startled him. Of all the times to think about that night when Vernon took the belt to him…

Because I endured that when I was seven… or eight. I got through that. I can get through this.

He closed his eyes, trying not to feel the aches and the quivering in his legs. He reached upwards with his arms, hands finding the chains. He gripped them, but didn't pull himself upright. He remained crouched, as if defeated.

He heard the door open, saw the robes disappear through the doorway in the corner of his eye, then when the door shut and the silence of his solitude settled over him, he made to stand. It was an effort, but he fought through the pain to stand on his legs. His knees didn't feel very stable, but the relief on his shoulders and arms was worth it.

He stood leaning against the wall, eyes half shut, breathing deeply. Flashes of red light blared in his mind as he relived the last hour, muscles still trembling at the memory of the torture. Unsurprisingly, Augustus Rookwood had been proficient at causing pain. The man spoke, but not to mock his victim like some of his associates would, Bellatrix for example. He carried out the treatment with a strange professionalism as if it was just another day at the office. Weirdly, he almost treated Harry with some respect. If a different Death Eater had discovered Harry's little accident, they would have humiliated him for it. His face burned a little, thinking about it.

Harry could imagine the high, cold laugh that would sound when word reached Voldemort. It sent a spike of shame and anger through him. He didn't want to think about Voldemort right now.

Strange, he realised, it only took a round of cruciatus to finally teach him how to clear his mind of thought. Somehow, he didn't imagine that torturing someone was the conventional way to learn occlumency.

His hands were numb, so he clenched them a few times to encourage blood flow back. He bent his elbows, the joints popping, pulling his arms down as much as he could until the chains clanked taut.

He sighed out his nose. The leather around his mouth and chin was sticky with his sweat, the skin itching comfortably. He tried to open his mouth, forcing his jaw against the strap under his chin. He managed to open just a fraction and attempted to speak, but all he could accomplish were wordless vocalisations. He could hum a tune, but that was it.

He looked up at the window, wondering what the time was. Surely it was night by now, but it looked like he was going to be cast in eternal sunshine. As he moved his head, the metal buckle securing his muzzle scraped on the stone.

Then he heard a noise, something that wasn't him, coming from the other side of the wall. He turned his head, pressing his ear against the stone, straining his hearing. He held his breath so his huffing nose didn't drown anything out.

He heard it again, some sort of shuffling. Were there rats down there? The thought of rats had him instinctively thinking of Scabbers and, by extension, Ron.

"Harry?"

The sudden voice made him jump violently. It sounded like someone was directly behind him. He glanced over to the door, eyes wide.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" He knew that voice. Arthur Weasley?

Harry couldn't speak. Futility, he flicked his head left and right, trying to open the buckle at the back of his head, hands clenching.

"I can't stay long…. can you hear me?" Mr Weasley's voice was hushed, but still very audible. He sounded worried, scared. Then there was a sigh. "Maybe the next cell…"

Harry gave up with the muzzle and just made as loud a sound as he could in his throat in frustration.

"NGH!"

"Is that you? Harry?"

"Nnnngh," Harry shook his head. It was no use. He couldn't say anything.

"I can't hear… ah I know. Harry, if it's you, can you… maybe tap the wall?" There was a pause. "Look I'm on the other side."

There was a knock. It sounded near Harry's hip.

Harry looked around, first down to his feet. His feet were bare. Stamping wouldn't be loud enough. He looked up, seeing his manacles. He grasped the chain on his right wrist and cracked the metal manacle against the wall. It clanked loudly against the stone.

"Good… oh thank Merlin it's you," he gave a shaky laugh, "I've been panicking about accidentally finding the guards' room."

It felt so good to hear a friendly voice. Harry closed his eyes at the sound of his voice, wishing desperately that he could speak… could ask him about Ron and Hermione, about anything.

"Kingsley told me once about a bit of a security flaw in the Row. There's a maintenance shaft running all the way behind the cells. No idea when it was used last. It's not been cleaned in a while, that much I can tell you. Anyway, I've cast silencing charms and wards. No one knows I'm here… I hope."

Harry continued to try to unbuckle the strap, but it just scraped against the wall. He forced his jaw open, but it just strained the muscle.

"It's a risk, but… I had to get to you. I saw what happened in the atrium. They tried to cover it up, but too many people saw you."

Memories of the green flashes Harry had seen as he was dragged through the crowd burned in his mind. He stopped fidgeting, focusing on Mr Weasley's voice. He banged his shackle against the wall.

"I should be able to hear you if I cast an amplifier…"

Harry shook his head, tears now forming. He banged his shackle again.

"Wait… no, they can't have…" Mr Wealsey sounded horrified. "Harry, uh, tap once for yes and twice for no, do they have you silenced?"

He hung his head, blinking away the tears that had formed, and rapped his right shackle against the wall.

Yes.

"Those despicable bastards," the father of Harry's best friend growled angrily, "you're chained to the wall too, aren't you?"

Yes.

"Have… they questioned you yet?"

Harry frowned, then banged the metal against the stone twice.

No.

"Are they going to?" Harry paused.

Yes.

"Do you know… Harry, I'm sorry for this question, but I need to know. If they use veritaserum on you, will my family be in danger?"

Yes.

Despair howled inside him. It rose up, threatening his control again. He felt it reach his neck and expel itself in the form of a sob.

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

"Alright… I have enough of a head start to warn them, Harry. We'll be okay. We've managed to hide most of the Order, you know." Harry knew he was saying it for Harry's benefit, not his own.

"Just focus on yourself. Don't worry about us. I… gather you have something they need or otherwise you'd be, well, dead. Is that right?"

Yes.

"If they find out what you know, is it… well… bad?"

Yes.

"Well then," Mr Weasley gave a warm laugh, "it's a good job that we'll do everything we can to get you out of there, isn't it?"

Harry held his breath, tears fighting themselves free of his eyes. They curled down his sweat-stained cheeks. He huffed out a sound.

"Harry, do you really think any of us could live with ourselves if we left you here?"

No! You'll die. He's here. He's at the Ministry.

But the warnings stayed in his head, unable to voice them. He let out another loud noise, the muzzle vibrating against his lips at the sound trapped inside his mouth.

"Just… hold on for as long as you can. I can't imagine what you're going through already. Have they… hurt you?"

Yes.

"If you were anyone else, I'd say they would be more interested in what you know than making you suffer but… you aren't, and I'm sorry." The honesty surprised Harry, but he knew all that already. "They're clearly rattled after the reaction to your arrest. Tensions are building, Harry. Keep fighting. Keep showing them that they haven't won."

Harry closed his eyes, surprised by a warm sensation building in his chest. He clenched his hands as it built up, recognising his determination as it steeled him.

He banged his wrist against the wall to show that he heard.

"I… should go. They will notice that I'm gone," Mr Weasley said, awkwardly. "I… Harry, I will try to come back but if I can't - I just want to say that I see you like my own son and I'm proud of you."

You're like a father to me and I can't lose you.

Unable to express himself back, Harry resorted to straining his hands around and resting his palms against the stone. He let out a noise to show that he had heard.

"I… can't believe they used that thing on you," an angry whisper came back at the sound of Harry's blocked voice. "It's for crazed murderers, not…" He sighed.

"I'm leaving now. Be strong, Harry."

Harry made no sound. He just leaned into the wall, listening to Mr Weasley's movements on the other side of the wall. They grew faint as he withdrew back down the maintenance shaft.