Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

Chapter 16: Twisted Minds

It was midday, but the room was dark.

A man stood on a moth-eaten rug in front of a roaring fire, hunched over, sweating and shaking in fright, silhouetted black against the flames. He couldn't help it at all, he'd tried to remain collected, but the icy feeling that had spread to every corner of his body inflicted upon him an emotion worse than absolute terror. He whimpered once and bit his lip to quiet himself, in awe nonetheless of the emotions his master could inflict on a person by simply being present.

A high, raspy voice met his ears like nails on slate. It was all he could do not to shudder involuntarily. "Five have been taken?"

The fire crackled and a large serpent looked up, its black eyes reflecting the light, and gave a slow hiss from where it was curled on the hearth.

"Y-yes, my Lord...Dolohov, Avery, Crabbe, Rodolphus and Flint. They are g-gone, my Lord...to Azkaban..."

He was driven to his knees, sobbing quietly, as the tall, hooded and midnight-swathed pillar of evil drew nearer to him in the suddenly claustrophobic room. A heavy feeling descended upon his shoulders like an immense weight and he dared for his life not look up.

"Azkaban..." the high voice declared furiously. "No matter. Azkaban will soon be under my control. Releasing them will be swift and sure."

"Y-yes, my Lord...the capture could not be helped. The whole p-place was swarming w-with Aurors...they were surrounded."

"Be quiet, Rookwood!" hissed the Dark Lord. "I grow weary of your malcontent...your weakness. One who serves me is not weak; do you understand? Or shall I teach you?" Livid red eyes glowered at him from the shadows.

"No, my Lord! Please...you are right...I am sorry..."

Voldemort sneered. "Part of our plan is taken care of, then. The boy is a little less safe from us. And when Lucius reports to me with more information, I can arrange for the rest to take place. And this time it will go through properly, Rookwood. I am growing impatient of constantly failing. The Prophecy was a great disappointment, as I taught you all in June."

Voldemort turned away slowly and almost glided over to the window, its old glass flawed in an oval shape in an upper corner, to look silently out over the grounds three stories below, bathed in cloudy light. He laughed then, a high, cold laugh that shattered whatever relief Rookwood had been feeling and sent more daggers down his spine, turning the room to ice, freezing everything around him at the sound...he wanted to vomit...

"So the filthy Muggles are dead and the Ministry is swarming, the Wizarding Community in panic," Voldemort hissed almost pleasurably, the sound grating on the man. "And now poor Harry Potter has no family..." he turned and faced Rookwood, his red eyes glowing. "No...protection."

Rookwood didn't know if contradicting the Lord of Darkness was a wise move, so he tried to make himself sound as though he was merely suggesting. "Harry Potter is protected while at Hogwarts, is he not, my Lord? Under the eye of Albus - "

"Are you suggesting that he holds the greater power? Albus Dumbledore is a weak-minded fool!" Voldemort spat angrily, and the floor trembled with it while bits of plaster shook from the ceiling and fell like snow. Behind Rookwood, the serpent hissed loudly.

"N-never, my Lord! I would never do such a thing!"

"I do not take kindly to opposition," Voldemort whispered, and pointed his wand at the trembling man. "Crucio!"

He watched with a kind of sick pleasure as the Death Eater at his feet screamed in sheer agony and writhed on the ancient rug like a filthy worm. His eyes were rolling in their sockets and his dry tongue was lashing around in his mouth as he emitted scream after scream. Sweat poured down his face, his skin turned white, his hands scratched at the wooden floor and left trails of blood behind as his nails were torn from his flesh. Voldemort marveled at the spectacular display of anguish before him, awed by its splendor, entranced as blood flowed from Rookwood's nose as the man hit it off the floor in his attempt to roll over, bawling in sheer pain...death would be such a welcome release...

Voldemort laughed at the man and lifted the curse. Rookwood stopped struggling with himself and lay, panting profusely, bleeding, and sobbing in pain.

