NB: content warning for violence and harm

All four of the people in the room with him turned at the same time to watch him laugh. His shoulders shook, unable to stop himself from expressing his dark amusement at the situation. The woman that he hated so intensely, who had practically tortured him for speaking the truth, was actually deluded enough to believe she was in the same league as Voldemort. He noticed them all watching him and he managed to still his rather hysterical laughter, mouth a little too eager to get carried away. His laughs were quiet and husky, but it was unmistakable that he had been laughing.

Umbridge appeared to swell with rage. It would have amused Harry further, in a different situation where he wasn't shackled against a torture device. Instead, he saw the violent intent burning on that squalid face, her cheeks trembling with her fury.

"You… you filthy half-blood! You thought you could steal from me!" She tore across the room, surprising the guards. "Where is my locket, Potter?"

He saw then that her robes were in a bit of a state, ruffled around the shoulders as if disturbed. The fake locket was gone.

He saw her wand rise. He'd been in this danger before, facing down her wand with that gleam in her eyes. He clenched his hands, gritting his teeth as he anticipated great pain.

"Crucio!" She shrieked. Harry flinched as the red bolt seared towards him. Then he felt the magic behind him rush through him, making him gasp, pulsing out to meet the curse. The red bolt glanced off the shield that suddenly manifested in front of him. He stared in shock, mouth agape.

It protected me?

The guard reacted quickly, disarming Umbridge. She shrieked and turned on him.

"How dare you?"

"You'll get us all killed, idiot woman!" He fired back at her. Harry watched as the man who had entered with the news of her arrival shrink back and run out. Smart.

"Killed?" She screamed at him. "I'll do worse than kill you, you pathetic grunt of a man." She'd lost it.

Harry saw a blur of movement step into the room, eyes focusing on the form of Yaxley, who had picked quite a time to return. He twisted his hands at the sight of him, hoping that this spectacle might give him some more time away from the quaesitor's relentless torment.

"Dolores, you are causing a scene," Yaxley's calm demeanor seemed completely out of place beside Umbridge's absolute abandonment of her senses. "It is most unprofessional."

"You…" she seethed, "you thought you could bar my access from Potter? You? A nobody?"

"Don't…" Harry found himself warning her, not sure why when she'd just tried and failed to curse him. He felt the same magic that had protected him lash him with its icy burn. He grinded his teeth against the pain.

"All you had to do was ask me like a normal, respectful colleague," Yaxley continued, calmly striding towards her. "I would have made time up for you especially. I'm sure Potter would very much like to explain his actions to you. I take it they are the reason behind your intrusion."

"You… allow me? You are just a clerk with friends in high places. I've been at the Minister's side for years," she sneered.

Yaxley smiled at her, then pulled up the sleeve of his left arm. His Dark Mark stood out, vivid and red. The guard who disarmed Umbridge looked pointedly away, face betraying his fear.

"Yes, me," Yaxley's voice was still calm. "Do you like my tattoo, Dolores? I wonder… if you would like one just like it. Maybe then you would have a right to speak to me in this way, just maybe. But you don't, do you?"

Umbridge stared at the mark, a strange wave of expressions twisting at her face as her anger reluctantly released its hold on it. It looked painful. She glanced over to Harry, who was watching her avidly, curious as to how she would react to the truth that the Ministry is in fact a front for Voldemort's take over.

"You've been useful in your handling of the populace, trimming away the mudblood fetidness that has polluted our society for too long. You've done the Dark Lord's work well, though I am curious if you always knew who let you have access to such brutal methods. You must have wondered the reason for the sudden tolerance for your ideals. Perhaps you simply didn't care, as long as you got your way."

Yaxley pulled his sleeve back down, hiding the mark. "But what you've been given can be easily taken away. You may think like one of us, but you are not one of us. You are merely a tool for our control and like a tool, you can be discarded."

Harry saw the fearful understanding dawn on her face as she found herself in the presence of someone she could not bully. Her illusions of her importance, her authority, shattered. For the first time, she saw the truth and she didn't like it one bit. Harry eased himself onto his feet, catching her attention.

"Li… listen to me," he winced as the magic punished him for speaking, but he saw his chance. A very desperate chance. "You… have to… leave. You're… in… over your head. He will… kill you."

He saw Yaxley's face snap over to him, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Umbridge was closer to him. He knew she could hear him, even if he couldn't speak up very loudly. Umbridge turned to look at him, eyes wide as if seeing him for the first time. Her gaze snapped up to his forehead.

