Warning: I would like to warn that later on in the chapter there is a rather gory, descriptive torture scene. Readers, please, be warned.

FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT WISH TO READ THE SCENE, I will make a notation in the writing that looks like this: sSXxXxXxXSs at the beginning, and at the end, of the torture scene so that you can skip over it if you wish. Thank you!

The Snake's Den

Chapter 3

Back at Grimmuald place, the order had just adjourned another meeting. The tension in the house was thick enough to taste it. With Harry gone, emotions were riding everyone hard. No one more so, however, than Ron and Hermione. Losing Harry had been like loosing a piece of themselves. They couldn't joke, they couldn't laugh, they couldn't smile; all without feeling guilty. Mrs. Weasley tried her hardest t cheer them up but it was clear that without Harry, the two felt empty.

"He's our best friend! We know more about him than anyone!" Ron complained, "Why can't we help get him back?"

"Ginny shook her head wearily. "There's nothing we can do even if they let us help. What is your plan, Ronald? Just charge into you-know-who's castle and take Harry back? It won't work!"

"Don't you want him back, Gin?" Ron snarled, eyes glinting.

"I want him back just as much as you do, Ron. Do not assume otherwise!" She glared at him and stood, walking to the kitchen to help make dinner.

"What's wrong, Gin," Mrs. Weasley asked consolingly, flicking her wand toward a knife and a pile of carrots. Instantly, the knife went to work, peeling and cutting the carrots.

Ginny sighed. How could she explain to her mom that she missed Harry but found it almost… Peaceful without him around. When he was there Harry, Ron and Hermione went off into their own world. Without Harry, she was part of the group, not just 'Ron's little sister.'

Tears burned he eyes and stopped that train of thought. When Harry had been around, he had done everything he could to include her.

"I just miss, Harry," she finally said. She sighed and sat at the table. "The order is doing all they can to get him back, right?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled sadly at her daughter. "Of course they are, dear. It's all that they're working on. But Ginny, dear…" She paused, sitting down. She looked at Ginny and sighed, shaking her head. "Ginny, we can't do anything until we come into contact with Severus." She shook her head again and stood up, holding out her hand. "Come on, Ginny, help me get supper ready."

Ginny nodded, wiping tears out of her eyes. She may not understand why Snape had turned, but she knew he was a vital part in the war against You-Know-Who. Without spies like him, the war would be a thousand times harder to win.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione hissed as Ginny left. "You know she misses him! He's become another brother to her! And with you as her main protector, I'm surprised she doesn't miss him more! You insensitive prick!" She screeched she last few words, breathing heavily.

Ron bowed his head. Since Harry had been taken from privet drive, his temper had gotten harder to take care of. If anyone said anything that could be taken the wrong way, he blew up.

"'Mione, I'm sorry. I really am. Ginny just sounds like she doesn't want him back. She sounds so… Uncaring." He shrugged, tears glistening in his eyes. "What if he doesn't come back, Hermione?" He asked brokenly. "He's my best friend. He could be half dead by now and we wouldn't even know."

"He'll be fine, Ron," Hermione said. "He has to be or there will be hell to pay." Her eyes her hard, shining with determination. Ron looked surprised at hearing her curse and hugged her, tears running down both their faces.

It was cold. It was wet. It was cold and it was wet. What 'it' was, Harry couldn't be too sure. His eyes were swollen shut from his last visit with the Death Eaters.

What's a few more broken bones,i Harry scoffed as if it was nothing. iI'll just have more to add to the collection.

The something cold and wet suddenly turned painful and Harry blissfully sank back to unconsciousness.

"Have you… made contact… with the order yet?" Harry asked softly. He shifted slightly and held back a murmur of pain as what felt like a broken rib jabbed him in, he could only guess, the lung.

"Stop moving, Potter. You'll make it worse. And, no, I haven't been able to get out of this bloody manor since my arrival. Voldemort thinks it imperative that I guard you, 'lulling you into a sense of false security'." He said the last bit as though quoting someone and Harry grimaced. "If nothing else, Draco and I will have to get you out ourselves." He turned away, giving Harry his back, signalling the end of the conversation.

Harry sighed again and went back to trying to breathe. Broken bones, bruised muscles, dislocated joints and torn skin didn't make for happy breathing. He closed his eyes and started to work through the pain.

