The high-pitched, deranged cackle of Voldemort's right-hand rang out behind him, a mocking sound that made him scrabble for something to cling to as she peered through the edges and orifices of rotting wood. "Come out, come out, little Potter," she cackled, raking her fingers down the back of a shelf. Something cold dripped down his spine as her nails slowly raked across the wood, slicing through like steel and sounding like it was chalk being forcibly driven down a chalkboard.

He could see faint movement through the shadowy masses that covered the room like a heavy fog, stubbornly clinging to the corners of the walls and sinking through open spaces. In other words, he was blind as a bat and stuck to listening to his surroundings. Harry James Potter was totally and utterly fucked.

The sounds around him were muted, his heart throbbing at the bottom of his throat as he pressed himself against the cool cement wall of the building. Shattered glass from the prophecies that had been there littered the floor, combining with each other to make disjointed voices and wispy mutterings.

Harry's fingers tightened around the wand in his right hand, eyes flitting around and sifting through the smoky remains of the chamber. Then all of a sudden he saw red- red as the eyes of his enemy, crimson as the blood that he knew ran in his veins, scarlet as the plumage of a phoenix, a warm orange that flickered like the flames of a hot fire… above it all he could hear high-pitched screams of agony.

Shrieks that belonged to him, he realized. Flashes of red, illuminating neon green, purple, grey, blue, white, dark green, brownblacksilverorangeyellow- he was still screaming, knives digging into his skin and ripping him apart- he sucked in a desperate gasp, ignoring the screams of 'HARRYHARRYHARRY' he thought was being repeated over and over by one person.

He choked on his own breaths, gasping and wheezing through his screeches.

"WHY IS HE STILL SCREAMING?"

Who- where- huh? Nononono it still hurt. The knives were still there, digging deeper and deeper into his flesh. Carving out the words that he could see flashing behind his eyes. Mudblood, the voice whispered harshly, twisting and writhing and seeping into his mind. Half-breed. Freak. Worthless. Wh-who?

The cackling had never let up, only now there was a choked gasp- the knives stopped abruptly. Sheer relief flooded through him, filling his veins with endorphins and causing his vision to nearly white-out from the crackling of explosions he could see.

"S-s-s-" he could barely speak, choking out monosyllabic letters. Everything was greying out, sparking white and seeping black… what was happening? "H-h-h-"

"Stop him from trying to speak, his vocal chords are damaged!"

Why- why- why- Harry stifled the urge to giggle hysterically, though he might have not succeeded as something cool ran down his throat, relieving it of the burningscratching feeling that submerged him from head to toe.

"Something is wrong!"

"No shit, Sherlock!"

A muggle phrase! Oh, goody! From there, everything that he heard was something akin to everyone permanently inhaling helium. Every time they spoke, he erupted into a mess of laughter. His laughter was horrible, Merlin's beard. It sounded like he was silently cackling, with a mixture of raspy chokes and unfortunate high-pitched squeaks.

In between his rusty laughter, he could feel something brushing up against his insides and slowly beginning to settle. Every time it would feel like it was going to sink inside of him, it would dissipate. The high-pitched, confused noises sent him into fits of his creaky laughter once more, while occasionally something would run through his hair.

Were they casting spells at him? As he abruptly ceased his laughter, Harry realized he could barely see anything through the white that splattered across his vision every time he moved.

"What's wrong with him?"

Yes, that was the question. At the moment, he could barely see anything and he was twitching. Twitching and spasming across something cold, metallic.

"Well, would you be okay if you were held under the Cruciatus for longer than the Longbottoms?" This was someone he could tolerate; another raspy chortle escaped him at this errant thought. Wait- the Longbottoms. Was this what it was like, being like them? No, no.. death would be better than this.

"Well, shit."

"My thoughts exactly."