"W-where am I?" Asked Harry in almost a comatose state. The room around him
was unfamiliar, thick iron bars surrounded him and the bricks were lined
with stains of blood and etched writing. There wasn't a single window.
"Silence, boy!" Said one of the Rrynons from behind Harry's head that was out of his view. It picked up an iron bat and slammed it down across Harry's shoulder with such a tremendous force that Harry screamed in pain. This seemed to pleasure the Rrynon somewhat and so it kicked Harry in his gut and made him slide halfway across the room. The other Rrynon snorted in laughter and snapped on a chain that connected Harry's leg to a steel post driven in the ground. He was immediately pulled back within reach of the first Rrynon and the beast turned him over upon his back so as to face Harry and stare fathomlessly into Harry's eyes.
"Albus Dumbledore gives his love."
Another kick sent Harry this time ramming straight into one of the iron bars, his head colliding viciously with it and he felt the blood from his forehead trickle down slowly down his cheek and into his eyes with one of the most profound burning sensations he'd ever felt in his life. The pain in his shoulder and his head was nothing when compared to the feeling of his dislocated leg and broken left ribcage, however. He staggered to breathe and began to cough up thick amounts of blood.
W-w-what is going on h-here? Dumbledore...where is...am I? Thoughts ran through Harry's head without time for comprehension or even thinking. He only could focus on the Rrynon's boot and where it would attack him from next.
The first Rrynon set up for another kick but was stopped with a vicious blow to the head by the second. Their bright luminous eyes stood transfixed upon one another for a period of time where an exchange of hissing and growls were emitted from under their hoods where Harry suspected a mouth lie. Finally, the first Rrynon backed away from Harry but left its eyes glaring at the scar that lie upon Harry's forehead. The second dragged Harry up by the hair and threw him into a cell further down the hall and the last sound Harry heard was the locking of the door. A shadow of two figures loomed over him and began to lift him and put cold wet rags to his face. He then fell into deep unconsciousness.
"It's 'em, ain't it, Mort?"
"Aye, it's the Potter boy, Stev...never thought I'd see the day-"
"He might not either by de look of 'em...bloody hell dey beat the life outta 'em, haven't dey?"
"Well, we know how the guards of Hell's Spit work...they bring you in and give you a welcoming...not at all pleasant was our first beating, was it?"
"Not a' all, I swear me lungs are still crushed from that welcomin'."
Harry turned from side to side as his eyes fluttered to stay open. Ignoring the swirling of the room and the pungent odors of blood and bodily discharge, he tried to sit up on the damp, cold floor. A rearing pain swept from his lower back and ribcage all the way up to his temples making it almost impossible for him not to faint and throw up upon himself. His arms were badly bruised and he had whelp marks stretching from his face all the way down to his calves.
He reared forward and vomited, his untidy black hair entwining with the reddish-pink discharge from his mouth. One of the men grabbed Harry by the shoulders as to help him and the other pulled back his hair from the way of his mouth. Harry eventually stopped and lie upon his back choking and coughing violently. The first man who held Harry's shoulders shook his head from side to side in pity.
"There, there, you've got to stay strong in here...I spent years in here and if I'd have gone weak, they'd have been all over me by now," He pointed to the guards, the same cloaked figures Harry had seen the morning of – well, the morning of the incident.
"Yeah, gotta keep yeh wits about yeh or they'll break yeh...seen it happen plenty o' times."
Harry, however seemed reluctant to even speak to these men, he was assuring himself that Dumbledore knew exactly where he was and that any moment now, he'd come and rescue him. He put his face to the cell bars and screamed mercilessly.
"DUMBLEDORE! GET ME OUT OF HERE, DUMBLEDORE!"
"Aye lass, that's easier said than done," the man called Mort said with an impish smile. "Y'see, nobody knows about Hell's Spit except for those who already know where it is."
"Unplottable by even de Ministry themselves. They say Hell's Spit is for de inmates even too strong fo' Azkaban...dey break you here till yeh're nuttin' but flesh an' hell. But by den yeh've already snuffed it up." The man called Stev responded morbidly.
"Or died from madness," added Mort.
"Yep, the only way outta Hell's Spit is through dat dere box," Stev said pointing to a small black casket with a lock on it.
"Then they throw you off Old Man's Singer and you're out in the death cold of the ocean."
"Just like Bert...on'y Bert was too big for 'is casket...'member what dey did to 'im, Mort?"
Mort winced and shuddered as though he remembered only too well what had happened to Bert that day and was trying desperately to wipe the thought from memory. "Sliced off his legs and stuck them in his mouth...the bloody tyrants!"
"Shh now, don' want dem to hear yeh speakin' like that...'member last time yeh spoke like dat."
"I dare them to use Crucio on me again...I'll knock their bloody lights out!"
Harry sat in disbelief, his hands clenched painfully around the steel bars of the prison cell. He was alone, left stranded in some prison to rot and perhaps die...and they'd known about it all along. They'd planned his demise and they'd planned it so effectively...playing on Harry Potter's willingness to follow directions. They'd done him in and now here he was in a prison cell, half-starved and fully beaten. And he'd been such a good boy this time.
