Harry didn't know how long he'd been put under Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse. It had felt like an eternity though. Voldemort had finally stopped when Harry was at the edge of his sanity. Or maybe, he had fainted before that; he didn't quite remember. All he knew was waking up, in the same icy, depressing dungeon he'd been chucked in before, his throat parched and sore, and his body still aching from the Cruciatus Curse.

He vaguely remembered Voldemort's cold, high laugh, his own pleading, and his still burning scar, which had tried to hurt Harry even harder than the curse had done. The rest of his hazy memory was pain; endless, excruciating pain. He didn't even really remember anymore why Voldemort had put him through it. Something with a diary – Riddle's diary? – or horcrux, as he'd called it.

Harry traveled from dark to consciousness, while lying on the cold floor. In the brief moments he was awake, he was shivering; feeling feverish and he couldn't stop wincing and moaning from the pain in his scar. His hand glided over his forehead, as though he tried to iron it flat.

Nightmares haunted him in the moments the dark had taken over; reliving Voldemort's anger again and again. He wasn't sure how long he could take this anymore.

After what seemed days, a blinding light appeared, from the opened door of his cellar. He tried to sit up right, but fell back against the wall, his head pounding warningly. He expected to hear Bellatrix' baby mock voice any moment, but to his surprise it wasn't her who'd opened his door.

Lucius Malfoy stood before him. He didn't look to well himself; more pale than Harry remembered him, his long, white hair hanging bleak around his face. He held a tray with food and water and dumped it on the ground. Harry's stomach growled, and his throat forced him to pick up the water. He looked at Malfoy again, who began to shut the door. Harry didn't mind; he would rather be left alone anyway.

This little ritual went on for days. Harry began to lose track of time. He caught himself longing to the bedroom Voldemort had initially planned for him, where he could sleep comfortably and take long, warm baths. Why was he yearning for that bedroom, while even Privet Drive sounded like heaven to him right now?

The only contact Harry had with the outside world, was Voldemort's mood swings he felt through his scar. He knew exactly when Voldemort was pleased, or enraged.

Something good must have happened right know, Harry thought, when he felt a delightful, joyous sensation in his stomach, which had nothing to do with his own feelings, as he was as depressed as he could ever be. Let this all please end soon. Let Voldemort find another way… make him end me. I'd be finally able to see Sirius again… or my parents…

As if on cue, the door opened again. This time, it wasn't Malfoy standing in the doorway. Harry looked at a man he didn't recognize. He tensed when the man whipped out his wand and pointed it at him.

"The Dark Lord requested your presence, Potter," the man spat. "Get up. Now."

Harry did, trying to stand upright on his trembling legs. He still felt feverish and, though he didn't want to admit it, weak. The man waited for Harry to step across and closed the door behind him.

Harry, apparently, didn't walk fast enough. The man grabbed his wrist and dragged him upstairs. He was close to not caring anymore, while struggling idly to the man's firm grip. They reached the living room, with the fireplace and the armchairs Harry began to dread. Too many memories of horrors whirled through his mind. The man shoved him in one of the chairs and disappeared again.

Voldemort, however, was nowhere to be seen. Harry let go a relieved breath. The fire felt welcoming, warming up his quivering body. He was close to dozing off, when he heard something rustle from behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know who was standing behind him; his scar already told him.

Voldemort appeared, walking around the chair Harry sat in. His merciless eyes gazed upon him, as he sat down opposite of him. Harry had followed him with his eyes, but looked away when the silent staring contest began. The silence was almost deafening. Harry doubted whether Voldemort wanted him to say something, but after taking a quick glance at his face, he decided not to. Though Voldemort seemed to be calm now, the insane anger Harry had experienced still lingered in his eyes, as if it could burst out any second again. He felt the hatred radiating towards him.

Let it be over soon. Death will be nothing compared to this.

After what seemed almost a half an hour, did Voldemort finally speak.

"Don't think for a second that I'm finished with you, Harry," he hissed. Harry had the strange feeling he was speaking in Parseltongue. He nodded compliantly, feeling in a streak of fear that Voldemort wanted him to.

