Disclaimer: Me? Own Harry Potter? In your dreams (and mine too).

Warning: Language and violent play havoc on this chapter (lets just say it was this chapter that told me the rating really was an M, not just a high T)

Small note about the future of this story in my profile. Sorry I didn't update earlier. I'd forgotten that I'd written this chapter and not uploaded it. :s

x0x0x0x

Ruthless

Harry – Thursday, sometime in the early afternoon

He knew it now. He knew he was not going to make it out alive. He knew that he was never going to escape from this hellish prison and he knew why.

Because the first chance he was given he would gladly take his own life instead of facing what was awaiting him.

What did it matter? He was to die anyway. He would rather die of his own hand rather than have the Dark Bastard humiliate and torture him before ending it in the most painful way possible. And if he was dead what purpose did capturing his close friends or family have? True, they were members of the Order, but no one could argue with the fact that being close to Harry catapulted one up to near the top of Voldemort's 'to kill' list.

Harry shuddered, an icy chill creeping over him as he contemplated what little future he had left, before gasping. The tremors of his body had again sparked sharp pains from the numerous tortures he had been forced to endure from the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Still tightly chained to the wall without his glasses he could barely see his body, but what flesh he could make out was deathly pale, imprinted with deep purple and green bruises and dashed with welts, cuts and ticks, that irritably tingled every time he moved. He could feel tracks of cuts, both deep and shallow traced in his skin, tearing and opening every time he flinched from a memory or distant sound, sending him into agony that would seem to last forever.

Harry drowsily raised his head, ignoring the thumping pain in his head and the ache in his neck, to look out of the small window. It was his only connection to the outside world and he was eternally grateful for it. Harry felt it was his only anchor to sanity. He knew it made no difference, but it was oddly comforting to have a source of light in the room, albeit depressingly faint due to the abysmal weather.

It was also the only means he had of telling the time. He guessed it was early afternoon… Wednesday, maybe Thursday… He was starting to lose track of time now. He knew he'd been unconscious for long periods of time, and he knew he stared off into space, only to be jerked form his lethargic state when the door was hurled open.

But he didn't sleep. He knew that. Every time he closed his eyes he would see them. Everywhere. Their wands glowing sinisterly, the knives covered in blood glinting eerily in their soft glow. They'd slowly approach him. He could never see them. Their ragged, excited breath and the violent pumping of his heart were the only sounds to be heard. The harsh breathing drew closer. Even if he closed his eyes Harry could still sense the dagger, hovering inches from his skin, ready to slowly sink it's blade…

Harry gasped and jerked forwards, catapulting from the nightmare, clenching his teeth as the pain swept over him. He shuddered as he felt a warm trickle of blood flow down his chest and he fought against the images of daggers that he'd been immersed in only moments ago.

Harry moaned in pain and tried so force his instincts to trash and jerk into submission. Gulping huge breaths of the stale air, Harry managed for force his body to hang limp from the manacles, despite the tremors still running through him.

Harry swore lightly as the trembling finally subsided to the throbbing ache that Harry knew wouldn't go away. That was precisely the reason he could not sleep. Images of blood, Voldemort or torture would tear through his mind, waking him the instant he dropped off. Harry knew that the only way he was going to rest was if he fell into unconsciousness.

With nothing left to do Harry's mind drifted. Thoughts of Sirius and the Order ran through his head. It was a welcome change from dark nightmares of tortures. Harry knew that Pomfrey would have healed Sirius long before now. She had managed to patch Harry up on numerous occasions over the years and Sirius would be no problem.

But if Sirius was awake, why hadn't he come yet? A small part of Harry's mind told him that his prison would be damned impossible to find, and Sirius could probably search England for years and never find him … Harry didn't even know that he was in England. But that part of Harry's mind was becoming smaller and smaller as all rational thought fell away and instinct took over.

Merlin, he was so hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper meal … He knew it was before the exams. His nerves had been all over the place at that point, and even if he had felt like eating much he didn't think he'd have had the time. And he was deliriously thirsty. He knew that he'd been given a few brief sips of water when the Death Eaters could no longer hear his screams, but that was it. Just enough to stay alive and give the Death Eaters their satisfaction.

Harry winced as his scar flared again. A brief thrill of satisfaction ran through Harry before he threw it off, disgusted. He hated the sensation of being Voldemort's mood receptor.

