A/N: Ooo I am so thrilled that so many of you are loving this story! Thank you! It means a lot! Now...thiiiiis is where it starts getting...torture filled...this chapter is short but it's needed because of gives you a list of the items being used for torture. I hope you guys like the new chapter :3

i don't own The Best it's Gonna Get by Celldweller...and I don't own Harry Potter...

Chapter 8- The Best It's Gonna Get-

(Irony)

It sucks that it was all for nothing

(Painfully)

Your plans were redesigned

(Mournfully)

It's a shame you didn't stand for something

(Finally)

Now it's too late to make up your mind

-Sev's POV-

I watched as Harry set up each room he intended to use on the first of his victim's revenge. It was something I understood. I had felt such anticipation bubbling under my skin before; tasted it's bittersweet taint. I knew that Harry wouldn't stop until all of his enemies had become fodder for his imagination and I really couldn't find it within myself to disagree. I felt warmth creep past my defenses as I remembered his demanding vow. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that Harry Potter, now Snape, would have been mine. Whether as a son, or as a friend. Yet here I was. And in a way my vengeance against James Potter was complete. I had taken from him the one thing that would have meant more than life itself.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts I gazed at the tools of torture my son had decided on. In one room sat a stool-like device. Where one would sit, however, was a pyramid; it's point devastatingly sharp. Suspended above the stool were a set of chains with manacles at their ends. Wracking my brain for which device this was I winced when I remembered. The Judas Cradle. The victim was stripped, bound and suspended above the stool. They would be lowered, often slowly, making the pyramid enter their vaginal opening, anus, or scrotum.

I had a feeling I knew who that one was for. My Lord seemed to find it all very amusing, however, as he trailed behind Harry, curiosity in his gaze. Then Harry was moving on to the next room. In its center, instead of a Judas Cradle, was a simple chair. On its arm rests lay two leather straps. On a table beside it, a medical one if memory served me right, was a device that looked like a tear drop on one end and had a handle at the other.

My eyes widened.

The Agonized Pear, a tool that was inserted in any orifice of your choice, then when the handle was turned, would widen the 'leaves' and slowly expand the orifice to the point of mutilation. Beside the Pear was a mallet. A meat mallet. I had no clue who this room was assigned to but I had a feeling it was likely one of the females. I knew Harry had a huge aversion to either of the girls in the cell. The next room was a simple board with straps on every corner and on a table beside it was a cat o'nine tails; it's braided rope pieces threaded through with glass, nails, and bits of bone. It felt rather tame compared with the previous two but I knew the Dark Lord enough to surmise that whoever this weapon was used for wouldn't get off so easily.

I peered into the final room as Harry set it up. I was curious to see what torture he'd chosen for this room and who for. The Dark Lord stood to my left, appearing like a giddy insane child.

"Father. Is there a reason you are following me instead of taunting my intended targets?" the boy asked me without turning from his task.

I allowed myself a brief flush of pride Over the fact he had picked up such multitasking from me.

"I am merely intrigued to see what you have chosen as modes of your revenge, brat." I drawled, dark eyes glittering with excitement.

Harry snorted then turned to me, revealing a cot with a jar of magical arachnids set innocently on top. I had an inkling as to who was destined for this room and I chuckled. Did I mention how much I loved my son's imagination? Well, in case I haven't before...I do, indeed, love his imagination.

His eyes sparkled with boyish glee when we locked gazes and I realizes how much getting his revenge against those who had hurt him, meant to him.

The Dark Lord chuckled, gaining my attention and that of my charge. The heir of Slytherin drew nearer to Harry and I felt myself tense. Above all things, or maybe I should say in spite of all of the things Harry's biological father had put me through, this boy was my son. I would defend him to the death. Even against My Lord who had been surprisingly kind to Harry. When I observed the older wizard my teeth instinctively clenched at the brief flash of possessiveness that slipped through those ruby red eyes. What was the Dark Lord planning?

"Am I right in assuming this room is for someone with a fear of spiders?" inquired Voldemort with a wicked grin.

Harry returned his question with a smirk as he put leather cuffs onto the cot; finishing the last restraint he let out a satisfied breath and tilted his head to the side.

"Do you intend on watching these session, Tom?" he finally replied, casting a side glance at the taller male.

Voldemort's gaze narrowed to slits even as that chilling shark like grin graced the heir of Slytherin's features. I shivered, for once, nervous about that look trained on my son. I didn't understand why my Master was so interested in my son. It bothered me more than I'd care to admit. I waited for the Dark Lord to respond and carefully made sure that my Occulmency walls and stoic façade were back in place. Voldemort gave a pleased hum as he drew closer to the child, and although said boy flinched, his manic grin never faded. Which, of course, appeared to entertain the Dark Lord immensely.

