Harry felt like he was sitting in this dark, cold room for ages. He'd tried to get some sleep, but he was too awake; too alarmed. The fear of Voldemort popping up any second to toy around with him again, was bursting against his chest.
He curled up against the cold and waited. He tried to listen for footsteps, coming back, but all he could gather was silence. Was Voldemort going to let him die in here? That would be very uncharacteristic, since he would probably wanted to watch the light dying from Harry's eyes, preferably at his hand.
Why hadn't he? Harry thought over and over. What was professor Dumbledore talking about earlier? And why was Voldemort so interested at his scar?
The dark was slowly coming down harder on Harry. He saw Dumbledore waltzing through the room of Requirement, joining hands with Voldemort. Together, they danced around the statues which had been standing in the Atrium at the Ministry.
Puzzled, he followed the dancing pair. Suddenly, Dumbledore was gone. He looked at Voldemort, who offered Harry his hand.
Take it, he said. Behind him Bellatrix appeared, making a gracious pirouette while giving her hand to Lucius Malfoy.
Come with us, Potter, Lucius said while lifting Bellatrix in the air.
Dance with us, little Harry, Bellatrix sang, using her baby-mock voice.
Now! said Voldemort, grabbing Harry's arm. Or wake up.
Wake up, little Harry, Bellatrix sang again.
"Now!"
Harry shot awake. Somebody had lifted him up and thrown him against the wall. He felt the cold pierce through him, as if he'd been laying in ice. His body ached and his scar seared on his forehead.
"Nghh," he moaned. He gazed through blurred vision to a man, holding him by his shoulders.
"He is awake then?" he heard a woman say behind the man who was pressing him against the wall. "Welcome to the world of the living, little baby Potter."
"The Dark Lord requests your presence, Potter," the man said, pulling him forward. He sent Harry out of the little room. Harry felt something being pressed in his back, a sharp point of – a wand?
"Walk."
Trembling, Harry set a few paces and bumped against the stairwell. He heard the two people behind him laugh.
"Ah, having trouble seeing, little Harry?" Bellatrix said, as if she was talking to a small child.
Piss off, Harry thought, but kept quiet. Bellatrix Lestrange was too impulsive; it was best to just ignore her. Slowly he placed his foot on the first step and climbed up. The man with the wand pushed impatiently in his back.
"Move faster."
Harry tried to increase his pace. Gradually, the dark was making room for some light, until a stroke of light blinded him. The man gave another push and Harry stumbled into a room, the room with the fireplace where Voldemort had tortured him. He was the vague contours of a man from behind, hooded in a black cloak, standing faced to the warm flames. Slowly, the figure turned around.
"Ah, I see you brought our young guest," Voldemort said, "that will be all, Ackerly, Bella. Go now."
"Yes, master," said the man behind Harry, turning his head in a bow while shuffling away, Bellatrix following his example. Harry watched Voldemort wave his hand, and figured he wanted him to come closer. He wanted to refuse, but remembered Voldemort could make him come anyway, and so he stepped closer to the man who murdered his parents.
He heard Voldemort's soft chuckle.
"I see that the lesson I taught you the day before yesterday has still made an impression, hasn't it, Harry?" mocked Voldemort.
Harry didn't answer. He shivered silently from the heath of flames, warming his cold body. Day before yesterday? How long had he been sleeping? Voldemort moved around him, getting awfully close behind Harry.
"Answer me," he whispered in his ear. Harry took a few steps forward, away from Voldemort and turned to face him.
"You seem to enjoy fooling around. What is the matter? Scared to actually finish me off?" Harry said, bracing for the inevitable punishment for his sudden outburst. He wasn't wrong.
"Crucio."
Harry felt the now known pain of his bones being set on fire. He collapsed on the ground, writhing in agony. His head was surely going to burst with pain now; he wanted to faint; even death would be welcome -
And then it stopped. He was shaking uncontrollably while lying on the floor. His body kept aching, even with the curse lifted.
"Tut-tut," said Voldemort disapprovingly, "you disappoint me. I guess it is your disgusting Gryffindor proudness you were so eagerly on your tongue. I shall have to get rid of that in time."
Harry scrambled to his feet. His head pounded and added to his already hazy vision. He managed to glare at Voldemort, channeling the hatred he felt through his eyes.
"Do not tempt me into putting you through another punishment, Harry. Surely you don't want me to hurt you again, do you?" Voldemort whispered coolly.
Harry kept staring, refusing to bow his head; refusing to give in Voldemort's insane little game.
"I won't beg again," Harry said, but Voldemort seemed amused.
"Such spirit you possess, but Lord Voldemort approves of bravery. You will need it." He stepped closer to harry, who tried not to back away. He halted dangerously close and gave an almost not understandable whisper.
"Do not disobey me again, Harry, because the consequences will be severe. Am I understood?"
Harry kept quiet and simply looked at Voldemort's snakelike face.
"Am I understood?" Voldemort hissed and grabbed Harry's chin. He flinched; his scar screamed for release and Harry pulled his head away.
"I see another punishment is in order then." Voldemort raised his want. "Crucio!"
Harry had never been held under the Cruciatus Curse this long. After nearly slipping into insanity, the curse had finally stopped. Feverishly, Harry laid on a large, dark green sofa near the fire. His scar burned dully on his forehead, flames were dancing before his eyes.
From the lone window in the room, the setting sun was visible, telling everyone the evening was coming. Voldemort had taken place opposite of him, in a large armchair, looking at a trembling Harry while being deep in thought himself.