"Potter, I don't believe I gave you permission to talk." Yaxley said, flexing his magic-touched hand. Harry groaned as the quaesitor responded, lancing him with the magic. The Death Eater regarded the guards. "Leave us."

They retreated out the room, evidently eager to leave. Umbridge watched them go, fear and puzzlement on her face, traces of her anger scoured away as it appeared she knew where the power rested in the room. It wasn't on her.

"Now that I've got that cleared up finally, I wonder," Yaxley said as the door swung shut with its miserable wail. He paused to wait for the slam. "Is there something you wish me to ask Potter? I've made it so it's impossible for him to lie. I know your history with him. I imagine there may be some things you wish to get out him. For… old times sake."

Umbridge glanced over to Yaxley, frowning. There was suspicion there now, as well as fear. Umbridge was a master manipulator. It was how she managed to succeed in life by playing people and pushing their buttons. She knew when someone was trying to play her, using her own tricks.

"I heard you in the hallway screeching something about a locket? Perhaps I can ask Potter about the property that he stole from you." Yaxley probed, appearing overly accommodating as if he hadn't just made a threat on her life. Harry regarded him with wariness. He'd already confessed to him about the locket and who it really belonged to.

Umbridge slowly turned, noticing Harry's gaze, and he saw the fear in her eyes as she saw the trap. Getting Harry to speak the truth about the locket would make him bring down the lies that she had told about her own blood-status and heritage. She had been using the locket to bolster it, had even been goaded to lie about it in the courtroom by Hermione.

That would ruin her reputation alone, if she was caught in the act of being a hypocrite in front of Yaxley. Yet she had no idea who the locket actually belonged to. She had no idea of the very real danger she was in. Just for being in possession of the Slytherin locket alone, the heirloom that mattered so much to Tom Riddle, the only thing he had of his mother and a token of his title as heir of Slytherin… she'd be killed without a thought.

As much as Harry hated the woman for everything that she had done, not just to him but to the muggle-borns that had been torn from their families under her new laws, he didn't want her to die. He wanted her to pay, certainly, to finally be held accountable for the terrible things she had done, but that didn't mean death.

"Well?" Yaxley urged, staring at her intently, waiting for her response. "Come now, Dolores, he did target you. You deserve a little… payback." His face twisted into a sneer. "Here, I'll ask him for you, a courtesy from one colleague to another."

Harry's insides twisted at the exchange. The nearness of another question, even one that he'd already answered unwillingly, made him sweat with the anticipation of having the quaesitor enter his mind.

"Potter, did you break into the Ministry for the sole purpose of retrieving the locket that was in this woman's possession?" The Death Eater asked smoothly, as if they were just having a normal discussion and not in the middle of an interrogation. Harry glanced at Umbridge.

"Yes but…"

"A locket that you confessed to me is a relic of some significance, a powerful artifact that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself?" Harry's face went slack, feeling the fear rising up in him again.

Don't ask me about the horcrux again. Please.

"Yes," he said simply, glancing at Umbridge again whose face had drained of colour, "but look, she had no idea what it was. I doubt if she'd known, she… ahhh! You bastard!" Yaxley clenched his fist, activating the quaesitor's punishment. It had taken Harry by surprise, forcing out his outrage.

"Don't back-peddle now, Potter." He warned.

"I'm… not," Harry ground out, furious. He latched his green eyes onto Umbridge. "Can't…you see…what he's doing? Get…out while…you can." He pushed the words out with immense strain as the magic of the quaesitor scoured him with agony. He slumped when the magic released him, arms trembling from the spasms.

"How heroic," Yaxley said in a bored voice. "Listen to him, Dolores, he's trying to warn you."

Her pale face looked between Yaxley and Harry, one who regarded her calmly, totally at ease, the other staring at her with insistent, bloodshot eyes, the right eye darkened with a vivid black bruise, dried blood coating his cheek and lip.

"Maybe this will help you understand," Yaxley said calmly, turning to Harry again. "Why did you steal the locket?"

Harry fixed Yaxley with a cautious look, quickly thinking of a way to stall the quaesitor from ripping the truth about the locket from his brain. He settled for a vague truth, as he did before.

"I need it to defeat Lord Voldemort," he said, jumping in alarm when Umbridge flinched at the sound of the name.

"W… what?" Umbridge asked in a high, terrified voice.

