Hello Everyone!
I'm glad no one hates me for the last chapter! raven1493: have patience. Just because he hasn't done anything yet doesn't mean he won't. Also understand this; I will post faster if I get reviews. There will still be chapters posted, but they will come faster if you review the chapters. Understand? Good. I've decided to do a few time skips in this chapter, one a few days after, one a few months after, and one about a year after. This will be mostly in Harry's POV but I will also have a short scene back at the Order and some in Voldemort's POV. This chapter is going to be a bit longer, so I hope you like it. WARNING: This chapter will have more instances of graphic torture as well as mention/actual rape. If you don't like, don't read. Don't say I didn't warn you…
I don't own Harry Potter!
Enjoy!
~Angelia Reader
Chapter Three: Breaking
Harry's POV
Three Days Later… August 15
His body screamed in agony when he rolled onto his stomach. A low whine pulled from his throat, making it burn worse than it had before. Screaming had left his throat raw, to the point where even breathing brought tears to his eyes. Lacerations oozed blood where they crossed his back. From what he had felt at the time they were words, spread lover his shoulders. Harry Potter. The Chosen One. Spelled out in small letters from shoulder to shoulder. Rodolphus Lestrange, as it turned out, was even more talented with a blade than his wife.
Harry gasped as a wave of trembling overtook him. He could feel the wounds opening on his back, bleeding heavy again. The cruciatus curse had done damage to his nerves, causing unpredictable bouts of spasms. Despite the pain, he cried out. He curled his body around itself and rode out the pain. Tears slid from his eyes as he laid there spent.
Not for the first time he prayed to whatever god there may be that for death. He lifted his gaze and looked for the hundredth time at the rack that held the instrument of torture he had become all too familiar with. For the hundredth time he painfully crawled to it. He was very aware of his broken ribs and the agony that ripped through his ass and thighs with every move as eh pulled to no avail on one of the knives.
They were warded so that he couldn't remove them. He let out a small groan of frustration, and sank back down until his cheek pressed to the wooden leg of the rack. It had only been days, of that he was sure, and already he wanted death. The "interrogation" as Voldemort had called it followed no pattern. Sometimes it was only he that tortured him, while other times he enlisted the help of his Death Eaters. Sometimes he would go an entire session only using magic, while others he would carve deep into Harry's flesh. There was no set time frame that it occurred in, the time in between stretching minutes to hours. The only thing that remained uniform was the Dark Lord mounting Harry from behind, taking him rough and fast. No one was allowed to touch him like that.
Harry closed his eyes as another wave of tremors hit him. This one lasted longer than the last. His vision blurred. He moved slowly, forcing himself to sit up. He braced his hand against the bottom of the rack and pushed up. Something sharp cut deep into his palm. He frowned at the wound. There was nothing sharp enough to cut himself with. He had checked.
His fingers trailed over the wood. There. A nail stuck slightly out of the top. He bit his lip. Without thinking he dug his fingers into the wood. It gave slightly. His heart raced and he tore at it with the fevered intensity of a madman. Blood seeped from his fingers as his nails tore, but he didn't stop. He could hear footsteps echoing from down the hall and he worked faster. He nearly cried with relief when he finally was able to pull it free.
The nail was long, about four inches in length. It had been pounded into the soft mortar between the stones to hold the rack in place, and now it was his way out. There was the roar of laughter just behind the door, followed by the jingle of keys. Harry didn't hesitate. He plunged the metal deep into his arm, slicing down to his wrist. He gritted his teeth, barely containing the scream that threatened to give him away. He could feel his resolve wavering, and he would do what it took to keep the people he loved safe. He forced his hand to grip the nail. He slit the wrist just as the door opened.
His gaze met the Dark Lords.
Seconds passed.
Blood gushed from the gashes.
His head swam.
"No!"
He was falling.
Hands gripped him.
"Damn you. Don't you dare die on me," even as he fell he recognized Parseltongue.
He was sinking into the light. She stood there, hair as red as fire.
Yes…
"My love," her fingers curled around his.