He had almost succeeded when he heard a shrill cry of, "Party time, Potter!"

sSXxXxXxXSs

He opened his eyes and came face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange. She sneered at him and lifted him up by one arm. He held back a yell, turning it into an unintelligible murmur and forced his feet into motion. The fractured bones and joints protested loudly at the movement but Bellatrix's hand on his arm forced him to keep moving.

Just steps after he left his cell, Harry's legs gave out. He dropped his head in exhaustion, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming as Bellatrix continued to drag him.

He must have passed out because next thing he knew, he was thrown to the ground in a circle of death eaters. He lifted his head and looked around. To his immediate right stood a metal table. It was tilted at an almost 90 degree angle, looking menacing all on its own. There were straps for his arms and for his legs and one across the top that he assumed was for his head. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look away.

It proved to be a mistake. A short distance from the table was a weapon rack. Standing in their own 'homes' so to speak were an assortment of torture implements. A leather whip, about two feet long with silver barbs from four inches to the end, stood at the front of the line, begging to be used. Beside it, iron rods and simple leather strips. Last in line stood another whip, this one a tightly woven braid of fabric, large wooden beads lining the last foot.

"Ready to play, Potter?" Voldemort asked striding into the room.

Harry glared from his place on the floor and managed to croak out, "Kiss my arse, you bastard."

Voldemort seemed to glide over, kneeling down next to Harry and grabbing his chin in a vice-like grip. "I see you've retained that foolish Gryffindor spirit of yours - perfect," he observed, eyes glittering malevolently, and despite himself Harry felt a tremor of fear travel down his spine.

Harry said nothing, holding himself as rigid as possible and practically oozing defiance. Voldemort scrutinized Harry's face for a moment more, searching for the fear he knew the boy must feel, before smirking slightly and standing.

"We'll see how long that fire wills out, Potter…how long will it take to break you, I wonder? I'm curious, and the goal this night is to satisfy that curiosity. Snape!"

Harry turned his head to the Death Eater that emerged from the crowd and dropped to a kneeling position before the Snake-faced git.

"What is it you desire from this lowly vassal, my lord?" asked the figure.

"Heal him as far as your abilities allow. I would be most displeased were he to expire prematurely."

"Yes, my lord."

Harry watched with disgust as Snape leaned over to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes, before rising and making his way over to Harry's side. Taking off his mask, Harry saw that Snape had one of his 'Looks' pasted on his face (the Potter-is-an-imbecile-and-a-complete-waste-of-space sneer of disdain that Harry was subjected to every Potions class) as he took several moments to obtain a complete inventory of Harry's injuries. Of course, Snape knew exactly what Harry's injuries were, but he wasn't supposed to care that much - he just had the simple instructions of keeping Harry alive.

Not that Snape cared anyways, Harry amended hastily. He was just saving the wizarding world's only hope. He shoved such nonsensical thoughts away to focus on the dire circumstances he now found himself in. Now was most certainly not the time to contemplate Snape's somewhat odd behavior these past few weeks, or his own jumbled feelings that were beginning to emerge for the man. Harry had the foreboding feeling that the worst night of his life was about to begin, and he had bigger fish to fry.

Actually, maybe it would be better to dwell on something else.

"Potter! Pay attention, you gibbering idiot!"

Jerked out of his thoughts, Harry thought for a moment that he was in Potions. Seeing the warning - and possibly concern? Was that concern there or was Harry delusional? - in Snape's eyes, however, and feeling the residual aches and pains from previous sessions as yet uncured, brought him back to reality real fast.

He never thought that he'd ever be wishing so fervently that he was in Potions.

Grabbing the vial of goop Snape was holding out to him, Harry tipped his head back and downed it, gagging a moment later on the vile taste. Snape sneered at him again as various mean-spirited chuckles throughout the room were heard – all except from Bellatrix, who was in mid-evil-cackle-mode. Feeling a surge of hatred, knowing it was highly likely to be the only chance he had at any sort of retaliation no matter how small, Harry narrowed his eyes and threw the vial as hard as he could at her face. With her head thrown back as it was, she had no idea it was coming, and several gasps were heard as it shattered. Harry didn't even have the time to form a gloating smirk before he found himself under Cruciatus, convulsing violently, the cords standing out in his neck as he screamed.