"Yes, I imagine it must be quite the surprise to hear that the item you so greedily confiscated for yourself is something of a powerful dark artifact," Yaxley said drily, "an act that rather sealed your fate, unfortunately for you."

Umbridge's eyes were wide, practically bulging out her face. "But… but I didn't know." She looked around wildly, her terrified gaze meeting Harry's. "The boy… he did this," she tried to hiss with anger and outrage, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the tremor in her voice. "He set me up. Some petty act of revenge."

Harry glared at her. And here I was trying to save her life.

"As much as he hates you, I doubt he would risk his own life over a prank," Yaxley remarked. "This horcrux was crucial in his resistance against the Dark Lord, but now… he'll never get to use it."

Harry grimaced at him using the word, but then realised that what he said made no sense. He looked over to Yaxley, frowning. Use it? Why would I want to use it? Then it struck him. He did his best to hide his surprise and overwhelming sense of triumph, a hint of hope glimmering through the absolute misery and despair that had been weighing him down.

He doesn't know! He doesn't know what a horcrux is!

He felt dizzy and looked away, as if defeated by Yaxley's words so he could better disguise his reaction. He had been so distracted by his failure in saying the word, he hadn't noticed how Yaxley didn't bother to ask him what it was, focusing instead on why he attacked Umbridge, where the horcrux was now and where his accomplices were hiding. He searched his overwrought brain for more information.

Why didn't he ask me?

Harry tried to remember where Yaxley had gone with the questioning after he'd been forced to say the word. He didn't immediately ask what it was. He asked why Harry didn't have it on him, where it was, who it belonged to…

I told him it belonged to Voldemort and can use it to help defeat him, but I never said how. He felt his head starting to spin. Yaxley's ignorance of the more subtle minutiae of the Dark Arts had given Hermione and Ron some more time free from Voldemort's personal attention. And also likely given Harry some more hours of life.

Harry felt giddy with relief. He was still in the game, for now. As long as he didn't give away just how important the horcrux was, Voldemort would remain in the dark for now. He wouldn't know that his great secret had been exposed.

He'll know in time, Harry thought grimly, when he rips it out of my mind in person. But until then, I just have to keep stalling.

"Corban," Umbridge said in a placating voice, giving a little tittering laugh that tremored with fear, "you don't know the boy like I do. He's a liar. He has you wrapped up in his little sinister game, trying to turn you again me."

"Oh, I'm well aware of his propensity to lie. Why else would he be chained to the veritas quaesitor? I assure you, he is telling the truth. Your inferior hands touched something very valuable to the Dark Lord and that's one of the reasons you will never leave this room."

"No! Don't… do this!" Harry tried to shout, but his voice kept breaking. He yanked himself against the chains that held him back, then he cried out as his vision whitened at the quaesitor's fury for his disobedience. Yaxley moved towards Harry, coming very close, his robe sleeves draping over his face as he reached up for the silencer at the top of the column. When he went to secure it, Harry twisted his head away from him, kicking out.

"No…" but there was no escape. The leather was yanked over his mouth and his desperate attempts to save the woman he hated, second only to Bellatrix, were stifled. He furiously struggled, his shackles scraping and banging against the column.

Umbridge appeared to finally come to her senses and she was backing away. She was completely defenseless. She turned and started to dash to where her wand had fallen when the guard disarmed her.

Yaxley flicked his wand and she screamed, jerked back by something ensnaring her ankle, making her fall to the floor and crash. She scrambled desperately, an animal caught in a trap, her terrified voice shrill. She was gabbling snippets of nonsense in her fear.

"Please… no, don't. I am pure! I'm important to you… no. Take the boy, not me!" She felt Yaxley's presence advancing. Harry watched in horror, still trying to free himself in vain.

"I was going to deal with you after my session with Potter. I considered letting you live, wiping your memory, but my Lord is not forgiving. You mishandled his property - both the boy and the locket." The menace that crept into his voice was enough to make Umbridge scream with fear.

"Your interruption, while not expected, was quite fortuitous. It gave me an idea of how to handle the more public management of the boy. Your murder will serve as a suitable reason for Potter's death sentence, don't you think? I'm sure the public will agree that putting down a dangerous fugitive, a murderer no less, is a sufficient means to an end."

Horror blared through Harry at his words. He sunk down the column, no longer having the strength to stand.

"I hope you're watching, Potter," Yaxley called over to him. "Perhaps you'll take some pleasure out of this."