"It appears that tormenting you, won't do any damage to my horcrux inside you. This pleases me." Voldemort hissed again, keeping Harry captivated in his intent glare.

Harry didn't know what he was talking about, but one thing was for sure, this wasn't good news. Though it didn't seem like Voldemort was going to kill him anytime soon, Harry felt bemused about the future ahead of him. Finally, he allowed himself to ask Voldemort about his next move.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked apprehensively. He tried hard not to swallow, not to let Voldemort notice his suppressed shivers. Deja vu.

Voldemort didn't answer. He kept looking at harry as though he was lost in thought, as though he was actually deciding what he would do with him. Suddenly, his lipless mouth curled up in a wicked smile.

"You should be grateful, Harry," said Voldemort, "I've been very lenient with you so far, trying not to destroy your sanity. I even arranged a comfortable sleeping-accommodation for you, do you remember? But above all that, I spared your life. It wasn't easy for me."

"You haven't killed me yet, because I serve as some sort of vessel," said Harry impatiently. What did Voldemort expect? A thank you?

"Which is still a load of rubbish to me. What is a horcrux anyway?" he continued. He knew he was pushing it too far, but it was time for some answers. He was getting sick of being kept in the dark. First by Dumbledore, by the Order and now by his arch enemy.

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort dangerously. He slowly walked over to Harry and raised his hand. Harry looked questioned at it and before he could register, Voldemort gave a backhanded slap. Harry's head swung sideways and he almost fell out of his chair. He gripped the rug tightly to prevent himself from stumbling to the ground.

How very muggle of you, Harry thought, while facing the floor. He hoped Voldemort couldn't pick up this thought, since there wasn't any eye contact. Taunting the Dark Lord didn't seem like a really good idea right now. Slowly, he looked up again.

Voldemort gave him a long, thoughtful glare. "You can't help yourself, can you, Harry? I've warned you time and again, to keep your insolent tongue. Or maybe, perhaps, you want to get hurt?"

Harry shook his head and looked away. He sighed, wondering when the Cruciatus Curse, or maybe even Voldemort's whip, would hit him again.

"You see the patience I'm showing you?" whispered Voldemort, who had stepped away, turning his back to Harry. "You should be writhing in pain, but the Dark Lord is merciful." He sat down again.

"However, you still owe me an answer to what your punishment should be for your rude behavior. Not to mention the punishments you're going to receive for ruining my horcrux. Almost forgetting the marks I still have to imprint on you, since you've been committing a lot of misdoings.

Have you thought about it yet? You've had plenty of time these past few days," he added casually.

Harry winced. He didn't dare telling Voldemort he'd been pretty preoccupied with the last torture session he'd received. He didn't even dare to look up at Voldemort's face. He could only imagine the twisted smile forming around his ugly, snakelike lips.

"I'm waiting, Harry," Voldemort said silently. "Don't make this worse for yourself."

What was he expected to say? Please, put me through another torture? He'd rather set himself on fire.

"I will make this simple for you, Harry, something to look forward to," Voldemort continued, when Harry still didn't answer. "I will escort you to your room in a little while. You'll receive your overdue marks, to remind you of your place.

Afterwards, I shall put you through another part of your punishment for destroying my horcrux – take a single guess which punishment this will be – and we will repeat this every night until I'm satisfied. Understood?"

Harry had started to breath uneven again. Voldemort's sick game was working; Harry felt extremely scared and vulnerable. His insides tormented him with a twisted mixture of anger, illness, fear and humiliation. He finally looked up at Voldemort's face. His red eyes told him to comply, and Harry did, giving Voldemort a trembling nod.

"Good," laughed Voldemort humorlessly. "And now, tell me how I should discipline you for misbehaving earlier."

"I-I don't know," whispered Harry, scolding himself inwardly for sounding so weak, for obeying Voldemort yet again. "You already have a lot in store for me."

He waited in vain for Voldemort to speak again. Trying to keep his trembling under control, Harry continued: "how long do you normally put me under the torture curse?"

Voldemort tilted his head, as if he was studying Harry. "Mere seconds. Well, at least I did at first."