"Oh, young Harry, you are such a joy to watch. Getting all excited over your little bout of revenge. One of many I'm certain. I intend to witness each and every painful death you inflict on those who wronged you. It will be a perverse pleasure." the man finally replied, his ruby red eyes practically glowing as he circled Harry like the predator he was.

I felt another shiver of fear flitter through me. Fear that my master would harm my new son. After all, the promise had been made about my well being, not his. I knew that the older wizard would use that little bit of information to get what he wanted out of their...well...whatever this was. A truce seemed too loose of a description as the day progressed. It almost seemed as if...but no I must, simply must be imagining it. The darkest wizard since Grindewald couldn't possibly be flirting with my child...right?

The absurdity of the issue had me clamping down on an almost irresistible urge to snort in amusement at the thought.

I watched my son's reaction to the Dark Lord's close proximity and nearly dropped my jaw in shock. Nearly, mind. Honestly, I have better decorum than some witless Gryffindor.

Now pay attention.

Harry, the boy who trusted no one but I, who cared for none but myself, was leaning closer to the man he'd just recently called a truce, with nostrils flared and pupils blown wide in his excitement.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy every gory detail maybe you should call your remaining Inner Circle? I hear Bellatrix loves a good torture." Harry stated, eliciting a scoff from me.

Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange loved a good torture, especially of Light wizards. In fact many of the Inner Circle were chosen, not just because of their faithfulness to our lord or their proficiency with a wand, but because they thrilled at the torture they could inflict on their victims. Voldemort tisked but inclined his head. I could tell he was contemplating it, before he shook his head and motioned towards me and then himself.

"For now I would like your father and I to be the only witnesses to your metamorphosis, Harry." he stated, putting his hands behind his back and casting his eyes about the room once more.

I breathed a sigh and felt relief flood me. I was glad that the man wished to keep Harry's revenge between us for now. Harry inclined his head in acquiescence then turned to me with a smirk. He was seeking my approval without trying to seem like he was and I felt proud of him in that moment for the weakness. I don't think I could ever be disappointed in the teen, whose strength surpassed even anything I could ever hope to have.

So I gave him a small smile, showing him that I was all for whatever steps he took to get his retaliation. A flash of true happiness flickered in his emerald depths before he stretched, his shirt riding up his stomach and revealing an non-bandaged torso. I grimaced when I realized that the bandages he would normally be wearing, were gone due to my cleaning of our house. Was the air stifling him here? Was he suffering from an overload of too much emotion?

"Are you doing ok without your bandages?" I inquired, slightly irritated when Voldemort sent Harry a considering look.

Startled emerald eyes passed over the room to lock with mine and my heart clenched. How long had my child gone without being asked about his well being? We hadn't really conversed about how his life with the Dursley's had gone, nor how far the torturing had actually gone when he'd been captured. I know he still suffered from nightmares, the only time he actually cried out in the fear he had stifled so well when awake.

I had wished to ask, of course, but I had been unsure as to whether the questions would be well received. In our long talks about his parents, our personal pasts had never come up. Even though I had made no secret of my loathing of James, nor my furious anger towards Lily for choosing such a pillock (A fact that the boy had found amusing) he had admitted to me, that if James had been so cruel to me then he was better off dead, and as for his mother...she was a fool. As much as I had loved the woman, I agreed with my adopted son whole heartedly.

I shook my head minutely to bring my thoughts back into focus just in time to witness Harry's pained expression, leading me to believe his own mind had been sifting through the ghosts of the past. Finally, he turned away and busied himself with fixing his shirt, one of my old casual t-shirts I hadn't discarded and had lent him until we went shopping for new attire. It was a tactic I saw through instantly. One meant to create distance between an extreme emotion you weren't yet ready to deal with and yourself. It was one I employed a lot when I was his age.

"It is bearable, father. Thank you for your concern." was his soft reply, gratitude laced within it's tone.

Trusting his judgement, I gave a decisive nod, then cleared my throat and gestured around us.

"So who will be first?"

Harry gave me a calculated smile, full of gleaming teeth and I knew I had been right in guessing exactly who it would be. Traitors were the worst sort in Harry's eyes, I have learned over the years of getting to know the lad. And there was only one among the people in the cells of the dungeon beneath the Dark Lord's manor that fit that description to gain my son's ire.

"Ronald Weasley."