Yes…
There was pain suddenly.
He frowned.
"My love…"Her image wavered.
No!
The pain jerked him upward.
"No!" his scream tore his throat raw. He was in his cell. The stench of piss and shit filled his nose anew. He was surrounded by Death Eaters, and in the Dark Lord's arms. He fought with everything he had oblivious to the pain in his battered body.
The Dark Lord's fingers twisted in his hair, pulling it sharply so that he had to look him in the eye, "If you want death you will beg for it just like everyone else," he snarled. There was anger in his gaze.
Harry spit in his face. His eyes glowed with fury. He dropped him, stepping back, drawing his wand, "Crucio!" Harry screamed, writing in agony as the curse tore through him. The spell held for an ungodly amount of time. When it was released he collapsed, his body trembling with the aftershock. "Beg for it Harry Potter," Voldemort snarled, "Crucio!" Again he kept him under until he was sure the pain would drive him insane. "Beg me to kill you. Beg and the pain will end."
Harry looked up at him, and croaked out something. Voldemort came closer, until Harry's lips touched his ear, "Fuck you." He gasped. He didn't see the blow that caught him across the right side of his face. There was a sickening crunch as his nose shattered. He twisted to get out of the way of the assault, crawling on his stomach to the far end of the room. There was a burning sensation through his lower back on the left side. He cried out, his voice breaking under the strain.
The Dark Lord grabbed the knife sticking from his back, and drug him back to the center of the room. Voldemort buried himself suddenly into his ass, his lips pressed to his ear, "Beg Harry Potter," he grunted, shoving himself harder.
He could do no more than gasp softly. His voice gone from the screams. He was fading again. Not like before, to the light and his love, but to the darkness that was unconsciousness.
I want to die… was the last thought in his head before the world vanished.
Five Weeks Later… September 21
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
"We have to give up the search," McGonagall tucked a lock of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear, "It's been too long."
"No! If they had captured him they wouldn't be broadcasting it, and if he were dead we would know. He would be sure to tell the whole world that he had killed Harry," Ron glared openly at his commanding officer.
"One more outburst Ronald and I will eliminate you from the council. We don't know where he is. Our spies have seen nothing, heard nothing," she stressed the last word when Ron made to protest, "That indicates that Harry has been taken. Our best hope is that he is laying low and trying to get back to us."
"So we're just going to give up on him?" Hermione laid her hand over her growing stomach, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Mione," Ron said softly. He put his hands over hers, "Remember the baby love."
"Yes." McGonagall snapped, "We can't pore our valuable resources into finding one person. One man does not make an army."
"When that one man happens to be Harry Potter, the only person that stands a chance at defeating You Know Who, we should be doing everything in our power to get him back," Lavender argued.
"Harry Potter is dead," McGonagall declared. "As of this moment, Harry is dead," her voice softened, "Spread the word throughout the ranks. Tell them there will be a memorial service for him tonight. In the morning we attack the camp to the south. Dismissed."
The word spread like wildfire. By the time the sun set, everyone, in every arm across Britain had heard of Harry's death.
Malfoy Manor: Dungeons
Pain. All he knew was pain. For the millionth time is seemed his bones snapped. A fresh scar tore open on his chest. Blood trailed down his body.
Another kick to the ribs.
He couldn't help but think that he was liking this.
It had been a week since he had seen anyone, hear anything but the sound of his own heartbeat. Any contact was better than utter solitude.
He could sense Him standing in the corner. Watching. Ensuring that this went the way he wanted it.
He looked into his eyes, "Beg and I will end this for you." It was an old chant, a familiar one.
He wanted death, but for some reason he knew that he could not ask for it.
Something… something to do with why I'm here… Who am I…?
He couldn't remember.
Why can't I beg-
The thought was cut short by more pain. He let out a small wine. That was all he could do. His voice was all but gone.
"Enough," He said, waving the man away, "He's close. He needs time to think." He smiled. They left without another word…
Eleven months later… August 5
Silence.
Darkness.
Nothing.