"There are some things in which that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore has overlooked, and I will see to it that they are taken advantage of, Rookwood." The Dark Lord stopped then and returned to his armchair, fingering his wand almost lovingly, his face smoothly blending into a transition between shadow and light as the fire's glow washed over it in an almost sickening beauty. Rookwood wrenched his gaze away, horrified, and remained on the floor in front of Voldemort, breathing haggardly.

"Harry Potter's mind is weak," the Dark Lord hissed, closing his smoldering eyes. "I can feel it. He is torn between love and hate...and he will choose hate. I know this; I can sense his anger. It pulses through him now. He fails to notice its magnificence, Rookwood."

Rookwood nodded, at loss for words. "Yes, my Lord."

"He is dreaming," Voldemort said almost to himself, his voice becoming more terrible now. "His memories...are chaotic...and they haunt him mercilessly. He is a servant of fear and spite, anger and hatred, pain and terror. He is a servant of darkness, darkness from which there will be no escape. He even wishes for it now. He turns from the light...I am seeing it now...even in the midst of friends he shrinks away."

"What are your plans, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord opened his eyes and turned Rookwood's stomach. "You shall see soon, my Death Eater. When all is in place I will tell...and by then it will be too late for him. He will be mine. And perhaps if we are lucky, we will succeed in luring another into our trap as well.

xxxxxxx

Petunia was staring at him, horrified, her hands clutching at her left eye. "Go...go, you idiot boy...what are you doing, standing still? Get away!"

"What happened?" Frantic fear struck him. He knew what had happened.

"Shut up, you stupid little - "

"Did he hit you again?"

Footsteps boomed across the living room and Petunia frantically pushed the boy into the hall near the stairs, hissing. "Go!" Her eyes were wide and terrified and she trembled as she tried to walk, her own fear delaying her.

Harry couldn't. He was torn between love and hate, torn between running and helping, although he knew he could do very little in the end to prevent the blow that was inevitably coming.

Vernon had been drinking again. He'd lately been doing that to get over his fear and paranoia of the Order, who had threatened to arrive in Privet Drive if they got wind of anything bad happening to his nephew.

The house was warm and stuffy and the two figures in the entranceway fought for breath as the walls closed in around them. Laughter from upstairs crept eerily down to the floor below as Dudley watched his favourite programme on TV, not a care in the world...oblivious to the reckless hate and terror below him.

A crash from the next room and loud swearing. Petunia's frightened brown eyes meeting green ones. "Run, Harry."

"No," Harry replied. "You don't deserve any of this. Go upstairs."

"Fool!" his aunt spat, climbing a few and staring back at him for a moment before running up the rest as fast as her heels could allow her. All the while Harry sucked in air laboriously, his throat constricting, knowing that his uncle had to vent his anger out on someone, and it might as well be Harry.

He deserved the pain. He deserved everything he got.

Vernon slowly trudged into the hall, his small eyes watery and unfocused, his breath reeking of alcohol. Harry's eyes took on a strange glint as he watched, shaking, while his uncle growled and spat on the floor.

"Filth," he hissed drunkenly. "Where is Petunia?"

Harry's legs had turned to lead. Horrified, he couldn't move, even when trying. "She's out," he lied, desperate to keep Vernon's temper to a minimum. "She went with Dudley to the grocers."

Vernon snorted. "You little fucking maggot," he spat, his breathing becoming very quick. Harry's forehead wrinkled in fear. "You worthless son of a bitch...I'll kill you."

Vernon was coming for him now. Harry couldn't move. He had no time to.

He was grabbed roughly and smashed against the door. One of the little panes of glass in the window was knocked out again and fell to the floor where it shattered at Harry's feet. Vernon howled and shoved his nephew against the door once more, the boy's head smacking off the wood again and again until stars were swimming in the emerald eyes and a migraine of hurt exploded at the back of his skull. Harry's breathing was shallow, and he winced in terrible pain, as the repetitive blows stabbed all around him like an inferno. He wouldn't cry out, however. He bit his lip yet again and drew blood, his fingernails scratching frantically at the surface of the door, desperate to hold onto something...anything...