Harry turned his head away. No, he very much did not want to watch and he took no pleasure, none. He could hear her wails of fear, the blubbering of her nose as snot and tears mingled together. She was desperately trying to crawl away from Yaxley, but she was pinned by his magical snare.

"Avada Kedavra!" Yaxley hissed out the spell. Harry shut his eyes but he saw the green flash. His own terror amplified at the light, intensified by his memories of death. There was silence. It fell thick and heavy, resting on him like a weight, pressing on his shoulders, making him sag down to the ground.

"Disgusting," Harry heard Yaxley say. He heard movement, but didn't dare raise his head. He didn't want to see the body. The proof of the callous murder, the ease in which the man had dispensed of her, like she really was nothing to him. Harry felt bile rise up his throat and gagged, body shuddering from the reaction. He tried to regain his control, but he couldn't think straight. The horror wiped everything away.

Yaxley was there, right in front of him, his black and silver robes swishing in the edge of his vision. He felt him stoop down and grasp his chin, roughly tilting his head up to force him to look up. Harry's vision was swimming with tears.

"I think we are done for the day," Yaxley said, "I have five days to get what I need from you and you've already given me quite a lot."

Harry dimly registered the words, his shock taking him far away. He was wiped out, at the limits of what he could take. He just remained on his knees, staring in the distance, not able to meet the eyes of his tormentor. He didn't want to look up and see normal, ordinary eyes, not the vivid red of Voldemort. He didn't want to see that the man who was so thoroughly breaking him, a man, not a monster.

He felt Yaxley release him and felt him move to the quaesitor. Yaxley pressed his enchanted hand to the column and audibly gasped as the magic struck him.

"Cestus!" He murmured. Harry felt the magic slowly retreat from his body and as it did, it seemed to take away a bit of his strength. He felt so drained, the trauma leeching away what little resolve he had left. He felt the edges of his vision dim, felt the fading of hearing as he sunk down, blacking out.

A sharp pain in his wrists brought him tumbling back into reality. He crashed back into his body, limbs jerking at the return. His body was a mess of aches and shakes, trembling from exhaustion. He grew aware that he was being supported, hands gripping him under his arms as they lifted him up from the column. When he felt his back part from the thing, he felt his body shudder with relief.

He noticed many things at once. First, his shock was wearing off. The pain of his tormented body intensified without the chill of the quaesitor numbing him, but weirdy this made him think more clearly. He realised that his arms and wrists were freed, the shackles no longer biting into his skin. The torn skin burned and stung. He'd clearly caused some excessive damage with his struggles.

As before, he was held between two men and they carried him with ease. He kept his eyes shut, knowing that if he remained limp and seemingly unconscious, they would drop their guard. He could feel his heart start to race at the possible opportunity to make his move. He opened his eyes a fraction, just in time to see the body on the floor and the face angled up towards him. He closed his eyes at once, horror and revulsion striking through him like a bell. Anger also crept through him. He might have hated the woman, but the way she died had been inhumane.

His broken rib stabbed at each breath and his bruises gave him that almost reassuring throb. A familiar pain. It grounded him.

He felt his feet sliding on the ground, again his toes caught on the grate. He suddenly realised why there were drains set in the floor and felt a visceral flash of horror. What sort of things could happen to him where they would need to clean the floor and drain away the mess? He imagined muggle methods of violence, but he had never heard of wizards being flayed. But then, why would he know? He doubted the existence of this place was common knowledge.

"Deal with the woman," he heard Yaxley say.

"Yes sir."

He felt Yaxley's presence. His body reacted to him instinctively, feeling the threat.

"I never thought the boy would be so weak," a grumble sounded at Harry's right. Yaxley gave a low laugh.

"If I had known that all it took to break him was to murder a woman in front of him, I'd have done it sooner."

The remark kicked something loose in him. To be mocked for his remorse, for his guilt. It was too far. The word weak rattled through him, calling forth all the humiliations he'd endured throughout his life, the laughs, the jeers, the taunts. Going as far back as his childhood, to the Dursleys, to when he'd been unable to fight back, to defend himself. Like now, where he'd been stripped of his pride, of his freedom and soon his life.

They were going to take everything from him, his life and his story. They'd build on the foundations already built for him, that he was an unhinged child with a history of delusions, that he was psychotic and violent. Then he snapped, attacked the Ministry to hunt down the woman that exposed him for what he was, a freak. They'd remember how he murdered her then was caught in the act, arrested, tried and executed. So ends the story of Harry Potter.