Harry looked back at him without seeing him; his eyes half closed. His body still ached, reliving the memories from a few hours earlier. After the first five minutes, Harry had screamed his throat sore. Then, he'd begged again until he finally had passed out. He felt betrayed by himself... He vaguely remembered Voldemort lifting him up; laying him on the sofa. Why had he even bothered? Didn't he hate Harry? Why did he suddenly care enough to give him a more comfortable place to recover?
Harry watched as Voldemort suddenly rose and disappeared out of sight. He felt tired. The flames welcomed him into a slumber and he drifted off, to a place where he didn't have to feel for a while; didn't need to think –
"Wake up, Harry," Voldemort whispered. Slowly Harry opened his eyes. The room was as dark as the first time he'd entered it. Voldemort's white face floated above him. Harry felt cold again. He saw Voldemort's arm stretch out to him, almost gently pushing him into a sitting position.
"I daresay you've learned your lesson now, haven't you? So, let's try this again.
"You will not disobey me. Am I understood?"
Harry shook his head, but stopped immediately. The pain in his head was too heavy. He hated this submissive state, but he was becoming too scared to get hit again. He felt nauseous.
"Am I understood?" Voldemort repeated with his dangerous, high voice.
"Yes," Harry muttered. He'd lost.
"Very good, Harry." Voldemort smirked and stood up right again. Harry followed his movements and tensed when he saw Voldemort whip out his wand. He heard Voldemort mutter a few unknown words. His vision slowly became sharper. The blurred contours of the room appeared more precise. His nausea subsided and the pain in his head reduced to a dull throbbing.
Voldemort repeated the unknown words. "Oculi reparo, visus reddent ei dolorem suum."
Harry blinked. His vision was as clear as when he was wearing glasses. He looked at the room, taking in the full environment. He then looked at Voldemort, who was done mumbling words and had taken place in the chair again. Stumped, Harry blinked again. His vision was still clear. - Did Voldemort just restore his vision?
"I can't have my little vessel bumbling around, now can I?" Voldemort explained, looking at Harry's puzzled face. It didn't clear things up.
"Vessel?" Harry asked.
"Yes," said Voldemort, staring at Harry continuously with his red, murderous eyes. "As it turns out, you're suddenly very valuable to me. That is, of course, until I can find another way. Then, you'll be obsolete."
What are you talking about, Harry thought, but didn't dare to say out loud. Voldemort's expression darkened.
"You don't need to know," he answered. "All you've to remember, is to keep yourself intact, to obey my every command. Am I understood?"
Harry hesitated, but finally gave a small nod. He wasn't ready for another punishment. The endless questions remained. What did Voldemort mean with vessel? Why was he suddenly so valuable and did he have to stay intact? Had it something to do with his scar, something with the bond – the connection – he and Voldemort shared? What did Voldemort have to do?
And what will happen now?
"You've an enormous curiosity, Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly, still watching Harry intently. "Probably another Gryffindor trait."
"Maybe if you'd stop looking inside my mind, you don't have to be disturbed by those traits," Harry said without thinking. He scolded inwardly. A strike of fear paralyzed his chest.
Voldemort scowled, and raised his wand.
Harry flinched. He closed his eyes; bracing himself. But the expected pain didn't come. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, looking at Voldemort's lipless smile. His wand was still raised.
"I will give you a chance, Harry, I will be merciful. All you need to do, is offer your sincerest apology. Make amends, Harry, and I might spare you another lesson."
Harry would have rather let Voldemort hurt him. Apologizing for his comment would be admitting defeat. He wished Voldemort would stop playing with him, or preferably, turn into dust.
Voldemort's patience was running thin, his red eyes told him. He should say something now. Should he just swallow his pride, admitting he was too weak to get tortured again, or take another session of horror?
"I won't," Harry decided, not wanting to play along anymore, not wanting to give Voldemort that satisfaction.
"As you wish."
But instead of firing the curse, Voldemort suddenly rose up from his chair and grabbed Harry tightly by his wrist. His scar was shouting again with agony.
"Aah-" Harry gasped, before getting hoisted up and shoved against the wall. Little stars twinkled before his eyes. He saw Voldemort's figure towering up before him and felt the strong grip Voldemort had on his collar.
"You'll come to finding out to regret this," Voldemort whispered in his ear. Harry tried to loosen his grip, and to his surprise, Voldemort let go, but gripped Harry's hand instead. His eyes studied the imprint Umbridge had left on him.
I must not tell lies.
Another lipless smile slid on his face. "I see you've provided me the ultimate idea. For every misstep you take, for every overstepped mark, you'll will receive one from me. A little reminder, in case you think about defying me again."
He swung Harry's hand around, until he stood faced against the wall. He felt a white-hot strike against his back; heard his robe tear up.
"What are you doing – aah!"
Tears sprang involuntary in his eyes as the white-hot pierce grew steeper. He heard Voldemort whisper – "flagellum cruciatu" – and suddenly, his back was on fire. The sensation of a hundred whips, hitting him over and over. He screamed and struggled, but felt Voldemort push him closer to the wall. Harry fell through his knees, and rest his head against the cold bricks.
Slowly, the burning pain subsided. Harry panted heavily. He sensed Voldemort move closer to him, bending to reach Harry's eyelevel. The next moment, Voldemort had Harry's chin in his hand. He groaned when his scar gave a particular nasty sting.
"Remember this well, Harry," said Voldemort softly, burning his red eyes into the green, slightly watered ones. "And now, what do we say?"
Harry shivered and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Note:
I don't mind Harry with glasses, but since he'd lost them and I didn't want for him to be blind all time while being in Voldemort's clutches, I let Voldemort restore his vision. I notice them getting out of character, but I kind of have to, otherwise Voldemort will kill Harry. I'm sorry!
Tell me what you think about it so far, please ;-)