"All my failures," Vernon bawled, his red, beefy face very close to Harry's. "Are because of you. You are the downfall of this family. I hope you're happy, you freak, of what you have caused us!"

The sudden trepidation he felt for his uncle was horrible. He cowered before the man who was holding him so painfully against the front door of number four, desperately wishing that something - anything - would save him from what was to come.

Harry was thrown onto the hardwood floor then, and more searing pain erupted across his back as a foot collided with his flesh, bringing a flood of tears to his eyes. Harry curled up and sobbed quietly into the floor as his uncle beat him, trying to get at every bit of his nephew as he could; relentless, furious, stabbing, angry, seething, crying, careless, hissing, sparing the black-haired boy nothing. Blood was on the polished surface of the wood, so much blood now. And come tomorrow, he himself would be scrubbing it off while his aunt would yell at him over his shoulder and Dudley would come in with his gang of friends, all jeering, all staring, all knowing what had taken place but saying nothing.

Because he was nothing. It was what he deserved, after all. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the rest.

xxxxxxx

The Boy-Who-Lived woke up.

Harry was aching inside. His head hurt from too much sleep and he moaned into the air and tried to open his eyes. Everywhere was sore; the pain was terrible, like knives, like needles...he focused on breathing instead, trying to rid his mind of the agony that was coursing through him. His very veins were throbbing with pain, his heart was crying, his eyes leaking tears out through the closed lids...

"Harry...?"

Harry gave a small jerk of surprise and his eyes snapped open in alarm, fearing the worst. The dormitory room was filled with golden light from the sunset outside, beautiful in its evanescence, but at the moment very unwelcome. Harry desperately wanted darkness, shadow; anything to keep him from the searing aches of looking upon light. He hurt too much.

His throat was red hot and burning, and he found that he could not speak. His forehead and face was burning as well. His limbs felt sore and he shivered involuntarily.

"Harry, are you awake? Are you OK?"

Harry fixed his attention on the speaker. A girl. Red hair. Ginny.

Harry cleared his throat and attempted to sit up, failing miserably. He groped for his glasses instead and slid them into place, and his world came into clear focus.

"Hi," he said, yawning tensely, trying to sound normal. "Er...shouldn't you be in class?"

Ginny gazed worriedly at him and swept a few stray locks of hair off his forehead tenderly. Her hand was once more blissfully cool. "Harry...it's just after six o'clock. You slept all day. Everyone's really worried about you...Ron was up here checking on you about half an hour ago, but he's gone down to the kitchens with Hermione."

Harry's sudden emotion overtook him and he once more sunk his teeth into his lip and attempted to hide his surprise. "Ron was here?"

Ginny smiled sadly. "Yes, Harry. He was as worried as we were."

Harry snarled and automatically dismissed what she'd said. Ron didn't care; he already knew that. This was all bullshit. Lies. Harry exhaled shakily, trying to hide his anger.

"They're bringing you back something," the redhead continued softly, tentatively running her fingers through Harry's hair in an attempt to comfort him. "You must be hungry."

"I'm not."

Ginny looked slightly put out. "Oh...well then...it'll be here at least, if you want it."

Harry looked up at her. She was looking very attractive, sitting cross-legged on his bed beside him, wearing her Weird Sisters t-shirt again. She wasn't pretty in a Cho way with perfect tresses and makeup, but in a very...in a very comfortable, soft way. It was Ginny, red crazy hair and all. He didn't know how to describe it.

Harry suddenly felt very peculiar and his stomach complained as though threatening to make him vomit. He groaned painfully and took a deep breath, sitting up. His vision swam and he fixed his eyes onto Ginny's to keep from falling over.

"Harry...you're not well." Ginny closed the heavy curtains on the windows with a wave of her wand as the sun's rays suddenly spilled onto her face, casting the room into temporary darkness before the candles and torches lit themselves. "Do you need Madame Pomphrey?"

"No."

"Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"Yes."