It was over just as quickly as it had started, and gasping for breath Harry looked over to see Bellatrix herself on the ground, drops of blood running down her face as she herself screamed. Harry's eyes were drawn to Voldemort, sitting on his thrown, expecting to see his wand trained on Bellatrix – but it wasn't. Voldemort was just sitting there, nonchalantly taking in the scene before him. Confused for a moment, Harry followed Voldemort's gaze to Snape, and was vaguely shocked to see it was him holding Cruciatus on Bellatrix.

"Snape, cease," came Voldemort's hiss after a few moments.

"Of course, my lord." Snape's voice was tight, and Harry thought he heard a hint of anger somewhere in its depths.

"Would you care to explain to me why you took it upon yourself to attack and stop her rightful retribution on the boy?"

Snape dropped to his knees immediately, bowing his head. "She was hindering my efforts at healing him, my lord. I can only do so much, and he will not last as long as you wish if I am not allowed to fully heal him before anymore activities take place. She will be able to pay him back later once he is healed, and she was interfering with my attempt to please you, my lord."

Voldemort studied Snape for a moment, considering his answer. "Understandable. However, only I hold the power to punish here, and you forget your place."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to block out the sound of Snape's screams. He kept them shut once the screams stopped, which felt like hours later. He could hear Snape breathing harshly as he returned to Harry's side and finished healing him, passing him more potions as he incanted a few different spells Harry had never heard of.

Several minutes later, Snape said, "My lord, I've done all I can. His bones are nearly fully fused back together and his bruises healed."

Opening his eyes, Harry looked up into Snape's as the man got up to head back to his place. Yes, he was almost positive now – Snape was concerned. Harry could only wonder what the professor knew that was making even him worry, and shivered.

"Excellent, Severus, as always. Come stand next to me, my loyal Potions Master – I know you do not care for participating, but I am also well aware of how much you hate the boy. Surely a perfect view is agreeable to you." It was obviously not a question.

Snape hesitated slightly before Harry heard him say in a completely emotionless voice, "I would be honored, my lord."

As Snape made his way to The Bastard, Harry took stock of his options. He was completely surrounded by at least a hundred Death Eaters – though, being in the center and on the ground, he had no real count – no wand, no weapon of any kind, and yet nearly completely healed.

His options? Zip, nada. He was completely and totally screwed.

And then there were hands on his arms, dragging him up to strap him down on the table he saw earlier, and he was clawing, scratching, yelling swear words over the chanting he could hear, struggling, struggling against his captors, he had to get away, he had to escape the horrible fate awaiting him –

- and then his head was being forced straight, and he could feel the straps tightening on his wrists, ankles, and head, and he tried to bit someone's hand in front of his face, yelling his frustration –

- then Bellatrix was there, cackling again, and Harry glared with all of his hate for her in his eyes as all the other Death Eaters fell silent and moved back to form the circle they were in before.

"Awe, look, wittle Hawy is at my mercy," she spouted in that repulsive baby talk of hers, and Harry ground his teeth together.

"Shut up, you blood bitch."

Bellatrix shook her finger at him and leered. "No-no, Hawy, not a good idea to pwovoke your torturer…"

And that was how it began.

Bellatrix was the only one allowed to inflict his 'punishment', though there were apparently a few things coming Voldemort had alluded to wanting to do himself.

The very first thing Bellatrix had done was cut off all of his clothing with a severing charm, leaving Harry to blush profusely and growl in anger at the 'admiration' from the watching Death Eaters. He soon forgot his public humiliation, however, when he saw the four inch long needle Bellatrix brought over to hover in front of his eyes.

She let loose what could only be a snicker as the blood drained from Harry's face and he forgot to breathe.

He remembered quite well when it came time to yell out his pain as the needle was viciously stabbed into his left ear. His eardrum had been ruptured at the very least, though Harry suspected there was more damage than that with how hard and how far Bellatrix had shoved the needle. His whimpers of pain continued as hot, sticky blood began to run from his ear to the table beneath his head. He was dismayed – though not surprised – to find that he could only hear the Death Eater's excitement at first blood with his right ear.

Bellatrix had stepped back to admire her work, and when Harry opened the eyes he'd squeezed shut, it was to the sight of her running her tongue along the needle…licking up the blood dripping from it with a maniacal gleam in her eyes.

Harry had thought he was going to be sick.