And he hated that something had pleased Voldemort. Harry drew in a trembling breath as he realised that the ache in his scar hadn't decreased; it was increasing! Harry forced himself to take calm deep breaths. Inside he was cowering with terror, but he couldn't show Voldemort that. He wasn't going to let Voldemort break him.

Harry started to shake as the he felt Voldemort draw closer. The manacles rubbed painfully against his wrists as his arms trembled violently. No! No … he had to stop this … he had to keep his cool in front of Voldemort; he couldn't let him know that he was affecting him like this.

So when Voldemort swept into the room Harry was ready for him; glaring, not letting tears of pain fall from his eyes and gritting his teeth hard in an attempt not to show how ghastly the searing of his scar was.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Voldemort's silky tone sent shivers up Harry's spine, "I hope you're finding your stay most enjoyable." Voldemort continued, leaving no room for a sarcastic reply. "I'm afraid we don't have time for pleasantries today, Harry," Harry snorted, "there is lots to do, and little time to do it in." Harry could make out a few whispered voices and shuffling from beyond the door, but the shadows were too dense to make out anything.

Voldemort flashed his teeth in a ferocious grin as Harry took a shaky breath, trying not to flinch away from Voldemort's disfigured face.

"Dear me, Harry," Harry cringed; Voldemort's voice was a dangerously soft hiss, "you don't seen to be enjoying your stay here." There was a short cruel laugh before Harry replied.

"Well, I'm afraid your Death Eaters aren't the best of company." Harry barely recognised his own voice: the words were quiet, despite the effort Harry made to say them loudly and the scratchy tone took away any hint of sarcasm that Harry had injected into his words.

Voldemort's smile grew wider and his crimson eyes glowed. Harry groaned inwardly, knowing he'd fallen into some kind of verbal trap. Harry stayed silent, icy sensations washing over him as he imagined what Voldemort was going to do to him.

"Maybe you should spend more time getting to know each other then, Harry." Harry closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to start shaking again; he opened them to find the end of a hauntingly familiar yew wand. Harry reflexively jerked backwards seconds before the now familiar pain of the cruciatus sank in … Harry could hear himself screaming hoarsely … Voldemort's manic laughter … a livid cry of both pain and sorrow …

Bracing against the sensation of shards of glass tearing his skin, Harry tried to open his eyes … that scream was not right … but he couldn't do it. The pain was so intense and he couldn't break free from it; its fierce currents were dragging him down, deeper and deeper. Harry felt his vision darken beneath his eyelids and his limbs felt sluggish and slow.

Harry finally fell free of the fiery agony that consumed him. Forcing open his eyes Harry saw a flash of red and heard a whimper before he slumped as far as his shackles would allow.

x0x

They were here again. Touching him, stabbing him. Small shocks of pain were slowly creeping along all of his many cuts and bruises. Merlin, wouldn't they have waited until he was awake. Maybe he hadn't been unconscious for very long. That would explain while they were still there.

There was a sharp pain across his abdomen and he suppressed a wince. Maybe they'd go away if he didn't wake up. He cold tell from the light throbbing of his scar that Voldemort wasn't in the room, and really, Death Eaters weren't going to notice if he was playing dead.

There were a few minutes of quiet movement before the slash across Harry's chest began to burn and sting; Harry shivered. Several more minutes later the jolts of pain began to fade, although the throbbing sensation continued.

With a start Harry realised that the throbbing was due to something being pressed against the wound! Concentrating, Harry's foggy mind finally realised that a damp cloth was being held to his chest, cleaning it from any dirt that had found its way in there.

The pressure was gently removed before Harry felt the damp cloth gently rubbing against his chest, cleaning away the blood.

Harry was confused, the most care he'd received in this hell hole was a Death Eater storming in, forcing what Harry recognised as a blood replenishing potion down his throw and briefly looking over him to make sure his injuries weren't fatal; just enough to keep him alive seemed to be the general trend of thought amongst the Death Eaters. Not only would the Dark Bastard be pissed if they killed him, but they'd miss out on the next bout of 'fun' on the brat.

No, something was wrong here, he knew the cut on his cheek had started to become infected, and the Death Eaters had take great joy in picking at the wound, aggravating the sore flesh (though Harry had managed to bite one of the offending Death Eaters once).