"Would you like a sleeping draught? Oh wait, no, you've slept over nine hours..."

Harry shook his head. "Ginny...I'm fine. Really. Cut it out."

Ginny's brown eyes hardened. "You always say that," she pointed out testily. "You always deny your troubles for the sake of other people. Harry, I can tell if someone is sick, and by the look of you I'd say you are."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, glaring at her.

Ginny exhaled loudly. "Doesn't mean I think you look like rubbish," she added, rolling her eyes at his stubbornness. "I just meant..."

"You meant what?"

The two said nothing; simply stared at one another for a little while, breathing quietly.

"I...I talked to Hermione today," the girl said quietly after a while, looking at Harry almost shyly. "I'm sorry...I'm really sorry I put on such a fucking spectacle in the corridor...I just thought..."

Harry found it interesting that Ginny would say something like that when really, there had been no evidence of any sort of relationship other than mere friendship between the two. He couldn't help but smile a little at a slightly taken-aback Ginny, who blushed and shook her head.

"Oh shut up," she muttered at herself, brushing red hair out of her eyes. Harry's anger ebbed away and he looked at her amusedly.

"No need to apologize..."

"Yes there is."

"No. It's all right, Ginny. Really."

"Harry, it's...it's...well, I...I just really...oh god, I feel like such a nob."

Ginny made to get up, but Harry grabbed her hand. She looked at him, a little surprised, and sank back down again.

Harry didn't know what he was doing until he was actually doing it. He had reached out and his other hand was cupping Ginny's freckled, fair face and her brown eyes were gazing into his, filled with a sort of longing and nervousness mingled into one; locking them both into one long, deep gaze. Emerald green eyes penetrated chocolate brown ones and he was entranced, simply staring, unaware of the time that had slipped by as his hand moved from her jawline to sweep a few locks of hair behind her ear. Harry's heart hammered in his chest. Ginny's skin was light, flecked with a generous dose of freckles, impossible to count, even though he tried.

"I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions is all," Ginny whispered. "I mean, I know you have a thing for Cho and I guess I'll just have to - "

Harry smiled and tilted her head up a little by her chin, moving closer to her while she closed her eyes, breaking off her sentence. Her red lips were centimetres from his...

The dormitory door banged open. "Hey Harry...are you awake? We brought food!"

Harry and Ginny were startled out of their moment and looked around sharply at Ron and Hermione, who had burst in and were carrying baskets. The two stopped short and exchanged quick glances with each other before Hermione snorted and shrugged off her robes, throwing them onto Ron's four-poster in a heap.

"When did Harry wake up, Ginny?"

"Um...about...maybe ten minutes ago?" Ginny answered, her voice innocent, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly. Hermione nodded.

"Good...we were afraid he'd slipped into a bloody coma! Oh, Harry...how are you feeling?" She sat on the other side of his bed and peered at him closely, resembling Madame Pomphrey.

"I'm all right," Harry said, accepting the piece of warm bread Hermione gave him.

"Hmmm," Hermione hummed, unconvinced. " I think you should see Madame Pomphrey before the night's over, Harry, just in case. I'll be surprised if you sleep tonight, the way you slept today...Professor Snape was right pissed off when you didn't show up for Potions."

"Then again," Ginny added, grinning, her eyes bright. "He was acting like a mad Hippogriff all day anyway."

Harry ripped a small portion of bread off the slice and chewed gratefully on it as everyone stared at him. His eyes flickered to Ron, who was standing near his own bed, looking very uncomfortable. Hermione noticed the tension and cleared her throat loudly, looking pointedly at Ginny.

"Ginny...why don't you and I go down to the common room and...play Gobstones?"

Ginny looked at Hermione as though she were mad, but was dragged off Harry's bed as Hermione grabbed her hand and led her to the door.

"Eat up, Harry," she called over her shoulder. "And let me know if you feel better later, all right?"

As the two girls left the dorm room, Ginny could be heard saying, "But you don't play Gobstones..."

