(TW: Murder, torture, and self-harm in this chapter.)

Sweeter Than Revenge, Society of Villains + Sam Tinnesz

Chains on my lips, just add flames to the fire
I can't forgive, so it stays here with me
Deep in my bones is a twisted desire
Hard to control when you can't stop bleeding

Redemption fades, there's no chance for us
I'll have my day in the end
Nothing's sweeter than revenge

Blood on the leaves and there's snakes in the garden
No going back that's how far we've fallen
Eye for an eye 'cause I cried 'til I'm empty
I want you to feel how it feels to be broken

Redemption fades like ashes in the mud
You'll curse my name in the end
Nothing's sweeter than revenge

He didn't sleep and stared at the door instead. He paced when his eyes tried to close. Adrenaline would spike randomly, followed by waves of exhaustion, running on rage. Pain assisted his sleeplessness, sharper as the hours wore on. He was too stubborn to tell anyone that his ribs were broken and used it instead as a tool to keep himself alert.

Bill, Fleur, Fred, and George were the next through the door, and Tom pulled the thread while Harry backed into the corner uselessly. Bill and Fleur had their wands drawn, though no one moved to open the bars. One of the twins levitated a tray of food into the barred section through a slot in the door, landing it not far from his feet.

The Dark Lord responded immediately, almost painfully strengthening their protection.

"Is it true. What they're saying about Ginny?" Bill asked.

Harry stared and slid down the wall to sit.

"Is it true," he repeated, hitting the bars. Fleur took his hand, and the twins looked at each other, frowning.

"I don't really think he likes being chained up," one of them said, and Bill snarled at him.

"He gave us no choice."

"Er," the other twin said, "We didn't try too much else, did we?"

"If you're going to be-"

"Bill," Fleur said, interrupting him.

He ignored her and turned back to Harry, "Was my brother walking around dead for a year?"

In response, he shook his restraints—sharpness spreading in his chest as he did so, making him suck in an uneven breath. He didn't blink.

Ultimately, Fleur needed to drag Bill out, and the twins leaned on the bars.

"So, Ginny's a necromancer? Would not have predicted that one, even with a crystal ball, aye George?" Fred said.

"Nah, I had it worked out way back when he couldn't catch a Quaffle for pay."

They were both still scowling and didn't seem to think he would say anything to them.

"Really sorry about this, Harry. We don't know what's going on, but… We think this is bang out of order," Fred said.

"…How's the shop?" Harry asked, guilt bubbling and pushed aside repeatedly by Tom.

"Oh, terrible. So, we decided to shut it down and become fugitives of the new world order instead. A change of pace, one might say," George said.

"Change is as good as a holiday," Fred said.

Again, he was ashamed of himself.

He hadn't touched the food, the pain in his ribs becoming overbearing. He'd been left alone, both in his head and in his cell. He'd assume somewhere over thirty hours if he had to guess how long he'd been there.

His head kept lolling against the wall, but when he slid even marginally, the pain would wake him. He refused to lie down.

The next through the door was Charlie. He stumbled as he entered and gripped the bars for support as he sneered through them, swaying. Extremely drunk, wand in hand.

Tom tugged the thread, though they didn't particularly expect Charlie to dose them with Veritaserum. The Dark Lord responded, strengthened their protections, and watched.

"Do you," Charlie began, pointing his wand through the bars, "know what you've done to us? Do you? Potter? To my family? If he died at the Ministry, he was SURE AS SHITE there for you, wasn't HE!? If she's out there thinking it's alright to be—whatever she is—" He stumbled and readjusted his grip on the metal.

He glared and pointed his wand again, his hand twitching, lips moving, though he wasn't saying anything. There was a long silence before Charlie said:

"Crucio."

It was little more than a jolt, causing more pain in his ribs than anywhere else. He was stunned that he had attempted it at all. Harry sat up straighter, suddenly more angry than guilty.

"You've got to really mean it, Charlie," he said, "You wanna blame me for your brother's choices? For your sister's choices? For Voldemort's; for Dumbledore's? For mine? Go ahead. Try again. Mean it."

Charlie faltered. Harry stood up, biting his tongue and clenching his fists against the pain, "Mean it," he repeated, and the Weasley fled the room.

Instead of leaving them alone, the Dark Lord pulled them into his head, showing him Nagini, Cassiopeia, and a bloodied Kingsley Shacklebolt, restrained in a chair.

'You said that you'd touch him AND NOW HE'S GONE BECAUSE YOU'RE STUPID AND SOME KIDS FOUND AN OLD MAN'S TUNNEL-Oh you brought him in here. Hello IDIOT WHO TOUCHES BALLS.'

"Say the word, space cadet," Cassiopeia said to Voldemort, fangs bared, holding Shacklebolt in a headlock.

"I will die first," Kingsley said, struggling against his bindings and the vampire.

Nagini began to contort, dropping heavily to the floor and transforming into her colossal serpent, widening Shacklebolt's eyes. Nagini reared when she was fully snake, venom dripping from her open jaws as she swayed.