"Oh Harry, what have they done to you?"

Harry's eyes snapped open. What met his eyes nearly sent him spiralling into unconsciousness. No! This wasn't happening, it couldn't. The breath caught in Harry's throat and a huge lead weight settled in his stomach. He knew Voldemort's threat was serious, but really, this was too much, and it had happened so quickly …

Harry numbly felt himself begin to tremble and shake, starting to hyperventilate due to his quick, panicked breaths. Harry was drowning in an overwhelming panic, getting more and more distressed until Mrs. Weasley gently wrapped her arms around his torn body and using that special skill that only mothers seem to posses, brought Harry away from his panic where he slowly sank into oblivion once more.

x0x

The first thing he realised when he felt his body return to him was that his shackles were no longer present; his arms were pressed down by his side, but not in an offensive manor.

Harry shivered, despite the unusual feeling of warmth surrounding him. His scar prickled and he subconsciously dug his face further into the oddly comforting warmth. As his mind drifted into awareness he suddenly remembered the source of warmth and comfort and tried to pull away, oddly embarrassed about the motherly embrace that Mrs. Weasley was giving him.

"Shhh, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley's quiet voice hushed him as he squirmed in her grip. "You'll just hurt yourself dear." Harry stopped trying to free himself from the motherly hug but his cheeks were still tinged with embarrassment.

There was an awkward pause. Harry took the chance to assess his surroundings, anything not to look directly at Mrs. Weasley. They were now in a smaller, darker room. The only light was that of a small flickering candle fixed to a bracket on the wall out of both of their reaches. There was nothing much in the room; the walls were dank and grey and the only furniture was a wide plank of wood that was obviously supposed to play the roll of a bed. Harry's back was pressed into the corner between the bench and the wall and Mrs. Weasley was facing him, her back to the old, yet strong looking wooden door. Harry felt a surge of something in his stomach at the protective gesture.

He was brought back to his surroundings when Mrs. Weasley removed her cloak and wrapped it around Harry's shivering form. Harry smiled gratefully, the warmth soaking into his cold form before blurting out his question.

"Wh-," Harry swallowed, his voice scratchy on his irritated throat, "what happened? I mean … how? … Did they, y'know, hurt you?" Harry winced as he saw Mrs Weasley shudder slightly.

"I was in Diagon Alley," Mrs. Weasley spoke slowly, as if considering just how much information to give to Harry, "shopping for some potions ingredients as well as some other … things and … and then suddenly they were everywhere. Death Eaters. I'd never seen as many in one place. They all went after me," Harry felt a roll of guilt slide over him. He knew exactly the reason why. "It was horrible, people screaming everywhere. And then, well, then I found myself here." Mrs. Weasley's voice was strong and solid, but her eyes shone oddly in the half-light. Harry subconsciously tightened his grip around her, trying to give her some of the comfort that she needed.

"Merlin, Harry dear, we're so worried about you! If it wasn't for Professor Snape we wouldn't even know if you were alive!" Harry stiffened, but Mrs. Weasley didn't appear to notice.

There was another awkward pause. Neither could really seem to come up with something to say in this situation. Harry could feel himself sinking into habits he usually only displayed at the Dursleys; he went silent and let his mind wander, slowly slipping into a brooding, lethargic state.

"We're going to get out of here, Harry."

Harry started; it had been at least half an hour since any words had been spoken between the two. Harry's head shot up and he shot Mrs. Weasley a glance, trying to hide his wince at the jabbing pain caused by moving injured skin too fast.

"There's a plan, Harry dear," Her hard, confident voice softened slightly at the term of endearment, "You're getting out of here. We're going to get out of here. It'll be all right; you'll be healed up in no time. Professor Dumbledore's got a plan and Professor Snape-"

"Is a treacherous bastard," Harry interrupted, blurting out the thing that had burning and twisting at his insides since Mrs. Weasley had first mentioned the deceitful potions master. Harry glared at a spot across the room and jerked backwards from Mrs. Weasley's warm arms. "It was him. He was the Death Eater. The git's been working for Voldemort all along."

Mrs. Weasley seemed too shocked to flinch at the Dark Lord's name. She was frozen to the spot. Her arms that until a moment ago had been comforting Harry were tensed and her fists clenched. In the faint light Harry could just make out the tips of Mrs. Weasley's ears darkening in rage.