There was silence. Harry pushed off his covers and sat, cross-legged as Ginny had done, on his pillows; still chewing on the bread. It was very good, and his stomach rumbled in hunger as he chewed responsively. Shut up, I'm feeding you...

Ron looked at Harry. Harry slowly met the redhead's eyes and felt his stomach suddenly clench. He would have to kill Hermione later for leaving him on his own with Ron...after all, Ron hated him...

The Weasley drew a shaky breath. "Harry," he said as though he'd rehearsed it a million times. "I'm...I'm really sorry for...for being such a git. It's just...sometimes I get carried away and I can't stop myself, and..."

"So that makes it all OK, then does it?" Harry replied sharply, staring him in the eye. Ron flopped down onto his own bed and sighed.

"No, Harry, it doesn't. I don't know what I was thinking when I said that...obviously there's things you aren't telling me for me to think that you lead a perfect life...how could I have been so stupid...the shit you've had to go through..." he looked up and Harry saw tears pooling in the redhead's eyes. He dropped the remaining bit of bread back into the basket where it lay, forgotten, and swallowed the bit painfully he had in his mouth. "I've been really lonely without having you around, Harry," he confessed. "I was your best mate and I blew it and I'm sorry...I really am sorry...I talked with Hermione a lot over the past day and she made me feel so ashamed of myself. God, I'm a git. I don't know why I ever thought you and Hermione were sneaking around, that was..."

"Pretty dumb?" Harry finished for him. Ron laughed feebly and nodded.

"Yeah. I know you'd never do anything like that to me."

Harry tried to get around that dry, swollen thing in his mouth that was called a tongue. "Ron...you hate me. You made it clear...you said I could get away with anything because I have..." He self-conciously touched his scar.

Ron looked at him, incredulous. "Harry...I don't hate you! I could never hate you! Why do you say that, mate? I know I was harsh when I went mad on you, but Harry...I...I was being an idiot. I didn't know what the bleeding arse I was talking about. I'm so sorry...I really don't want you to be alone because I know it's the last thing you need right now. I went and ditched you because I was jealous and...and I know...I'm just...oh Harry..." He pulled a rolled up newspaper out of a pocket and threw it on Harry's bed. The brutal headline screamed up at Harry and he stared, his stomach disappearing, at the article.

"They put it in the bloody Daily Prophet?" he asked aloud in disbelief. "Why the hell would they put it in the..."

Ron sat on Harry's bed. "So the Dursley's are dead?"

Harry's eyes were filled with two different emotions (which were currently at war with each other), and didn't answer Ron's question. He just stared at the moving picture of his Aunt and Uncle's house; smoke streaming lazily out of the broken windows, Auror's swarming the scorched property, Muggles having memory modifications, a haggard-looking Professor McGonagall arguing heatedly with a Daily Prophet reporter.

"Harry...where were you last night?"

Silence.

Ron exhaled loudly through his nose and his discomfort grew. "I'm sorry I showed you that...here..." He went to remove the paper, but Harry brushed him away.

"I can't believe they did that," Harry said. "Why does every little bleeding thing have to be announced like this?"

Ron grimaced. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care," Harry replied. "So they're dead. It's horrible, yes, but they're dead. I don't have to go back there ever again." He closed his eyes almost in relief and begun to whisper to himself as though Ron wasn't there. "I don't have to go back...ever again...it's OK, you don't have to go back...you're safe from - "

Ron felt a wave of cold goosebumps wash over him. "Harry...are you sure you're OK?"

Emerald green eyes opened and Harry looked at Ron. "I accept your apology but...I dunno...you're sorry, Ron? You mean it, right?"

"Of course I do."

Harry's scar twinged, but a warm sensation filled his body nonetheless. He was, at the moment, very confused, however. He silently cursed his scar for playing with his mind again, making him drowsy, making him feel sick. "Ron...how can I believe you?" he murmured. "How can I believe that you'll stick with me after this? After what happened in fourth year too? You ditched me when I needed you the most, Ron...how can I know that you're as good as your word?" He looked almost fearfully at the Weasley.