Harry's nausea became stronger. He was actually having a discussion about how Voldemort should torment him, as if they were talking about the weather. He'd enough; he wanted this to be over now.

"Maybe you could d-do that again?"

"I don't think it'll be enough, Harry," said Voldemort, eyeing him with his tilted head. "You are still challenging me, you see, though your behavior has improved now. But I want this punishment to completely wipe any defiance left in you."

"Then what do you suggest?" choked Harry. "Put me under as long as you'd done the last time?"

"There are several ways to hurt you the most, Harry. You could kill for me, for instance, or betray for friends. Let the world known that you've joined me," said Voldemort thoughtfully. "But all of this will only break your spirit, and I daresay, with nothing left to lose, your behavior towards me will not improve…

Though I'm itching to force you to go through all that." Voldemort gave a soft, cruel chuckle. "Perhaps, you are right. I'll just have to create a never ending world of pain for you."

Voldemort rose from his chair and gestured for Harry to do the same. He looked maniacally again, as if a sudden anger had returned.

"Listen to me, wasting my precious time on a pathetic being such as yourself. Why, I'm almost growing to be fond of our little moments together," he said and grabbed Harry's wrist. Another sear of pain flowed through Harry's scar and he unwillingly pressed his hand onto it with his remaining arm.

"Playtime is over now, Harry. Follow me." Voldemort began pacing towards the stairs, dragging Harry behind him. Harry wasn't really sure if Voldemort had decided how to discipline him any further. Maybe the numerous tortures ahead were sufficient enough.

He felt the extreme urge to pull his wrist out of Voldemort's hands, but he didn't dare, afraid to anger him even more. Each step on the staircase made Harry's legs feel weaker. They approached the appearing and disappearing door again, went through it and strode along the long corridor. When they reached Harry's bedroom, his inside were painfully knotted together. He wasn't ready to face Voldemort's wrath, wasn't ready to get tortured to a near insanity again.

Voldemort pulled him inside and threw him away. Harry felt hard onto the cold floor. Voldemort's calmness from before seemed to be vanished. Looking quite deranged, he stepped closer to Harry, who rolled up hastily and getting to his feet as far from Voldemort as he could.

Voldemort raised his wand and Harry felt his robes getting torn apart around his back immediately with the same strike of white-hot pain he'd felt before. He almost sank to his knees again.

"Turn around," Voldemort bellowed, waving his wand. Harry felt himself getting spinned around and gasped as another flash of pain seared across his back. The blow sent him to his knees; he placed his hand on the ground to steady himself.

"Aah!" he yelled, when another blow pained his back. The one after that followed quickly. The pain was getting too much; Harry could hardly sit upright any longer. Panting and with his eyes squeezed tight, Harry waited for another strike, but apparently Voldemort was finished.

"Now, what do we say?"

Harry didn't know how to think anymore. What was he supposed to say? My lord? Thank you? Both? He let out another gasp and gritted his teeth.

"T-thank you?"

"Very good, Harry," he heard above his head. Harry could almost feel Voldemort's insane smirk, nose trills dilated with excitement… He shivered at the thought.

Suddenly, he felt a great pain at the top of his head. He found himself getting pulled up by his hair; felt several hairs part company with his scalp. Staggering, he was forced to look at Voldemort, who was now bending his neck; his scar screaming for release. Voldemort threw Harry from him again, and he slammed against one of the poles of the four-poster bed.

"And now…" hissed Voldemort threateningly, raising his wand. "Beg me to punish you."

"What?" said Harry bewildered.

"I said, beg me to punish you!"

There was a moment of silence, in which Harry deviated his options. But since there was no escape possible, and no wise decision made in provoking Voldemort's anger, he gave up.

"Punish me. Please."

He could barely shut his eyes, before the pain sank in.

Note:

Voldemort has become quite physical. Maybe I've seen too much of film-Voldemort…

I think I'll alter my idea in the next chapters, in which Harry will get out of Voldemort's clutches, since I'm getting a bit nauseated of Harry's endless torments and humiliations…