Not nothing.
1500 stones above.
1300 below.
Solid walls.
Crack for feet down in back.
Move.
Shutter.
Ow. Too much…
Breaths slow.
How long?
Too long.
You want to die.
Yes. Want to die.
Footsteps.
Doesn't matter.
Door opens.
No movement.
No point.
Nothing will stop them.
Ask him to kill you.
No!
Can't.
Why?
Don't know.
Hands on his back.
No reaction.
"The Dark Lord wants him cleaned up and brought to him."
Familiar voice.
Anger.
Bad voice. He did this to you.
Hands gently role him over.
Long hair.
Greasy.
Black eyes.
Pained.
"I am so sorry Harry."
So soft.
Is that your name?
Harry?
Harry?
Harry…Potter?
Yes.
Something he should remember.
Not important.
Hands open his mouth.
Bitter.
He chokes.
Fingers on his nose.
"Drink Harry. It will help."
Hands move him again.
No pain this time.
No pain? Always pain.
He misses it.
Pain is familiar.
More bitter.
Burning over his skin.
No reaction.
More hands.
Lift him.
Wet.
Hot.
Soothing.
His feet brace against the warm metal tub.
Hands and cloth over his body.
Scrub lightly.
Fingers in his hair.
Bubbles.
No pain.
Water over his head.
Choking.
"Hold your breath next time."
Greasy hair looks at him sadly.
"If I didn't know any better Severus, I'd say you were going soft."
Blonde hair.
Long, but not as long as his.
Cold gray eyes.
Sweet cream in his hair.
Fingers force through the snarls.
No pain.
More water over his head.
Hold your breath!
No choking.
Water empties.
Soft cloth around him.
Dry now.
Brush in his hair.
"You know he really does have beautiful hair." Blonde hair.
"He does." Greasy hair.
They lift him.
"He's so light. I've never seen anyone this thin."
More bitter.
His stomach hurts.
"What was that?"
"Nutrition potion. It's all he's had since he's came here."
They try and make him stand.
His legs collapse.
"We're going to have to carry him."
Towards the door.
No! Not allowed out.
In the hall.
Bright.
Stairs.
More bright.
Pain again.
Sweet sweet pain.
Closes his eyes.
No! Back. Please back!
Tries to speak but no sound.
Through the bright.
More stairs.
Through doors.
He's at a desk.
He looks up.
Please don't hurt me. They took me out. I'll go back…
"Back to your cupboard boy…"
"Yes Sir. Please no more pain."
They're not here, but He is.
He's worse.
"My Lord," Greasy Hair and Blonde Hair bow.
Tom's POV
He looked up every few seconds to glare at the door. He had sent those fools down there hours ago to fetch his prize. A year. It had been nearly a full year, and the Chosen One had finally broken.
He had told them nothing, absolutely nothing about the Order, and he had yet to beg for death, but he was broken all the same. Severus had been right, the boy had been nearly impossible to break, but Voldemort knew that look. The empty stare of someone who was no longer there. There was still fire, he knew that much, but it would be crushed when it came to his reeducation.
He had done everything he could think of to Harry Potter. Rape, stabbing, broken bones, isolation, magic, and still the boy held on to that flicker of fire. He had lasted almost a year. Most didn't get pasted a month before they were singing, but he was strong. He was his only equal. But he was broken now. He hadn't reacted in weeks. He simply took whatever abuse he could give.
The doors opened. He looked over the thin, broken figure that was dragged in and deposited in front of him. He had all but lost all the muscle he had come here with. He was little more than skin stretched tight over bones. Scars crossed nearly every surface of his body. Artful and with purpose on his torso while lazy and random on his arms and legs. The only thing that remained the same was his hair, long and beautiful to his knees. The Dark Lord couldn't bring himself to cut it. It was too beautiful. His body had been scrubbed clean of the blood, shit, and sperm that had encrusted it. His skin glowed pale, nearly as white as his own.