Ron's eyebrows knit together. "Oh bloody hell..." he got up and snatched the paper away from his friend and threw it across the room where it landed haphazardly near the door. "Harry...that's over with. I said I was sorry and I meant it."

Harry nodded. He resisted the urge to throw up and resorted to laying back down again to steady his nausea. A crescendo of dizziness overcame him and he closed his eyes tightly and groaned, trying to get a grip on himself.

He felt the side of the bed sink down a little as Ron sat.

"Your scar?"

"Not just my scar," Harry said quietly. "Lately it's been weird...it's been dodgy...I can't explain what it is..."

"Have you talked to Hermione?"

"It's not Hermione I need to talk to," the black-haired boy replied, opening his eyes. He wasn't about to reveal as to whom he needed to have that conversation with, however. He knew what Ron's reaction would be, and right now he didn't want to hear it.

Ron didn't seem to want to pursue it, either. He sat silently for a moment, thinking. "So we're all right again, then?"

Harry nodded once more and smiled a little before he hissed with pain, clapping his hands to his forehead. "Oh god, Ron...can't someone bloody throw Voldemort a lemon drop and..."

"Do you need Pomphrey?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'll go get Hermione," Ron said, getting up and hurriedly crossing the room to open the door.

Hermione and Ginny fell into the room in a heap of fabric and crazy hair as Ron went to leave, strangled cry's escaping them in their surprise. Ron stood there, flabbergasted, then hoisted Hermione up by her robes.

"Eavesdropping, Miss Granger?"

Hermione glared at him. "No," she said unconvincingly. "We were just..."

"Is Harry OK?" Ginny asked, brushing red hair out of her eyes and standing up shakily to peer around her brother. "My god, he's still not out of bed?"

The trio turned to look at him, surprised when they saw Harry sleeping soundly once more.

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What am I doing here?

The dungeon loomed all around him, black as midnight, cold as ice.

Ice. Harry suddenly became aware of the fact that he was freezing. He wrapped his robes tightly around himself.

It must be late. How the hell did I get here? Am I dreaming?

Harry pinched himself. No, he definitely wasn't dreaming. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and he found himself just down the corridor from Snape's classroom. Odd.

A strong sense of foreboding seeped into his flesh like a spider. He glanced this way and that, his eyes feeling like they hadn't been used in a good while. He felt...violated. He was scared.

He had absolutely no idea of how he had come to be in the dungeon. He had no memory. No recollection. He took a few tentative steps, not knowing where to go. He was disoriented still, so he merely stood in the stone passageway, unnaturally still, breathing quietly.

He closed his eyes and tried to think. He saw blankness. He remembered Ron apologizing, something about him going to get Hermione...that's where it ended. Everything else was gone.

An echo trickled down the walls, long strides erupting in sharp footsteps growing closer. Harry was elsewhere. His mind was fogged.

"What are you doing!"

The sparse hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. Snape was behind him, a hand gripping the young wizard's shoulder tightly. It hurt. Harry shrugged off the touch and turned around in a daze.

"Sorry Professor...I didn't know I was here."

Snape's eyes filled with an emotion Harry couldn't distinguish. "What are you talking about, Potter? Why are you up wandering...it's almost three in the bloody morning!"

"Is it?" Harry asked, thoroughly surprised. "Oh..."

Snape stooped slightly to look into green eyes. "Are you home, Potter?"

"I didn't know I was here, Professor," Harry repeated. "I'm sorry. I'll be getting back to bed now."

Snape grabbed Harry's wrist and Harry grunted in pain, fully coming back to himself now. "Stop it."

Snape squeezed a little harder on the young man's skin and Harry hissed. "Stop!"

"I want an answer," Snape snarled back. "Your fame will not allow you to get away with breaking rules as far as I am concerned. Get into my office...your answer better be unsurpassable or you'll have absolutely no points by breakfast."

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Sorry it's taken me so long to get another chapter up, guys. Your reviews are hugely and greatly appreciated (trust me, I need them).