Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.

Hello again, and welcome back to this story. Or, if you are new and just beginning to read this story, than welcome, and I hope that you enjoy it. Thanks to everyone who took the time to review.

So, if you're patient with me, I'll try to get these chapters out at a regular basis. I have loads of work to do almost day, so it may take a while at times.

Anyway, here goes another exciting chapter. Beware, it's a little graphic.

Chapter 3: Hope for the Dying

Harry only had a blurry memory of that night. He kept trying to escape the mocking laughter of death eaters and the pain his uncle and caused by sleeping. His mind was fuzzy and he couldn't concentrate. He had the sneaky suspicion that someone had drugged him before he had been taken back to their hideout.

The next morning arrived, and Harry felt more alert, which was very unfortunate in his case. He was in pain, and he knew that the pain would not relent. It was only a matter of time before they would come back for him. It was all just to prove a point. Just to prove that they were stronger and better, and that he would never defeat them. There were many times when he believed them.

He watched closely, and noticed that there were always two death eaters guarding him. They stood there with the mask on their face and the robes over their head. Of course, they used each others' names when talking, so it really defeated the purpose. He had to hand it to Voldemort: he really knew how to pick the 'smart' ones.

Harry felt them coming before he even saw them. He could feel Voldemort's anticipation as he waited for them to bring him forward. He tried to fight the rough hands that moved to pick him up, but it was in vain. He felt the point of a wand in his back, and knew enough not to push the holder to use it. He was drug forward to the same large room as the night before. It looked for the most part the exact same. Except that now there were large chains dangling from the wall, seeming to laugh at him with their cold, steel grins. The death eaters glared at him, as though hungry lions waiting for the kill. He could feel their blood thirst.

"Welcome back, Mister Potter," Voldemort hissed from the center of the group. "How do you like it? I was trying my hand at decorating, and I think it came out nicely." Harry didn't answer. He couldn't come up with anything to say. He just kept quiet. Besides, he needed to conserve energy for what would happen next. He knew that it was not going to be easy for him. But he also knew that they weren't going to kill him; yet.

"Severus!" Voldemort called. "Bring them." A tall death eater stalked to the center and handed three phials filled with dangerous looking liquids to the snake-like man. Meanwhile, the death eaters restraining Harry took off his shirt, and clasped the irons around his wrists. He was now strapped to the ceiling, and he knew there would be no escaping from them.

Voldemort stalked forward. "Nice wounds, Potter," he hissed. "Pleasant to think of how you can't fight against your own relatives. Very interesting, as well."

He pulled a green colored liquid from among the phials. "Amazing looking, isn't it? Designed by your own potion's master, I do believe. Do you want to know what it does?"

"No, not really," Harry answered blatantly.

"Pity. I'll tell you anyway. You see, it makes the drinker feel as though his insides are being ripped out. How does that sound?"

"Not too pleasant."

"No, it doesn't. But I will surely enjoy its effects, since I will be administering it to you. Now, open wide." Harry stubbornly clamped his mouth shut. Voldemort put his hand on the young man's face, and the pain was so excruciating that Harry opened his mouth in a gasp of pain. In that short amount of time, the potion was in his mouth and down his throat. The pain began instantaneously. At first, he tried not to scream; not to make any noise whatsoever. But pain finally won over, and he let out the worst yell he ever had. It was pain beyond pain. It was pure torture, to put it plainly. It did feel as though someone was ripping him inside out. Blood began to pour out of his nose, and his eyes became a bloodshot red. And then, just as soon as the pain had started, it ended. Harry now hung loosely from the chains, temporarily weakened by the potion.

"Did that hurt? I hope it did. Let us find out what this one does, shall we?" Harry had no will to resist the potion. It didn't even need to go into his mouth. It was poured onto his skin, and it felt as though it were burning. The skin remained as it was before, but it felt like it was burned. He screamed again, and the shrill sound pierced the air. The next potion made him sick, to say the least. He felt nauseous, and although he tried to hold it back, he eventually heaved onto the floor anything that was left in the pit of his stomach.

"Well, Severus, using that creative license again, aren't you?" Voldemort laughed. Harry hung from the chains, his knees bent drastically, and his body only supported by the wrists. He wished he could just lie down and rest. He was so tired. But he knew that wouldn't happen yet.

From the folds of his robe, Voldemort brought a belt. It looked just like the one that his uncle had had. In fact, he was pretty sure it was the exact same one that had been used on him once before. The pieces of metal shone in the dim light, but they were also stained with blood. He could feel Voldemort's pleasure as he cringed inwardly at the sight of the weapon.

Harry had already been through so much in the past couple of days. At the first lash, he gasped loudly, his throat unable to muster enough effort to scream. At the second lash of the belt, he fainted, his body slouching terribly into the binds that held him. Voldemort was taken back for a second, before he decided not to let the boy's fainting keep him from having a little fun. The belt continued to fall on the boy's broken body. His blood stained the floor in massive puddles. After about ten minutes, Voldemort ordered for his body to be taken down from the chains. "Severus, take him back to his cell. The rest of you, let us celebrate."

"Are you sure you do not want two of us to guard the boy?" Severus asked.

"He's not going to try to escape for a while, and I have the greatest confidence in you, Severus." To anyone else, this might have been sarcasm. But to Severus Snape, Voldemort was absolutely serious, and trusted Snape to a great degree. Snape bowed deeply, and then did as he was told.

When Snape finally arrived at the cell with the boy levitating out in front of him, he eneverated the boy. Harry blinked his eyes wearily, gasping in pain the moment he had awakened. "What...do you want...now?" he gasped, his voice barely audible.

"I have a message from your headmaster," Snape whispered as quietly as he could, to the point where Harry could barely hear him. "He says, 'no matter how bad the situation, broken things can often be fixed.'" From a fold in his robes, he brought out the once broken instrument. Even without his glasses, Harry recognized it. He looked at Snape for a moment, then back at the instrument. "Trust me now," Snape urged. "As soon as I am able, it will be me who has to get you out of hear, and I will need your trust to do that."

Harry gulped and nodded, before he fainted again on the floor. Snape hid the instrument again, and stalked out of the cell, locking it behind him. He had no idea how long it would take to be able to figure a way out of the prison, but he knew that he had to do it soon, or Harry Potter would be lost to the wizarding world, forever.

Please r/r. Sorry it took so awful long.