Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter … pity …

Hey guys. A big thankyou for all the comments. Makes me smile.

Righty, and the following people get a chocoalte frog for guessing who our little Death Eater is... Werewolf777 and Saigo (no badgers, I happen to like him)

Akuma-river and shadowsfriend kinda nearly hit it, so they can have half a frog each.

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Reality

Harry – Sunday, midmorning

Harry shivered.

It had nothing to do with the fact his cell, or whatever you wanted to refer to it as, was plain concrete with no furnishings whatsoever. It also had nothing to do with the fact that the only source of light in the room was a small letterbox sized hole at the top of the wall. Nor was his shivering due to the fact that his robes had been torn to shreds, barely clinging on to him.

This shudder was unusual, or at least it was for someone like Harry: it was fear.

Harry didn't think he'd ever felt this scared in his whole life. The events of last year came close but being tied to that gravestone had nowhere near the level of helplessness and therefore fear of being in this cold cell, with no apparent way of escape.

He'd first woken up in the early hours of Friday morning, judging by the light from the excuse of a window. Groaning at the ache in his bones, Harry took in every detail of the room, trying to see if there was any way of escape.

The first thing Harry noticed was a heavy manacle on his right wrist, preventing him from doing more than sitting up or lying down. The chain was embedded deep into the wall, just from looking at it Harry knew that unless he acquired a wand he wouldn't be able to free himself that way (not that he'd get too far, the manacle itself was insanely heavy). Squinting around the room in the crepuscular light Harry noticed that all of the walls were made of concrete.

Harry was forced to squint to see the door in detail owing to the fact that he had no glasses. The door was wooden, but looked firm and was sure to be locked; Death Eaters weren't quite that stupid.

But it was when he saw the thick iron bars on the window than not even a small child could squeeze through that Harry began to panic. Harry had felt the need to be doing something, anything to escape from Voldemort's clutches, to get out of this room.

Harry felt a strange sense of claustrophobia, something he had not expected having grown up in a cupboard under the stairs. In fact, the room Harry was trapped in was far bigger than his cupboard.

Instead of fading, the feeling of the walls closing in on him had only increased during the past forty-eight hours (or what he supposed by the light in his cell to be two days; Harry assumed he'd only been unconscious for a couple of hours and not a whole day).

Another surprise was the increase in anxiety as he had been left completely alone for two days; he would have thought that the lack of anything would be a relief.

But it wasn't. Harry knew that it was more than likely a tactic from Voldemort. But it was working.

Harry drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, ignoring the sharp pain in his stomach. After he'd let go of the notion of escape from his cell Harry had been shocked to find himself covered in cuts and bruises. It was obvious that some Death Eaters had taken their frustrations out on him. There was a long cut down his back, luckily it wasn't too deep, Harry had a suspicion that that particular cut was from when Harry had been released from the ropes that had prevented his escape in the Department of Mysteries. It was obvious from the rips in his robes that they'd dragged him along the floor whilst transporting him here. His stomach was suffering the most though; there was a purple foot shaped bruise there, luckily Harry's ribs hadn't been hurt, which he was thankful for.

Harry closed his eyes and rested his head on his knees, trying to calm himself down. Yes, Voldemort could burst through the door any second and Avada Kedavra him, but he was fine at that precise moment, if a little bruised, hungry and desperately thirsty.

And like the Order, Harry had worked out that Voldemort wouldn't kill him straight out; he'd be used. Harry shuddered at what that could mean; he knew that there was no way Voldemort would uphold his end of the bargain and let him go free. But at least it gave Harry more time for a possible escape, if he was ever taken out of this cell.

Harry started as he heard a loud roll of thunder. It had been raining heavily for most of the time that Harry had been in captivity. Scolding himself for scaring so easily, Harry returned to his thoughts.

When he'd first woken Harry had thought that he'd deserved to be here. After all, he was a murderer, right? She was a complete bitch and a strong supporter of Voldemort, but she was still human … enough.

But as Harry had dwelt on that moment that Bellatrix's head slammed into the stone he came to realise that yes, it was his fault, but this was a war, people were going to be killed. Harry still felt terrible about it, and the guilt was still strong, but it wasn't all-consuming any more. Once or twice the guilt had returned, but conjuring the image of Bellatrix towering over Sirius, ready to end his life vanished that.