"Silence, boy!" Said one of the Rrynons from behind Harry's head that was out of his view. It picked up an iron bat and slammed it down across Harry's shoulder with such a tremendous force that Harry screamed in pain. This seemed to pleasure the Rrynon somewhat and so it kicked Harry in his gut and made him slide halfway across the room. The other Rrynon snorted in laughter and snapped on a chain that connected Harry's leg to a steel post driven in the ground. He was immediately pulled back within reach of the first Rrynon and the beast turned him over upon his back so as to face Harry and stare fathomlessly into Harry's eyes.
"Albus Dumbledore gives his love."
Another kick sent Harry this time ramming straight into one of the iron bars, his head colliding viciously with it and he felt the blood from his forehead trickle down slowly down his cheek and into his eyes with one of the most profound burning sensations he'd ever felt in his life. The pain in his shoulder and his head was nothing when compared to the feeling of his dislocated leg and broken left ribcage, however. He staggered to breathe and began to cough up thick amounts of blood.
W-w-what is going on h-here? Dumbledore...where is...am I? Thoughts ran through Harry's head without time for comprehension or even thinking. He only could focus on the Rrynon's boot and where it would attack him from next.
The first Rrynon set up for another kick but was stopped with a vicious blow to the head by the second. Their bright luminous eyes stood transfixed upon one another for a period of time where an exchange of hissing and growls were emitted from under their hoods where Harry suspected a mouth lie. Finally, the first Rrynon backed away from Harry but left its eyes glaring at the scar that lie upon Harry's forehead. The second dragged Harry up by the hair and threw him into a cell further down the hall and the last sound Harry heard was the locking of the door. A shadow of two figures loomed over him and began to lift him and put cold wet rags to his face. He then fell into deep unconsciousness.
"It's 'em, ain't it, Mort?"
"Aye, it's the Potter boy, Stev...never thought I'd see the day-"
"He might not either by de look of 'em...bloody hell dey beat the life outta 'em, haven't dey?"
"Well, we know how the guards of Hell's Spit work...they bring you in and give you a welcoming...not at all pleasant was our first beating, was it?"
"Not a' all, I swear me lungs are still crushed from that welcomin'."
Harry turned from side to side as his eyes fluttered to stay open. Ignoring the swirling of the room and the pungent odors of blood and bodily discharge, he tried to sit up on the damp, cold floor. A rearing pain swept from his lower back and ribcage all the way up to his temples making it almost impossible for him not to faint and throw up upon himself. His arms were badly bruised and he had whelp marks stretching from his face all the way down to his calves.
He reared forward and vomited, his untidy black hair entwining with the reddish-pink discharge from his mouth. One of the men grabbed Harry by the shoulders as to help him and the other pulled back his hair from the way of his mouth. Harry eventually stopped and lie upon his back choking and coughing violently. The first man who held Harry's shoulders shook his head from side to side in pity.
"There, there, you've got to stay strong in here...I spent years in here and if I'd have gone weak, they'd have been all over me by now," He pointed to the guards, the same cloaked figures Harry had seen the morning of – well, the morning of the incident.
"Yeah, gotta keep yeh wits about yeh or they'll break yeh...seen it happen plenty o' times."
Harry, however seemed reluctant to even speak to these men, he was assuring himself that Dumbledore knew exactly where he was and that any moment now, he'd come and rescue him. He put his face to the cell bars and screamed mercilessly.
"DUMBLEDORE! GET ME OUT OF HERE, DUMBLEDORE!"
"Aye lass, that's easier said than done," the man called Mort said with an impish smile. "Y'see, nobody knows about Hell's Spit except for those who already know where it is."
"Unplottable by even de Ministry themselves. They say Hell's Spit is for de inmates even too strong fo' Azkaban...dey break you here till yeh're nuttin' but flesh an' hell. But by den yeh've already snuffed it up." The man called Stev responded morbidly.
"Or died from madness," added Mort.
"Yep, the only way outta Hell's Spit is through dat dere box," Stev said pointing to a small black casket with a lock on it.
"Then they throw you off Old Man's Singer and you're out in the death cold of the ocean."
"Just like Bert...on'y Bert was too big for 'is casket...'member what dey did to 'im, Mort?"
Mort winced and shuddered as though he remembered only too well what had happened to Bert that day and was trying desperately to wipe the thought from memory. "Sliced off his legs and stuck them in his mouth...the bloody tyrants!"
"Shh now, don' want dem to hear yeh speakin' like that...'member last time yeh spoke like dat."
"I dare them to use Crucio on me again...I'll knock their bloody lights out!"
Harry sat in disbelief, his hands clenched painfully around the steel bars of the prison cell. He was alone, left stranded in some prison to rot and perhaps die...and they'd known about it all along. They'd planned his demise and they'd planned it so effectively...playing on Harry Potter's willingness to follow directions. They'd done him in and now here he was in a prison cell, half-starved and fully beaten. And he'd been such a good boy this time.