And now he was waiting for the next step in Bellatrix's plans for him. His ear was throbbing painfully, though he was doing his best to ignore it. If he didn't miss his guess, this was the least of the pain he'd be feeling before the night was through.

As though she had read his thoughts, Bellatrix leaned over to whisper in his undamaged ear, "Don't fret, wittle Hawy…we have much to entertain you with." She dragged a finger up his chest as she spoke, and Harry's skin crawled.

Harry's memories of the next step of Plan Torture were scattered, and not always completely lucid. He soon discovered what Bellatrix had been doing with the set of needles the one that popped his eardrum belonged to – she had used some sort of heat-stasis charm usually used for boiling water on them, making them red-hot. They literally glowed red, as though they'd been lying in the embers of a roaring fire for several hours.

Harry was in the perfect position to judge just how scorching those needles were within moments after the needles were ready. He watched hopelessly as Bellatrix, a feral anticipation in her eyes, brought the first needle down past his sight range. He noted that she seemed unharmed by the considerable high temperature of the needle before clenching his teeth and waiting for the pain; where, when, or how, he didn't know.

It was quite some time before Harry became aware of himself again. The immediate pain of the needles had stopped, and now all that was left was the immense throbbing of the whole of both feet. Needless to say, he barely noticed the mere twinge in his left ear now.

Harry was now gasping, a rasping noise emerging from his throat with each expelling of air. Before he could think better of it, he opened his mouth and also expelled in a harsh, hoarse voice what Snape referred to as Gryffindor stupidity.

"Is that all you've got? It's going to take more than that, you creepy piece of nuts."

There was silence in the chamber for a moment, before the echo of booted feet filled it, and Voldemort's face filled Harry's somewhat disoriented vision.

"We're far from the end, Harry. There is much to come. Whatever it takes to break you will be implemented, my dear nemesis. Or maybe you would like to have some say, hmmm, Harry? What would you prefer be done next? Where on your body would you next like to suffer? I'm afraid there are limits, however – it must be somewhere with a certain level of sensitivity."

Voldemort's sibilant hiss drifted into Harry's undamaged ear, and Harry shuddered with the force of the hatred that flooded through him. He glared into the hooded garnet eyes smirking down at him and whispered through his shredded vocal cords, "I don't give a shit what you do, Voldemort, you will never get what you want from me."

Voldemort looked completely undeterred – in fact, he looked faintly amused. Leaning down, he whispered back into Harry's good ear, "I very much look forward to proving you wrong, Potter."

Straightening up, he looked to Bellatrix. Seeming to know exactly what he wanted, Harry heard as she moved away before scraping noises came from her direction.

"Now, Potter…" Voldemort said, his amusement leaking into his voice, "...if you were to get a tattoo, what would it be and where on your body would you request it?"

Harry stared at Voldemort before his eyes hardened and he rasped out, "Well, I'd most likely ask for your face, and I'd put it on my arse."

Voldemort stiffened, hissing out in an infuriated voice, "That most certainly will not do."

Leaning back over, nearly nose to nose with Harry, he hissed, "Not nearly enough pain involved."

Then Bellatrix was there, handing over to Voldemort what seemed to be a long rod, and as Harry's eyes followed it to its end they involuntarily widened. There, glowing the violent red the needles were, was the shape of the Dark Mark. It slowly began to drift towards the middle of his chest, and he bit his lip, trying to prepare himself for the pain.

Horrified, Harry realized Voldemort was going to brand him.

It seemed like hours later that Harry's screams faded to silence, his chest smoking and sizzling still.

sSXxXxXxXSs

Snape sighed softly, wiping Potter's forehead with a damp cloth. Because Voldemort wanted to break Potter, the boy believed his best friends were dead. He believed they had been put through hours of pain and humiliation before their dishonorable death.

Snape winced at the look of pure loathing in Potter's eyes when he had looked at Snape once discovering he was alone in the world. It wasn't Voldemort that Potter had looked at. It was Snape.

How could you have let them die, his expression asked. How did you just stand there and not do anything about it?

"Where…is he?" The soft voice pulled Snape from his thoughts and he looked down, into Potter's once bright eyes. They were dull now once again, more hazel than the green they were.

"The Dark Lord is discussing the downfall of the order with Lucius and Bellatrix," Snape said expressionlessly, rubbing a salve on Potter's many bruises.

