The cold stone floor bit into Harry's knees as he knelt, his body rigid with pain. His wrists burned under the tight bindings, magical ropes that seared his skin whenever he struggled. His scar throbbed viciously, a rhythm that matched his pounding heart.
The dim room smelled of damp stone and something sickly sweet-like flowers left too long in stagnant water. The walls were lined with tall shelves, twisted relics and ancient books watching him like silent spectators. A faint hum of dark magic vibrated in the air.
Bellatrix Lestrange circled him slowly, her footsteps light, almost graceful, the hem of her long, black gown whispering against the floor. Her wild curls framed a face alight with cruel delight, eyes dancing with sadistic glee.
"My, my... The Chosen One," she cooed, her voice silky, mocking. "You don't look so brave now, do you?" She bent down, her face mere inches from his, her breath hot against his cheek. "Where is that defiance? That heroism? Oh, I do so want to see it."
Harry gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to recoil. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
He wouldn't give her anything.
Bellatrix's smile widened, her eyes narrowing.
She straightened, twirling her wand between her fingers with a languid elegance. "Crucio."
The curse hit him like fire, searing through his veins. Every nerve exploded with agony, his muscles convulsing violently as pain shattered him into a thousand pieces. He
choked on a scream, his body arching against the restraints as white-hot pain tore through him.
He was drowning, burning, breaking-all at once. There was no room for thought, no
room for hope. Only pain.
The curse lifted, and he collapsed, gasping, sweat slick on his skin. His body trembled uncontrollably, muscles twitching with the echoes of the curse.
Bellatrix laughed, the sound sharp and bright, ringing in his ears. "Oh, that was beautiful.
Such music you make, Potter." She tilted her head, feigning curiosity. "Tell me... do you think your precious friends are suffering like you are?"
His chest tightened, fury surging through the fog of pain. He forced himself to look up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes gleamed, hungry for his fear, his despair.
"They're stronger than you'll ever be," he rasped, his voice raw. "You'll never break them."
Her expression flickered, her smile faltering.
Then her face twisted, a snarl of fury distorting her features. Her wand snapped up, aimed at his chest.
"Crucio!"
Pain detonated inside him again, but this time, he held on to the image of his friends— Ron, Hermione, Ginny-faces etched in his mind, anchors against the darkness. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn't break. Not for her. Not for Voldemort. Not for anyone.