Harry gently leant his body back on to the wall, being careful not to aggravate his wounds. He could numbly hear Mrs. Weasley swearing violently under her breath whilst his back tingled at the pressure of leaning on the hard stone wall.

There was nothing either of them could say; no words of false comfort would be of use now. Both Harry and Mrs. Weasley knew that the chances of themselves and the Order escaping from this were remarkably slim due to one man's betrayal.

It was an odd feeling, Harry mused as he felt his tired and starved body give way to sleep, that deep gut wrenching knowledge that the Darkest Wizard in a century, probably more now, was one small step from destroying everything that Harry held dear.

x0x0x

When Harry next opened his eyes he found himself in pure darkness. The veil of black was so thick that Harry couldn't make out anything in front of him. If it weren't for the fact that his eyes were blinking back tears of pain from his injuries he would have assumed that his eyes were not in fact open. This told Harry that there were two possible things that could have happened; enough time for the candle to burn out its supply of wax could have passed. Or worse, someone had come into the room and blown out the candle and done Merlin knows what else.

With a jolt of icy fear, Harry flung his arms out, trying to find Mrs. Weasley. Swearing as his hand hit the stone wall of his prison, Harry began to let his arms gently probe the air around him, painfully shifting his body further along the hard wooden bench as it became obvious that Mrs. Weasley was no longer next to him.

Harry tried to ignore both the agony of his body and the gut wrenching fear that consumed him. Harry had never before been in pitch darkness. If anything he'd have thought that this wouldn't bother him, having spent a good portion of his life in a dark cupboard, but even then there was a small, shade-less bulb, or the glow of the hallway light that the Dursleys could never be bothered to turn off. He felt so helpless. How could he have any control over his surroundings if he couldn't even see them?

"Mrs. Weasley?" He asked the darkness, his voice barely audible and his throat jarring painfully. "A-are you there?" Harry had reached the end of the bench and had not yet found Mrs. Weasley; he could feel himself get more and more hysterical. He felt so helpless in the darkness! What if Voldemort or something just as evil was only inches away from him. The pain in his scar had been a steady throbbing since being placed in this cell; it no longer ebbed and peaked as Voldemort's distance from him changed. Voldemort could be barely inches from him, ready to strike out at any second.

Harry shivered to himself; he was no longer wearing Mrs. Weasley's cloak. That in itself was a bad sign. Carefully lowering his feet to the hard, cold floor, Harry winced at the violent shaking that his legs displayed as soon as he attempted to put any weight on them. Obviously he was in no condition to walk anymore.

There was a minute sound in the far corner of the cell, opposite Harry. Starting violently at the sound, Harry fell from his precarious position on the bench and tumbled to the ground, letting out a small yelp as he did so.

Harry sat, paralysed as he heard the sound again. There was definitely something there. Harry pressed his back into the wall, his instincts forcing him to seem as small and insignificant as possible, his breathing becoming harsh and irregular.

Harry's mouth went dry as the sound moved towards him. He was hyperventilating now, becoming frantic at the almost childish thought of monsters lurking in dark corners. Harry no longer cared that he was hysterical, he just wanted to escape, some way or another. His mind was a mess from both physical and emotional abuse and he no longer held the ability to act in a rational or calm manner.

Harry let out a piercing scream as a hand clutched his wrist and started thrashing uncontrollably as the grip tightened slightly and another hand came out to touch his shoulder. He was totally blind to the world around him and the strategic side of himself had been buried in the depths of his mind.

"Harry!" At the sound of his name Harry thrashed harder, choking back another panic-driven scream.

"Harry! Listen to me Harry!" A part of Harry told him that he should recognise that voice and listen to it, but it was pushed to the side.

"Shhhhh, Harry, calm down, dear. It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you, you're okay, hush now."

There was something about the way that voice was so familiar and comforting that soothed Harry's raging terror. The moment Harry stopped screaming he was gently pulled into a tentative, yet somehow stifling hug that was unmistakably Mrs. Weasley's.