Instead Harry's thoughts had drifted away to the prophecy. It was what Voldemort had wanted from the Department of Mysteries. Meaning it probably held the key to Voldemort being defeated. Or becoming undefeatable…

A cold icy wave came over him. It was obvious that he was involved; his name had been on it.

Harry frowned as a realisation came into place. Could it be the reason Voldemort had wanted to kill him in the first place? If Voldemort had wanted to kill him that is. He could easily have been after one or both of his parents, and as Hagrid had said years ago, Voldemort just liked killing people or wanted to complete the job.

Whatever the reason he wasn't likely to find out now, unless Voldemort decided to do a TV-villain type thing and tell Harry all his plans before Harry made a dramatic escape. Harry snorted, like that was ever going to happen, that was the thing of stories. Like the ones where the hero always wins and lives happily ever after.

Harry's wandering thoughts had just turned to his friends and the Order, wondering how everyone was doing and wondering if Ron, Hermione or Sirius had woken up yet when Harry yelped in pain. His scar had suddenly caught alight with pain.

Voldemort was coming.

Harry unfurled himself from his position and moved to his knees. Being defiant probably wouldn't do any good, but neither would curling up and hiding.

Harry waited for five minutes, the pain in his scar getting progressively more aggressive until there was a loud thud which Harry presumed to be a bolt being undone and the door was flung open; Harry flinched even though he had known it was about to happen.

Before Harry had a chance to react the Death Eater he recognised as the one who had captured him in the Ministry swept up to him and conjured another manacle around his other wrist to restrain him.

Harry kicked him, cold fury taking over his actions. The Death Eater removed his mask to reveal what was obviously a broken nose. Although Harry knew exactly who this git was, the sight of his face still shocked Harry.

Severus Snape slapped Harry across the face, his obsidian eyes glittering dangerously.

Blinking away the pain, Harry summoned the most venomous glare he could manage and shot it at Snape.

Snape's betrayal hadn't really sunk in yet. He had avoided it, not wanting to think about the consequences of Snape giving away all the information on Harry, his friends and everything he had seen whilst teaching him Occlumency (which Harry had to assume he hadn't done properly, Ron had been right, he was probably opening his mind even more).

Voldemort laughed softly sending shivers down Harry's spine. He glanced over the room, as if to check that even Harry couldn't escape before looking Harry up and down. Harry just glared at him, desperately trying to conceal the chilling fear that was being pumped through his body. Harry could see a smile flicker onto his face as he saw the tattered robes, red, irritated skin under the first manacle and the fresh red mark rising on Harry's pale cheek.

"Well, Harry, I won't trouble you with introductions; it is obvious to me that you are already well acquainted with everyone here to witness the proceedings."

Harry replied in a fashion that would have made Mrs. Weasley wash his mouth out with soap. Voldemort merely smiled.

"Language, Harry."

"Whatever, Tom." Harry wished he hadn't spoken; provoking Dark Lords who want to kill you wasn't exactly the most intelligent thing to so.

And a moment later, Voldemort proved it. "Never call me by that name! CRUCIO!" Harry writhed, fighting not to scream. But luckily it was over quickly: a small warning.

"I see that Severus is right in the fact that you are an arrogant fool, Harry." Voldemort's eyes were still blazing with anger, Harry resisted the urge to look away and instead met his stare, though Harry was sure Voldemort could sense the trepidation behind it.

There was another roll of thunder. Rain started to fall through the window, splattering over Harry. Snape smirked but Harry didn't move from his stony position glaring defiantly back up at Voldemort.

Voldemort took a step closer; Harry subtly pressed his back further into the wall behind him. With each step the pain in his scar doubled. By the time Voldemort was a foot away from him, he was blinking back tears of agony.

"Isn't it amazing, Harry," Voldemort was a foot away from him now, towering over him, his eyes flashing with dominance, "how a simple touch," Voldemort's finger was an inch away from his scar and Harry's head was pressed hard into the cold concrete, "can have the power of a cruciatus curse." His finger couldn't get any closer to Harry's forehead without touching it.

