A/N: I've been terribly lax in my disclaimers: looks thoroughly ashamed: So, without further ado!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything to do with him belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bro. and probably more people I am un aware of. Sob. Crime that it is. I am not making any prophet from this; it is purely for my own amusement.

Paradise Found

Chapter Three

At the Gates of Gehenna

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!" -the Tempest act I scene 2

Surry was about an hour, perhaps an hour and half away from London by the fastest broomstick. London was an entire day by train away from Scotland and Hogwarts. So by this logic, if one rode on a broom sporadically from halfway to London for about a day and half before stopping for five hours, where would that take you? Harry, while lying on the cold ground, tied by a spell, contemplated this doggedly. They had stopped and he had been revived to watch as six Death Eaters met momentarily before setting up a camp of sorts at a shack. For the most part he had been left completely alone. Well, if two casual curses was considered being left alone. Bearing in mind they were Death Eaters, Harry deemed them very hospitable indeed.

"Tormenta!" Behind a veil of pain Harry tallied it up to three casual curses. The curse was lifted soon after and he was left to himself for a while longer before being strapped to a broom again. They rode for a while more before touching down in a lightly wooded area. He was blindfolded and led by leash for several more hours before, when he felt sure his legs were going to fall off, they came to a halt.

"Well, well, well, whot's this then? A bit o' fresh flesh?" Harry felt a grimy hand grab his chin and turn it this way and that. He jerked away from the grasp, disgusted, laughter breaking out around him. "A bit o' spirit, eh? That would come at a good price 't would. Whot you say, mates? A trade, aye?"

"Not this time, Marely, this one's got a price you can't reach," a raspy voice laughed out.

"Whot's this now? 'Oo's yer buyer?" The man lingered for a moment before moving away to talk to one of his hooded captors.

Harry felt himself gag; who were these people? The death Eaters and the one man kept talking for quite some times about other orders, shipments, and special deals until finally the Death Eater holding his leash gave a vicious jerk and Harry, thoroughly disgusted with the entire situation, obediently followed. After several hours of mindless, endless, and pointless walking, Harry was grabbed roughly by the arm split seconds before both captor and captee Apparated.

Wherever they arrived had scum-covered stone floors and very damp air. Dragged to his feet, where he immediately felt nauseous, Harry was again led by the makeshift leash. Finally the group came to a stop and Harry's blindfold was removed just as he was pushed into a dark room; the door shutting behind him with a mighty clang.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry pushed himself to a sitting position and struggled against his restraints before finding a wall to lean against. His eyes glared around the room, but for all his effort he could only sense dull, gray shades. His glasses had been taken away when replaced by the blindfold, so what he might have been able to see was severely blurred and fuzzy. What he could tell from touch and smell though was that he was in some sort of castle not unlike Hogwarts. Or rather, Hogwarts' dungeons.

Pain from earlier abuse accosted his person and matched with the frigid temperature of the stone room, and Harry closed his eyes, wishing to fall into a blissful oblivion. The Death Eater's Anonymous group apparently had other ideas. No sooner had he shut his eyes than they were blinded by a bright white light. The light eventually dimmed enough for Harry to distinguish it as a torch, or several really, and three rather haughty looking figures in black.

"Well, well, well. What have we got here? Baby Harry Potter!" Harry's eyes screwed themselves shut as the toying voice of Bellatrix Lestrange met his ears. His insides twisted violently and he could hear his harsh breathing echo off the stone walls. "Oh! Is wittle, ickle, baby Potty not feeling well? Poor poor baby!" Maniacal laughter filled the room and Harry's fury knew no bounds.

Before he could say anything, however, a spell was cast at him; each bone snapping before magically rejoining together within seconds. A scream ripped through his throat and he curled himself together.

"Aww! Does ickle Pottikins think he can hide? Does he not like to play? Come out! Come out! Come out to play wiff me, ickle Potty!"

Bellatrix had crept closer to Harry as she spoke and blinking his eyes open, he could make out a fuzzy black form with white face peering over him. But it wasn't the insane Death Eater Harry saw; Harry saw Sirius falling with a looking of dawning comprehension backwards ever so slowly. Kicking out his leg, he smiled with dark delight at the satisfying crunch he heard and the subsequent shriek of surprise and pain. Without looking, he rolled onto his back and struck both legs out toward a pale, orb which a moment later proved to be her head as a grunt signaled a direct hit.

His victory didn't last long as by the time he had reached out a hand to grasp a delicate, wooden stick he was sent crashing into the stone brick wall, head first. Through a haze of near unconsciousness Harry could feel a presence closing in on him and seized up as another spell with a familiar red streak met his chest.

Screaming beneath the throes of the forbidden curse, Harry felt his skin and bones catch fire, the nerves severed by thousands of invisible knives. The curse ended and he gasped for air, rewarded by the strong, musty smell of a dungeon. Sweat coated his body like a second skin and his eyes quaked, somewhere rolled to the top of his skull. His body shook at intervals and his tongue was coated by something warm and sticky, which he soon recognized to be blood. Breathing heavily he didn't even notice as someone bent down to cut him loose of his bonds and the heavy door to his chamber shut heavily, the bold sliding into place with a high pitched metallic shank.

Left to himself with no way to differentiate one hour from the next, Harry half crawled, half dragged himself to the farthest corner of the room and curled up within himself. He had no dreams, but a persistent throbbing from his scar kept him from falling into any true sleep. He woke from his daze sporadically; each time to the sound of cloth swishing from somewhere near by; the scampering of tiny rodent feet; or muttering voices that laughed darkly, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

Holding his knees to his chest and resting his head against the stone wall, Harry felt a stab of fear go through him. It couldn't be time for him to meet Voldemort, not yet, not so soon! He couldn't possibly beat him; he was only sixteen years old! He'd seen what the rotting corpse could do and somehow Harry doubted that the Dark Lord would perish under his rictusempra or cheering charm.

Finally the dark ache spiked, and Harry jerked awake at the nearness of his mortal enemy. A black robe and white mask opened his prison door and another spelled him motionless and air-borne to follow as they led the way. His keepers' footsteps tapped against the floor at uneven intervals until Harry could no longer keep track of the direction they were going, let alone how to get where.

The trio came to a wide open room with walls of shiny, black stone and a large group of black robed figures. Harry searched the bone-white masks of any hope, but eventually turned back to his own honor guard's path. They continued through a wide, black archway until they met a door. The Death Eater on his right knocked twice, before stepping back and waiting for the door to swing open. If possible, the chamber they entered was darker and danker than his cell. He didn't have much time to contemplate the information, for as soon as he crossed the threshold, he felt pain unimaginable. It started with his scar, exploding and sending white spots across his vision before shuddering through to his chest, limbs, and abdomen. Every inch of him was on fire, the bones melting within his flesh and his eyes burning like acid. And suddenly it was over. Whimpering slightly, Harry could feel the betraying wetness of tears on his face and tried to wipe them away. But raising his arm sent a new wave of furious pain through his arm, back, chest, and abdomen. Resigned, he let the appendage fall back onto the cool, smooth stone.

An amused voice called to him from the front of the room. Lifting his head he could make out the fuzzy, red eyed form of Voldemort.

Marvelous.

Next: Chapter 4 –The Double Betrayer

Harry was roused from his thoughts by his door being slammed open and a robed figure stepping in. "Good evening, Potter," said a voice pleasantly," Lovely evening for a drink- wouldn't you agree?"

"You!" spat Harry, shocked to his core.

He didn't need his glasses to picture lips behind the white mask curving into a smile, "Yes, Potter, me."

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Thanks to Lil Padfoot for being such a great beta!