"Where—is—he," the Dark Lord said.

"I will not."

"Kill him."

Cassiopeia moved first, biting him three times in rapid succession before she latched onto his neck in earnest, growling. Kingsley tried not to make a sound, groaning into his lips until the terror set in, and he was gasping, trying to fight free from her iron grip.

"Stop," Voldemort said, and Cassiopeia looked up at him, face slick with blood.

"Where is he being held?" He repeated.

Shacklebolt didn't hesitate, eyes bulging, "No."

"As you wish," the Dark Lord raised a hand, and the vampire slammed her fangs back into his throat.

Nagini drove her venom into his chest with a dull thump, then another. Cassiopeia broke away, rolling her eyes at the snake and wiping her chin. Nagini recoiled then struck again, this time his face. Kingsley screamed until he foamed at the mouth, convulsed, and went still.

'Why wouldn't he have used Veritaserum on Shacklebolt?' Harry wondered later, 'And why would he show us?'

'A guess: He was the Order's Secret Keeper. Magical coercion and Legilimency would not work. And… I don't know.'

There were several hours—he assumed—between Charlie and his next visitor. Tom pulled the Dark Lord into their head even though Harry didn't think Molly Weasley warranted that kind of audience.

"I got Ginny's letter," she told him. She looked as though she'd just finished crying as she hovered another tray of food in and removed the old, untouched tray.

Harry couldn't look at her for long.

"I thought—forgive me—you'd done it, for a moment… But Ginny, she—did she really…?"

He frowned at the floor. Hermione entered behind Molly, bringing Cho Chang with her. Harry's eyebrows shot up.

Molly put her hand on Hermione's shoulder and then left the room.

"Hi, Harry," Cho said, approaching the bars.

'What the fuck is this supposed to achieve?' He wondered.

Harry knew that Tom would have a comment if they weren't watched in their head.

"I wanted to come and see how you were doing, Hermione… Says… That… I'm sorry, he's just, staring like…" She turned to Hermione, who gestured for her to continue, while Harry squinted.

'This is real torture; you should take notes,' he thought. No one responded.

"I thought I'd make sure that… There was nothing you needed—or if you just wanted someone to talk to," Cho said.

Harry squawked a laugh by accident, then grimaced at his ribs, "No, thanks. Got loads of friends."

"Are they your friends, Harry? Necromancers? Draco Malfoy? Pansy?" Hermione asked.

"Are you?" Tom smiled, missing his eyes, "Get out."

"No. What is going on? How did this happen?" Hermione pressed.

Cho looked like she was in agony, inching for the door.

"Well, then, by all means, come in," Tom said, standing, holding his breath to steady his ribcage. The ache sharpened anyway.

"…Hermione, we should go, I don't think this is working-"

"You think?" Harry asked.

He glared at Hermione, ignored her further questions, pulled against his restraints, and bit his tongue, drawing blood.

"Harry. Please. It can't be this way; it can't!"

He didn't say it out loud, but he told her with his eyes that it was exactly this way.

"Please," she repeated. "What happened? We were going to win, Harry. Now- now I'm scared."

There was a rush of satisfaction at her words. He was glad that she was afraid. Until he registered his thoughts and schooled his expression and emotions. She saw it on his face, though, and finally looked appalled as she scrambled for the exit.

Harry sat down gingerly when the door finally closed.

His eyes flicked to the tray of what looked to be Molly's cooking, and Tom told him no.

'We cannot trust anything.'

Harry tried to fight his next thoughts, but they came out anyway: 'When… If he finds us… Ginny's family…' The topic of his words was still in his head.

'Anyone here risks death,' Tom told him.

'Right. So, getting out of here means…'

'Yes, Harry.'

'My fault too, yeah? Like everything…' His breathing was shallow as he pictured Ginny and realised that his only way out would mean hurting her family. Hurting her. Again.

'Breathe,' Tom thought, but he couldn't.

His hands were going numb, along with his legs. The pain in his chest suddenly made it worse, harder to inhale through it, making his windpipe close as he clawed at the chains, scratching his wrists as the colour of the room changed, his thoughts off kilter. He was only vaguely aware that he was making noise, choking sobs as he railed against the shackles, yanking his arms and swinging off them, not feeling it through the fire-like buzz of pins and needles in his limbs.

He dropped to scream himself raw into his knees until there was no air left in his lungs, and his muscles relaxed against his will, spasming.

Tom forced an inhale, held it, then another on top of the first.

Harry let it back out, shaky. His wide eyes were fixed on the door, exhausted and guilty. His limbs were numb, painful as they regained sensation.

Voldemort withdrew from his mind, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Hermione woke him when she pushed the heavy, loud door open. She didn't say anything to him. Instead, she sat down on the other side of the bars and opened a book, her eyes spending more time on him than the pages. His ribs were on fire, far worse than he remembered. He was sweating, though the room was almost cold.

Tom pulled the thread and summoned the Dark Lord into their mind, not wanting to take any chances.