Voldemort's hand withdrew and Harry sighed in relief and sank down the wall.

Then, suddenly, he was screaming. Voldemort's hand was pressed against his forehead, his sharp fingernails digging into Harry's scalp. A white-hot iron was pressed against Harry's forehead, splitting his head open, tearing at his scalp.

Harry didn't know how long it lasted. The burning agony with Voldemort just standing there calmly tightening his grip.

Harry wasn't even aware of the fact that he was screaming. Not until the pain stopped and he continued to scream with just the memory of the pain. As soon as Harry realised this, he stopped, and opened his eyes to find Voldemort once again by the doorway, laughing cruelly. Snape had vanished.

"Enjoying yourself, Harry?"

"Unsurprisingly, you're not the best of hosts, Tom," Harry spat back.

Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously and instantly the chains shortened and the manacles tightened, given Harry even less freedom. "Harry, you really need to learn obedience to your superiors."

"I'll bear that," Harry coughed, his voice had become rough and scratchy from thirst and screaming, "in mind when I get out of here, where the civilized people are."

Once again, the manacles tightened round his wrists, they were now very painful, and they became bound to the wall; Harry's arms were spread eagled, now unable to move at all.

Voldemort's voice was dangerously soft and low, laced with threat. "If you think there is any escape from here, Potter, then the agony has addled your mind already." His wand drifted from place to place upon Harry's body, eerily echoing the actions of Umbridge, which seemed like a lifetime ago. "Maybe your friends in the Order, and I know everything about the Order thanks to Severus, have told you about just how many people went missing, how many people disappeared without a trace."

Harry's mind flipped back to the previous summer holidays, where he had seen the photograph with his parents in, what was it Moody had said? 'Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body'.

Voldemort smiled at Harry's reaction. "And you will join them, Harry," Voldemort's voice was barely above a whisper, "your body will never be found. But I have something special planned for your death." Harry's stomach tightened uncomfortably.

Voldemort's wand settled on Harry's chest, most likely because with his arms drawn against the wall there was no chance of Harry dodging.

"Oh yes, Harry, I have a very interesting plan for your death. I'm not satisfied in just killing you… I want to obliterate your soul, I want to devastate your spirit. I want to destroy you, I want you to suffer."

Harry felt as if a dementor had just glided into the room. Harry had never felt dread as intense as this in his life. All he wanted to do was curl up and hide. But there were no gravestones to hide behind this time. Voldemort wasn't going to underestimate him again; he was more than likely to overestimate Harry, which meant that there was no way out. Voldemort's prison was inescapable. If Caradoc Dearborn and the many other more skilled wizards hadn't escaped, then there was little chance for him. Maybe he should just accept it, stop fighting the pain, stop fighting…

Harry mentally shook his head. Thinking like that would make it even easier for Voldemort to torment him. And he wasn't going to let that happen. If he was going to die then he was going to annoy the hell out of Voldemort before he did so.

Putting on a confidence that he wished he possessed, Harry said, "And I want you to drop dead, you slimy-." He would have said more, but he suddenly found himself unable to breathe; he was gasping and coughing, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to take a breath. His legs, which were thrashing around as if he were underwater, felt like lead, darkness was hovering over his consciousness after what seemed like a lifetime of the overbearing pain.

"You are not unintelligent, Potter." The huge pressure on his chest was released; almost crying out in relief, Harry started gulping huge breaths of air. Ignoring Harry's near hyperventilation, Voldemort continued, "Surely you will have worked out that being disrespectful towards me earns you punishment." Voldemort's wand was again targeting different areas of his body, this time settling at his forehead.

Harry glared at him, still breathing heavily.

"Now, Harry." Voldemort's eyes gleamed, "while we are on the subject of punishment, there is a little matter I must settle with you." Harry's stomach dropped, he could see where this was going. "You murdered one of my best servants." Harry swallowed hard, pushing away the guilt. "Therefore it is fitting that I murder someone you are close to." Harry could hear his heart thundering in his chest. If Ron or Hermione were killed… Harry couldn't deal with that. "Legilimense!"

