The hours blurred.
Time meant nothing in the dark.
Harry lay slumped against the damp, frigid stone, his body wrecked, nerves raw from the endless cycle of agony. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Every muscle in his body trembled, as if his bones had been hollowed out and filled with molten lead.
The cold bit at his skin, but he welcomed it. The sharp chill reminded him that he was alive still here, still fighting.
But the fight was getting harder.
Pain was an enemy of its own, a relentless force that clawed into him, whispering insidiously at the edges of his mind. Every part of him screamed for relief. But there was none. There wouldn't be.
Not until Bellatrix got what she wanted.
Where does the Order meet?
That was the only question that mattered.
And the only answer she would never get.
A creak at the door made him tense, but there was no strength left to lift his head. Footsteps slow, deliberate echoed against the stone walls, followed by the rustling of fabric.
Then, her voice.
"Poor little Potter," Bellatrix crooned.
He forced his head up, blinking against the dim torchlight as Bellatrix crouched beside him, a mock pout on her lips.
"You look awful," she continued, brushing a gloved finger along his cheek. Her touch was deceptively gentle, but Harry didn't flinch. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
"Such a mess already," she sighed. "And we've barely begun."
Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat and forced himself to speak. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"You talk too much."
Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with amusement, but her grip on his chin tightened, nails digging into his skin.
"Oh, how I do love that Gryffindor fire," she purred. "But fire burns out, darling. And I'm going to enjoy watching yours flicker into nothing."
She released him with a sharp shove, standing in a swirl of black fabric.
"You know, Potter, I've been thinking," she mused, pacing the room. "Pain is effective, yes, but it's so... temporary. It fades. And the real fun is in something that lingers. That festers."
She stopped, her lips curling in pleasure. "Would you like to see what I mean?"
Harry barely had time to process the question before her wand slashed through the air.
"Crucio."
The world erupted.
Agony tore through him, lightning-hot, searing his veins like fire. His body convulsed violently against the restraints, his back arching off the ground, but the ropes held firm.
White-hot pain clawed at his skull, his nerves screaming in protest. Every muscle in his body seized, twisted, bent unnaturally like he was being ripped apart and stitched back together wrong.
His throat burned. He realized, distantly, that he was screaming.
And Bellatrix was laughing.
Her laughter was worse than the pain sharp, delighted, dripping with madness.
The curse lifted, but the aftershocks lingered, his body writhing in the phantom pain.
"Tell me, Potter," Bellatrix drawled, watching him gasp for breath, "how much more of this do you think you can take?"
He clenched his teeth, fighting through the haze. He wouldn't answer. He wouldn't.
Another flick of her wand.
"Crucio."
It was worse this time.
The pain was an ocean, dragging him under, drowning him. Every nerve was on fire, every inch of his body betrayed him. His mind fractured at the edges, thoughts unraveling, replaced by one single truth.
Make it stop.
When the curse lifted, he collapsed, shaking violently.
Bellatrix crouched beside him again, her voice sickeningly sweet.
"Just a name, Harry," she whispered. "One name. One place."
Harry forced his eyes open, his vision swimming. His lips cracked as he spoke.
"Go... to... hell."
Bellatrix stilled.
Then, she laughed a shrieking, delighted sound.
"Oh, Potter, you really are magnificent," she breathed, her expression alight with something close to admiration. "I almost don't want to break you."
Almost.
The next few hours were a blur of torment.
Bellatrix played with him Cruciatus curses interwoven with moments of calm, just long enough for him to feel the pain settling deep into his bones before it started again.
She was an artist of suffering. She drew out his pain like a composer drawing music from an instrument, her wand conducting agony with elegant precision.
And yet
He didn't break.
Not even when his screams tore his throat raw.
Not even when his body betrayed him, convulsing violently under her magic.
Not even when she whispered in his ear, telling him that his friends were already dead.
Not even when she leaned in and murmured "How long before you beg?"
His breath hitched.
He would never beg.
Never.
Bellatrix pulled back, sighing. "Still nothing? You're starting to bore me, darling."
Her wand twitched, and suddenly, a blade appeared in her hand.
Cold steel pressed against his cheek, tracing the edge of his jaw with delicate precision.
Harry stiffened.
"Maybe words aren't enough," she mused. "Maybe we need something... permanent."
The blade bit into his skin.
A sharp sting, followed by warmth trickling down his neck.
Bellatrix smiled.
"Now, let's see how long it takes before you start to scream properly."
Harry's breath hitched.
The blade bit into his skin.
A sharp sting followed by the slow, warm trickle of blood sliding down his jaw.
Bellatrix hummed in delight.
"There it is," she whispered, watching the crimson bead along the cut. "A little more... and maybe we can start getting somewhere."
The knife trailed down his cheek, to his neck, pausing at his collarbone.
"You don't need all your fingers, do you?" she mused. "Or ooh, maybe an ear! A scarred face would be quite dramatic, don't you think?"
Harry swallowed thickly.
She was playing with him.
Breaking him down, piece by piece.
But he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
Wouldn't give her a single ounce of what she wanted.
She could take everything from him his strength, his body, his voice.
But she would never take his will.
Bellatrix sighed, straightening. "Still nothing? Fine, we'll try again later."
She turned on her heel, sweeping toward the door, then hesitated.
Looking over her shoulder, she smirked.
"Oh, and Harry?" she cooed.
He barely had the strength to lift his head.
Bellatrix's smile widened.
"Sweet dreams."
Then, she was gone.
The door slammed shut.
Harry collapsed against the cold stone, his body aching, the distant sting of the cut on his cheek still fresh.
Pain lingered.
But so did his defiance.
He would not break.
Not now.