'How long has it been?' Tom asked Voldemort.

'It is Wednesday.' The Dark Lord was moving in their head then, examining their thoughts and memories.

There was a long pause; Harry filled it by glaring into Hermione's eyes when she looked up, distracting him from the invasion in his mind.

'There is a tracker in your Dark Mark. The shackles are blocking it.'

Harry thought about it, and then he exploded into laughter, not impeded at all by the nearly shocking pain in his chest.

'Tom, critical information, really late!' He thought, cackling, 'Who would do that? Of course, there's a tracker; why wouldn't we just assume that from the start.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and tucked her legs closer to herself.

'Enough. We were not intended to know,' Tom thought, his discomfort palpable.

'Oh, that makes it better, no worries then.'

'Harry.'

'Tom,' he looked down at the shackles and reconsidered, still snorting giggles at the insanity. 'When she leaves or when they sleep?'

'When they sleep would give us the best chance. What time is it?' Tom asked the Dark Lord.

'Ten AM.'

'Alert us at midnight. Be ready,' Tom told Voldemort, and there was another long pause in his mind before they were alone again.

Hermione hadn't attempted to speak to him, though she watched him for hours before she relented and exited the room.

When he looked at the shackles, his adrenaline spiked, dull. He fought off thoughts of the Weasleys, though it became harder as the minutes became hours. Tom immediately shot down any considerations of warning them.

He'd told Harry that Voldemort had pushed his luck killing Kingsley, that they were already risking relocation or reinforcement.

Breathing had become difficult, and he was utterly drenched in sweat. He could feel Tom's concern at the state of their ribcage. He pulled his shirt up to find a wide black and blue bruise, snaking hot red marks—like an angry octopus—up and down his torso, from his armpit to his hip.

'This is sepsis. We have less time than I thought,' Tom pulled the thread, and Voldemort responded.

'What time is it?' Tom asked again.

Harry noticed that he was weaker. He was right; he wouldn't have the strength to yank his hands free for much longer.

'Eight PM.'

'We cannot wait. Sepsis. We need to do it now.'

No one had entered his room since Hermione. Either they'd left him alone for the day, or someone would be through any minute with another idea.

'So be it,' Voldemort thought.

Harry held the chains tight to the wall with his feet, gave an experimental tug, and found it harder than he thought.

'Quietly.'

'I thought I might scream at the top of my voice, but I like your idea-' His thoughts were interrupted when Tom joined him in trying to break his hands out, making him gasp into the mattress.

He put his full force into it, then rocked against his restraints when it wasn't enough, unable to breathe, wild and increasing agony in his chest and wrists. His whole body shook with the effort.

Tom forced air into their lungs like they were drowning, then returned his face to the bed, the pops of the bones in his hands the only sound as they slowly gave.

He felt his flesh tearing around the base of his thumbs on both hands; his eyes squeezed closed. He gave one final yank, throwing his upper body back and tucking his arms in. His hands were released with a squelching crack. He looked to find them mangled, bleeding profusely on the white sheet. He was instantly dizzy. Tom summoned the curse on both arms to hide the damage and keep him conscious as he curled into a ball, panting, eyes wide. The rest of his body went strangely numb.

The Dark Lord was out of his head then, only to return almost immediately.

'We know where you are. Do not draw attention to yourself.'

Then he was gone again.

He gasped his breaths like a decked fish. He was drenched in sweat, wishing he could strip himself bare to salve the heat that repeatedly flushed him, making him want to vomit. He fought the urge to flail, curling tighter instead, whimpering into the mattress that was steadily turning red.

'That's attention,' Harry thought, not coherent. 'Is it a lot?'

He was ignored. Instead, the curse snaked up his chest and neck, washing his mind with a fuzzing hum as he kept his face buried.

Voldemort was in and out of his head every minute for what felt like a decade, staying for a few seconds before he was gone. An aching burn spread through the bones of his hands and arms, his chest screaming from the exertion, pounding in time with his too-fast heartbeat.

'Ow,' Harry thought.

'Well done.'

'Are they gonna die? Did I make them die? Again?'

'I don't know. Keep your eyes open.'

'I can't.'

He was biting the sheets; they tasted like metal.

'How long?' Tom asked when he felt the Dark Lord next. He didn't answer and was gone as soon as he appeared.

'It really did take too long to get my hands out, huh,' Harry thought. 'I'm never touching any objects ever again, I swear.'

There was a commotion outside his door, confusing him, though he'd been waiting to hear a struggle—screaming, shouting, and the distinct sound of frantic spellwork. Tom tried to guess the number of people from the noise, while Harry was busy holding awareness, slippery and difficult when all he wanted was sleep. The sharp, biting pleasure-pain of the curse kept him awake; Tom made sure not to let it go.

His door blasted into his room, and he rolled his head to watch Voldemort explode the bars inward with light. He was fully concealed and dragged a crying Hermione by her hair, followed into his cell by three masked Death Eaters.

"Take the shackles," the Dark Lord said, and Harry released the curse and his grip on consciousness.