"Leg…hurts…" Potter murmured, trying to shift his broken leg.

"Stop moving, Potter," Snape said without malice, his tone strained, even. "Bellatrix broke it, shattered your knee cap and multiple ribs and other bones. The only thing's I can heal right now are the minor sprains in your wrists and ankles and I can stop the pain and your bleeding your ear. I'm sorry, Potter but you won't be able to hear out of it anymore."

"A…small mercy…" Potter sighed. He closed his eyes and his body began to shake. Within seconds, tears were pouring out of his eyes. Snape set down the salve and picked up the cloth again, dipping it in the cool water and began to wipe away the boy's tears.

Before long, the teenager was asleep.

With another soft sigh, Snape stood and left the cell. It was unfair how much the boy had to go through. At seventeen, he should be having fun with his friends, regardless of the war. He should be talking about Quidditch teams and girls. He shouldn't have to put up with broken bones and power hungry Dark Lord's. It really wasn't all that fair.

Harry shifted in his sleep, though he gasped and jerked awake as another sob shook his broken body. His best friends were gone. Ginny was gone. Everyone was gone. After seven years, Harry was alone in his battle to fight the Dark Lord.

I don't want to be alone, Harry thought to himself, whimpering. I want Ron and Hermione to be here with me. I want them there when it all comes to an end.

With his brain foggy with pain and adrenaline, the chemicals in his brain began bringing up different memories from school.

"You should study you know," Hermione said, her Potions book open on her lap.

Fifteen year old Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, we have four months until end of the year exams. There's plenty of time." Harry smiled at her and turned back to the chess board. "Queen to G3. Check."

Ron laughed softly. "You should know by now, mate, she's not going to give it up until we start studying. Bishop to G3. That would be checkmate, Harry. You are terrible at this." Harry rolled his eyes and picked up his charms book.

Harry coughed, sobbing freely, further injuring his tortured body. There was nothing more Voldemort could do to him now. No family, no friends; what did he care for the wizarding world? There was no point anymore. Why keep fighting?

"What's a dentist?" an eleven-year-old Ron asked in confusion.

"It's a muggle term for a doctor who helps people with their teeth," Hermione said, a shy smile on her face.

Ron wrinkled his nose, "Why would you want to work with someone's teeth? That's disgusting!"

Harry laughed. "Come on Ron, someone has to do it or everyone would have cavities and stuff."

"What's a cavity?" Ron asked. Hermione and Harry looked at each other and paused for a second before bursting out laughing.

If he died, Harry would be able to see his parents again. He could see Sirius and Ron and Hermione. He could apologize to the little girl Voldemort had tortured, thinking that she, as well, was dead. If he died, he could get away from the pain he was feeling. It felt like a good plan.

"Ask her, Ron," Harry urged. "Go ahead."

Fourteen year old Ron grimaced. "What if she says no, mate?" He gestured toward the fifth year across the court yard. "She's a year older!"

"You'll never know unless you ask, Ron. Go on! Before someone else takes her!" Harry shoved Ron toward the girl. Ron took a few determined steps forward, though he stopped as a boy – older and taller than he was – sat down beside the girl and put his arm around her shoulders.

"It's useless, mate," Ron sighed, turning back. "We may as well go together with all the luck we've got."

Harry started at Ron for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Ron exclaimed, blushing to his roots.

It was too much. Far too much. He needed out. He needed to get out and go to their funeral. He wanted…no…he needed…

"Help," he croaked. "I need…help…" He shifted in an attempt to get to Snape and screamed in pain, his eyes squeezing shut against it.

He heard the door to his cell creak open and felt something lift his broken body. He screamed again, feeling the pain course through him. He was then set down, but something soft was under him.

Managing to open a pained green eye, he saw through swimming vision a pair of slate grey eyes watching him. Arms held him securely, giving him a sense of warmth he'd needed ever since he came in here.

It took him a long while to realize it was Draco, and he was now on his lap. Draco held him as he began to cry, too overwhelmed with everything.

"They're not dead," Draco whispered in assurance as he began to drift off into sleep. "They're still alive and well. They're waiting for you." And then Harry was asleep, a very, very small smile on his face.

He didn't dream, he didn't feel, he didn't see. He was out like a light, and it was bliss. It was bliss and he liked it. His body appreciated it. So he gave up. He just let go.