Anger was too little a word for the sensation that exploded from him. It was an unbridled rage that fired through his body, bursting out in a wave of heat. His hairs stood on end as his magic seeped out of him, releasing an aura of power. The torches around the room were suddenly caught in a phantom wind, flames dancing wildly.

Harry snarled in his throat, so furious, so overwhelmed with rage. His eyes fell open and he saw it at once. The wand on the floor.

A surge of magic lashed out of him, driven by pure instinct. The men cried out as their hands were suddenly scalded and let go, unable to hold the boy. Harry staggered out their hold, the torches loudly flickering, swept up in his magic. He felt his whole body suddenly alive with energy, with pure rage. He pounced on the wand at once, using his momentum to roll forwards, snatching it in his right hand and twisting around to face the three men at his back.

His eyes were fixed on Yaxley. Everyone went still for a second, the shock of Harry's sudden transformation from an unconscious boy to a very angry and armed wizard making them freeze.

Harry's rage burned in his eyes, glaring at the man that had so humiliated him with the interrogation, and ripped the truth out him, practically violated him. He knew the spell he wanted to cast and went to say it.

He couldn't speak. He was still wearing the silencer. In his moment of hesitation, Yaxley thawed, wand slashing out, ready to hit him. Harry had a wand but no way to use it.

No, I can't come so close only to fail here! PROTEGO!

He screamed the word in his head as he reacted to Yaxley's curse. A wall of magic burst around him and the cruciatus curse deflected harmlessly away. Harry could hardly believe it. He was no master at non-verbals. Apparently his drive to fight pushed him to succeed, the wand sensing his need.

The other men drew out their wands. Harry glanced behind him to the door.

"You're not getting out of here, Potter," Yaxley hissed, "there's no way out."

Like hell there is!

Harry went on the attack, flicking stunner after stunner at the men. Yaxley was forced to throw up a shield charm, his reflexes much more keen and deadly than the other men.

"Stupefy!"

"Incarcerous!"

Harry rolled away as ropes lashed out towards him. He flicked the stubby wand in his hand at them.

Diffendo! He thought, watching his severing charm rip into the robes. They dropped in tatters on the floor.

Harry stumbled back, his legs shaking. He felt his vision swim. Damn… I'm so dizzy. I've barely drank anything for two days. He saw why they'd been systematically dehydrating him. He could go days without food, he'd learnt how to the hard way, but without water? He was barely able to walk straight without help.

He took a couple of paces back, casting another shield charm. The impact of the spells sent him stumbling back. He hit the wall. Quickly, he glanced to his left, seeing the door wide open.

I'm wasting time duelling. I should be running.

He flicked the wand at the ceiling. Reducto! His charm thudded into the stone, but nothing happened. The room was warded. Yaxley snarled at him, rushing at him, throwing curse after curse. Harry matched him, shielding, keeping watch of the other wizards who were slower and giving away their spells with their incantations, giving him that time to react.

"Where was this skill when we duelled earlier?" Yaxley panted, still throwing spells at Harry.

Harry turned back to the offensive and sent a fire spell at them. The guards yelled and dived away, but Yaxley just cast a shield, the flames glancing off harmlessly. Harry took advantage of their distraction and made a break for the door. He made it through, staggering out into the hallway, looking down to see the guards at the door.

"He's loose!"

Harry realised then that there had been silencing charms on the doorway. The guards in the hall hadn't heard the confrontation. He cursed at his stupidity. He might have had a chance if he stood his ground against Yaxley the guards and took on them. Now he was facing eight wizards. He was starting to flag.

Yaxley tore after him. Spells were flying at him from all directions now. He shielded, backing away, feeling his advantage greatly shrinking away. A stunner cracked at the marble at his feet, narrowly missing him, getting under his shield. He was getting sloppy, tired.

"Stop!" Yaxley suddenly shouted. "Barricade the door. I'll finish this."

The barrage of spells ceased. Harry eyed the Death Eater, not letting his guard down. He saw at the edge of his vision the guards move to the door.

"You're never making it through that door, Potter." Yaxley was breathing heavily. "Do you know what's on the other side?"

Harry watched the other two wizards leave the chamber, moving behind Yaxley, wands at the ready.

"There are around four thousand witches and wizards between you and the exit in the atrium," the Death Eater said, pacing. Harry matched his pacing, eyes never leaving him or his wand. "Each one knows what you look like and knows that if they are found helping you, they and their families will be history. Every single wand in this place is trained on you. There is no escape."