He raised his head. His eyes were dead, save for the smallest spark of fear. The Dark Lord stood and moved slowly around the desk. His eyes followed him. His breathing picked up speed. Voldemort could all but smell the fear on him.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asked softly.
He didn't react. His body curled in on itself until he was in a ball as his feet.
"You've been in pain for so long Harry," he knelt. He let the familiar scrip come from his lips. All of his Death Eaters had gone thought this. They had all been tested, and broken. It was the only way to ensure loyalty. "That's over now," he kept his words soft, soothing. "So long as you are a good pupil, you will never be harmed again. Disobey and you will be punished, obey and you will be rewarded." The boy flinched when Voldemort ran his fingers though his hair. "You have no reason to fear me now. I will not harm you save for punishment."
Those dead eyes just looked back at him.
"You will be taught how to be mine. Your lessons will begin immediately," he stood again, "The rules are simple, I give you a command, or ask you a question only twice. If you do not comply you will be punished. Do you understand?"
There was no answer.
"I asked if you understand," his voice hardened slightly.
"My Lord," Severus whispered, "He… He has no voice. It has not been fixed. He cannot talk."
Voldemort nodded, and pulled out his wand. The fear was evident in his eyes now. With and absent wave, he healed the damage done, "Can you speak?" he asked.
There was a long pause, and he was about to ask again when he spoke, "Yes," his voice was rough, soft from lack of use.
"Lesson one: you will always address me as 'Sir' or 'My Lord.' Do you understand?"
Another long pause, "Yes…" pain crossed his features, "My…My Lord." He turned his face away, burying it in the floor.
"Do you understand the terms of your reeducation?"
"Yes My Lord." He could hear the tears in his voice. He didn't know if they were because he remembered who he had once been or if it was only a slight recognition, but Harry was crying.
"Do you remember your name?" He asked softly.
There was no answer.
"Do you remember your name?"
Still nothing.
"Crucio," the man in front of him screamed softly and Voldemort released him after only a second, "It will be worse if you do not answer again. Do you remember your name?"
"Yes."
"Yes?"
"I-I can't."
"Crucio," He held if for longer this time, making his newly repaired vocal cords burn. "You can and you will. Yes what?"
"Yes my Lord." More tears.
"What is your name?"
"I-I think it's Harry… Harry Potter?" he hesitated, "My Lord."
The Dark Lord smiled, "Yes Harry, very good. Who are you?"
The response came after a shorter pause, "I am Harry Potter," he said slowly. Voldemort could see the memories coming back in stages. "I am," he frowned, "I am a solder." He breathed, "I fought for the Order of the Phoenix against…" another frown, "Against you," he cringed as if expecting to be hit.
"Go on."
"I am…was…an Order member." His eyes flew around the room, "Those are mine." His gaze locked on the small pile of things on the desk. A pair of black clothes, a small armory, a wand, and a gold chain with the tiny wedding ring of a woman on it. "My best friends were Ron and Hermione Weasley and I-"
"That is enough," the Dark Lord said softly. This was going better than he had expected. He had well and truly broken the light's Savior. "We will continue in the morning. Severus and Lucius will have you fed, clothed and taken to rooms I've prepared for you. You will be given back your things in the morning. You will go nowhere unaccompanied by myself or one of them until I say otherwise do you understand?"
"Yes… my Lord." There was still that reluctance to address him as "My Lord" but they would work on it.
"Dismissed," he said simply. He watched Severus and Lucius rush forward to help him stand. They held his light frame between them as they carried him out of the office. This would be interesting. In a week's time, he would revel to the light what he had done to their Precious Harry Potter, and they would be crushed. The news of his "death" had rallied them, and they had won a handful of major battles over the past year, but this would hurt their morale. He just had to teach Potter the basics of being his. It wouldn't take long. If today was any judgment, Harry would crumble as all of his followers had…
Thank you for reading Everyone! I hope you like it. Please have pity on a poor author if it's not good! And PLEASE review. I write more and better when you do. The next chapter will be Harry's training, and the meeting. Will training go as Voldemort hopes? We'll have to see. With love:
~Angelia Reader