Harry blushed, knowing that Mrs. Weasley had seen – or rather, heard – his hysterical fit, before the realisation came that this woman did not care. She didn't think any less of him for being scared or for lashing out at her. She wasn't going to hold it against him and remind him of it whenever she was angry with him. She wasn't going to lock him up in a cupboard for letting his emotions go. She truly cared for him.

It was that thought which gave Harry the strength to rest his head upon Mrs. Weasley's shoulder and allow himself to burst into tears.

"How touching." Snape's simply Slytherin tone rang out as a candle flared to light in the darkness.

Oh shit.

Of all the people in this place to have a fit of sobbing in front of, it had to be him.

"Fuck off," Harry said, trying to hide the bubbliness of his voice and wincing slightly as Mrs. Weasley's grip tightened around him in a protective motion, irritating his cuts but hiding most of his curled up body from Snape.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape hissed, stalking closer. Harry could feel Mrs. Weasley trembling with a mixture of anger and fear, her face turned away from Harry's, staring at Snape with what Harry knew to be a glare to rival that of the treacherous Potions Master.

"Now as much as I love to watch your teenage histrionics, Potter, I'm afraid that I actually have a purpose in being here. Snape's eyes glittered in the candlelight as he drew his wand and focused it on Mrs. Weasley who had released her grip on Harry and was now standing in front of him, her arms out, protecting Harry.

Harry struggled to stand in order to gently push Mrs. Weasley out of harms way. He was not a helpless baby anymore. It was his fault she was in this mess, if anything he should have been protecting her. But Harry's body was weak from the huge amount of energy he had spent in the past twenty minutes.

"You really are pitiful, Potter!" he snarled at noticing Harry's failed attempts. "If you can't even handle this, what chance do you really think you have against the Dark Lord? None, Potter, surviving on something as pitiful as luck and circumstance for fourteen years is hardly a shining accomplishment."

"Compared to killing thousands of innocent people?" Mrs. Weasley spat out, her harsh tone of voice surprising Harry.

"Exterminating dirty muggles and Mudbloods is a grand achievement, Prewitt." Harry saw Mrs. Weasley flinch at her maiden name; most likely due to the lingering grief of her brothers that Ron had told Harry about during one of their many talks about Voldemort related topics in Grimmauld Place and Hogwarts.

"Now that your pathetic attempts to procrastinate are over, move aside," Snape pointed his wand at Mrs. Weasley and flicked it to the side, as if pointing to a corner when going to tell a child to stand in it.

"No." Mrs. Weasley's voice was firm and commanding as she straightened her back to fortify her position in front of Harry.

"Move now," Snape's voice had hardened and yet become even silkier, "before I force you to." Harry's stomach lurched at the thought of Mrs. Weasley lying dead and cold like Cedric, or smiling distantly at a blank spot on the wall like Neville's parents … or worse.

Mrs. Weasley obstinately shook her head, her hands clenching into fists and the tips of her ears getting lost in the crimson hair. "I'll die before I see Harry hurt." The whispered words had more of an effect than anything she could have shouted. Harry felt a surge of affection towards Mrs. Weasley that briefly overcame the whirlwind of other emotions.

"Then so be it," hissed Snape as his want slashed out in a non-verbal spell. Harry's heart stopped as Mrs. Weasley crumpled to the ground in pain. He bent down to hep her but immediately found himself in Snape's iron grip.

Lashing out with a strength that Harry didn't know he possessed, Harry flailed in Snape's arms, his leg hitting something which let out a clear crack. Scrambling free, Harry used all of his strength to crawl over to Mrs. Weasley, who had stopped writhing in pain and was now holding her stomach with a pained expression. She still managed to drag Harry into a protective hug as soon as he came within the range of her arms.

Harry had just leant back in order to check how badly Mrs. Weasley was injured when an ear-splitting explosion was issued from Snape's wand. Harry flinched and reflexively covered his ears with his hands before being magically flung against the wall, causing stars to erupt in front of his eyes.

He attempted to shake his head to clear them away, but found himself unable to move: he'd been petrified. Harry blinked rapidly; wanting the dizzy spell over as soon as possible, but the last star had barely faded before he found himself under the all-together too familiar pain of the cruciatus. Unable to succumb to the urge of writhing or screaming, Harry's eyes darted rapidly around the room, animal-like, attempting to escape but unable to, tears leaking out of his eyes, the salt water adding to the intense effects of the cruciatus of the nicks and scratches coating his face.