The truth of the words crashed into Harry, but he found he didn't care. One very drained wizard against the whole country? He knew how it would end but he was too angry to care. He reached up to the back of his head with his left hand, fingers finding the buckle as he knew would loosen the muzzle enough to let him speak. It dropped down from his chin, the inside shining with his sweat.

"Then I'll just have to settle for you," he said, his voice still raspy but clear as a bell in the echoey acoustics of the hallway. "One less Death Eater in the world is always a good thing."

Yaxley stared at him, wand raising a fraction.

"You aren't a murderer, Potter."

"No… I'm not," he said, still moving slowly, tense, "but Voldemort is. What do you think he'll do to you when he learns that I even got this close?"

Yaxley's eyes flicked to the left, uncertain for a moment, then he settled into a sneer.

"You're hardly close."

"You think me holding a wand isn't close? Me speaking?" he pointed to his face. "Maybe he will just torture you with my wand for a laugh." Yaxley's face went pink.

"How did you…"

"How do I know that you begged for your life, on your knees, and offered my wand up for your miserable existence, you mean?" Harry continued, calmly. He found the weak spot and he was going to attack with all he had. What did he have to lose?

Yaxley went still, eyes wide, staring at Harry with confusion and mostly fear. His lip curled up.

"You may want to be a bit more careful about what you get me to say with the veritas quaesitor," he said, tasting the exhaustion in his breath as he started to fade. The fire of his rage had burned out hot and fast. "I'm more than willing to share the information that will get you killed for even knowing it."

Yaxley reacted, moving to curse Harry, but his eyes widened as he mouthed the first syllable of the killing curse. He stopped. Harry laughed but it was a quiet, bitter thing.

"Might want to avoid that one," he mocked. "I have a date with your master, remember? I don't want to miss it."

This time it was a cruciatus curse. Harry deflected it, but he staggered back on his weak legs. Yaxley was snarling in earnest, his killing rage blazing in his eyes. The duel started up again, but this time it was Harry on the back foot. Quite literally as he was forced backwards by the intensity of the Death Eater's attack. He tried to maintain the tempo of the attack, but Yaxley had a lot more stamina. He'd not been starved for two days, wasn't severely dehydrated or suffering from the after-effects of torture.

When the cruciatus curse first went under his shield, he collapsed as if his strings were cut. He felt the intense agony grip his muscles, making him convulse on the floor, writhing, gasping at the pain.

Like that, it was over. He didn't give Yaxley the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He didn't know if he could, his voice now shot completely. The curse lifted and then his body stiffened, freezing as he was hit with a full body bind. Locked in his body, he could do nothing as the creeping shadow of the man he had mocked slipped over his prone form. He could only move his eyes.

The silence roared in Harry's ears. Yaxley quietly moved to his knees at Harry's head and he pushed him over onto his back. He could hear the man's furious breathing, unable to see his face. Then he felt the wand being pried from his fingers.

"Credit where it is due, Potter, they were right about your duelling ability," the Death Eater said quietly, "and Umbridge was right too. You are devious."

Harry started to feel faint. Something cracked across his face, hard. Spots appeared in his vision. "Ah no… I want you conscious for this," Yaxley said, taking hold of Harry's right hand. He freed the hand from the bind but left the rest of him frozen. Harry's fingers flinched reflexively as his hand was pressed on the stone.

A thrill of dread shot through him. He was helpless, unable to move, at the mercy of someone he had very thoroughly angered. This was going to hurt. A lot.

Crack.

He couldn't scream, his mouth locked shut, but he could make a high-pitched whining sound in his throat as he felt the bones in his hand shatter. He felt his tears streaming down his face.

Yaxley wasn't done. Crack.

There went his index inger. He let out a high shrill sound of agony. His thoughts were scattering at the horror of being physically injured, crippled even. He tried to move his hand but it refused to respond, only hurt and twitch.

"You can keep your left hand as a reminder, but from now on, you will stay in shackles for the rest of your life. Maybe the Dark Lord will remove them when he comes for you and watch you writhe like a fish when he tortures you into insanity."

"But for now, you go without your hands, you go without your voice. If you attempt to remove your silencer again, I'll break the other hand, understand?"

Harry could say nothing back, but Yaxley wasn't looking for an answer. It was clear when he yanked Harry's muzzle back up over his mouth.

"Now you have my permission to pass out."