In the split second before Voldemort's spell took effect Harry frowned in confusion, it was a well-known fact that Ron and Hermione were his best friends; Snape would have told Voldemort that… But Harry didn't have time to think anymore before he felt Voldemort's presence barging into his mind. Harry could hear himself scream and his scar burnt and his head started to feel as if it were about to implode; there seemed to be an insane amount of pressure under it. It made Snape's presence seem like nothing but the touch of a feather.

Then the images started pouring through his mind, Harry had barely caught sight of one image before the next had come; they were all memories from the Dursleys… He was being shoved in the cupboard after setting Dudley's Easter eggs on fire when he was five… His uncle grabbing his arm so tightly that he couldn't feel his fingers when he was being taken in on his first day of school… Forcing him to clean up after Vernon, Petunia and Dudley's Christmas lunch when he was seven…

There was nothing that could stop it, he was caught in the torrent of memories, knowing Voldemort had access to every experience of his life, every good and bad emotion… Harry tried to stop the memories but it was like catching smoke with your hands: impossible.

Then it changed; he was at Hogwarts… Rapid memories of all the teachers there… McGonagall docking him fifty points after being caught coming down from the astronomy tower… Trelawney predicting his death… Flitwick assigning him extra work on the summoning spell… Every single teacher excluding Quirrel and Moody were pulled through his head… Hadn't Voldemort finished yet? No…

Now his holidays started, Harry couldn't keep up anymore, it was too rapid, to fast, he was drowning…

Then it stopped.

Harry slumped as far as it was possible in his restraints; groaning at the throbbing of his scar, still enflamed from Voldemort's intrusion and grinding his teeth against the thumping in his skull.

"Wormtail," Harry opened his eyes to see Wormtail's blurry outline in the door. "Take this message to Malfoy, and then help track our victims down, which shouldn't be too difficult for you, given the circumstances."

Wormtail nodded, seemingly too scared to speak. His watery eyes kept darting from Harry, who glowered at him, to the hem of Voldemort's robes and back to Harry again.

"I want you to order the immediate capture, alive… if possible… of Molly Weasley and Sirius Black." Harry gasped, unable to help himself; it made sense now, Voldemort searching through all the adults in Harry's life… Merlin, what if they did get captured? It would all be his fault… He had no way to warn them!

"I thought that would hit a nerve, Harry." Wormtail had gone and Voldemort had turned his attention to Harry, pleased that his tactics were having such an effect. "What I have planned for those blood traitors is nearly as bad as what I have planned for you." Harry's eyes darted round the room again, escaping was ten times more important now… There was no way he was going to be responsible for even more deaths…

Voldemort stalked up to Harry, who winced at the pain in his scar with each step he took, and dug his fingernail into Harry's cheek. Harry didn't scream this time. His lip was becoming red and swollen from biting on it too hard. Whipping his hand away, Voldemort left a crescent shaped cut down Harry's cheek before sweeping to the door.

"I promise you Harry, both Sirius Black and Molly Weasley will die … painfully," Harry flinched at the burning, yet promising glint in Voldemort's eye. "I will be back later, Harry, but until then I leave you to get acquainted with my servants."

It was then that Harry saw the dark outline of a cloaked Death Eater, his white mask catching the first of the morning light and he drew his wand and advanced towards Harry.

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Until next time ...

There was instant uproar, Dumbledore stood up so sharply his chair fell backwards, tumbling to the floor and knocking over a spindly table with a delicate silver instrument that looked like it was worth the Malfoy's fortune placed on it. Sirius didn't hear him thunder about manhandling his students. Nor did he head Luna, Neville or Ginny's gasps; Sirius's head was filled with his own deafening barks.

I know some of you will want to strangle me for various reasons, but so those 'Snape is good, you idiots, can't you see it, he's NOT EVIL!' people won't, I'll just explain that I am in fact one of those 'Snape is good, you idiots, can't you see it, he's NOT EVIL!' people, but alas, Snape being evil gives a nice evil little plot line, and has lots of potentials for any sequels that I might be plotting.

A note about updating: I'm not updating until I complete chapter 6. I've got half term coming up nad I'll try to write in that, but since Christmas my life has got really busy and with exams around the corner it's going to get busier.

Hope anyone from the UK had fun with the snow today!