Then, finally, it was over, as soon as he was released from the petrifying spell he jerked himself into the foetal position, retching fiercely to the sound of deep, unnerving chuckles.

"Simply pathetic, Potter, your feebleness continues to astound me." Harry didn't bother to reply, instead concentrating on taking deep breaths and steadying the dizziness that plagued his mind.

He lifted his head only to see Mrs. Weasley lying petrified just as he had been, Snape's wand trained on her, but his face turned towards Harry, smirking evilly. Harry shook his head, pleadingly, unable to find his voice. He couldn't let Mrs. Weasley feel that pain. He didn't care if it was his fucking 'saving people' thing, but he couldn't let her get hurt.

"Stand up, Potter."

Ignoring Mrs. Weasley's desperate eyes, Harry struggled to his knees, his whole body still shaking violently. He gripped the wall and tried to rise to his feet, but collapsed to the floor moments later, gasping as the hard stone floor met his kneecap.

Shaking his head at the way Snape's wand flicked once again to Mrs. Weasley. Harry tried again, slowly shifting his aching back up the wall, until finally, after what seemed like hours, Harry was upright, his knees bent and his whole body shaking violently.

"Now, come here Potter." Harry bit the inside of his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was go anywhere near that bastard, but he still had Mrs. Weasley's prone form under that near-black wand. Having no choice, Harry pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled towards Snape, desperately trying not to keel over in front of him.

Suddenly, a hand shot out, grabbing hold of Harry's hair. Harry flinched, causing more pain to his scalp. Out of the corner of his eye he could see tears trailing down the motionless face of Mrs. Weasley, but his attention was stolen away by a painful jerking of his head as Snape shook him maliciously and pulled him to his full height, stretching his painful skin and causing some of the more recently healed cuts to reopen.

A cold hand wrapped around the fingers in Harry's right hand. As realisation dawned the feeling of swallowing an ice cube appeared and Harry began to struggle slightly, trying to free his hand.

Whilst lashing out he'd broken one of Snape's fingers. Unable to free himself, Harry braced himself for the pain that he knew he was going to suffer.

"You know, Potter," Snape hissed in his ear, forcing all the hairs on the back of Harry's neck to stand on end, "it would be so much easier to do this with a simple spell, wouldn't it?" Snape tightened his grip and there was a moment of tense silence before there was a sharp crack and Harry yelped in pain. "But not nearly as," there was a second crack and Harry forced himself not to scream, "satisfying." Bile rose up in this throat at the sound of three more snaps and the sharp pain that went with them.

Without even getting the chance to look at or nurse his broken fingers, Harry found himself collapsing to the floor as Snape's grip on him relaxed, before being dragged, by the grasp on his head, from the room.

The moment Harry crossed the doorway, the door slammed shut, narrowly missing Harry's ankle and completely blocking Mrs. Weasley from view. Harry gulped, his gaze lingering on the door, hoping Mrs. Weasley would somehow free herself from the body bind in the pitch-black room.

"Oh, I assure you, Potter, she will die a very slow and painful death, though nowhere near as painful as yours." Harry's glare was more akin to a grimace as Harry's hand throbbed painfully.

There was a moment of silence before a potions vial was whipped out of Snape's robes and forced down Harry's throat. Harry half choked, trying to find some energy to resist, but it was too late. Harry could feel the cold potion settle in his stomach seconds before he felt his body become sluggish and slothful.

Having no resistance to Snape's manipulating hands, Harry felt tight ropes wind around his body as more Death Eaters emerged from the shadows and surrounded him before he felt his body lift and move through the catacomb of musty dungeons.

He'd lost track of time as his tired mind drifted back to Mrs. Weasley, hoping she wasn't in too much pain and hoping against hope that whatever plan Voldemort and Snape had formulated wouldn't lead to the death of anyone he cared about.

It was with that lingering thought that Harry was unceremoniously thrown at Voldemort's feet and found himself under the cruciatus before he'd even had time to blink.

Harry bit his lip as the pain tumbled through his body. He refused to give up. He refused to fall.

Because if he died, Mrs. Weasley would too.

x0x0x0x

Sorry about the wait guys. Summer went in a blink. And now I'm already stuck into the 'joys' of AS Levels.

Feedback of any kind is welcome.