Disclaimer: I don't own HP. Oh well.

Author's Note: This is a drabble. Drabbles are only 100 words, therefore, this is supposed to be short.

Blood fell from his chin and stained his robes as he struggled against the restraints. He hated Devil's Snare, and the Dark Lord knew it.

Death Eaters had left him in the dungeons, nothing but the mold on the walls to keep him company. He was bound, bleeding and broken, hoping that if he banged his head against the wall, he'd have a short death.

As he leaned his head forward, readying himself -- the door of the dungeon opened and there was Potter, along with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix.

Maybe they'd be gentler on him.