Harry felt great relieve when he heard the sound of Voldemort's rustling robes exciting the room. He lay on the verge of falling into a deep darkness, but somehow he managed to keep himself together. Though it had been excruciating, it hadn't been so bad as the previous number of times. He felt exhausted nevertheless. Maybe Voldemort was finally coming close to being satisfied, or maybe, Voldemort had decided that Harry has had enough this time, since he'd whipped him as well for refusing to beg.

The ritual had been the same almost every day. He got the day to pull himself together. At dusk, a Death Eater came to pick him up for diner, in which Harry was forced to eat while being stared down by Voldemort. Afterwards, Voldemort would bring him back to his room and subject him to another part of Harry's indefinite punishment. And every night, Harry screamed until he passed out.

There had been a few nights in which a Death Eater brought him food. Harry suspected Voldemort to be busy then, since those evenings had always remained punishment free. A few times, just like tonight, Harry had refused to beg for his punishment. It had always been answered with another mark, striking in his back.

The soft bed was comforting him; taking him to a dreamless world where he didn't have to feel, didn't have to think, for a while. A soft bright light spread gradually through his eyelids. Harry opened his eyes; the room was lit up with the risen sun outside. He blinked and tried to sit upright. He moaned a little when the slight aches rushed in his body. Angrily, he punched his pillow. He hated how weak he felt, how undeniably vulnerable he was right now.

Deciding a bath would do him good, he got up and walked towards the bathroom. His own image stared back at him, from the grand, impressive mirror, hanging above the sink. Slowly, he walked closer to it. The mirror didn't speak to him, like most mirrors in the Wizarding world normally did, Harry released, but he was thankful. He didn't need anyone tell him how awful he looked; he could see that for himself. With much effort, he pulled of his torn robes and turned his back half to the glass. He half expected to see dried up blood - it had felt like he'd been bleeding - but his back was smooth. Though very faint traces of a head were visible – or a skull?

His fingers traced the vague lines. Another faint trace of a curly line became visible, just a little darker than the color of his skin. And then, with the feeling a stone dropped in his stomach, Harry released: the dark mark. Literally his mark. Voldemort had imprinted that ugly mark on his back, the mark Death Eaters bore on their arms. A wave of anger rushed through Harry, making it impossible for him to move. He felt the sudden urge to yell, to blast this whole bathroom to pieces.

He was filthy. Soiled. Voldemort had tainted him.

Frantically, he looked around for something, anything – like an abrasive sponge – that could help him get his mark of his back. He found something similar and carried it to the bathtub. He turned all the cranes open - the fresh smell of five different bathing soaps penetrated his nostrils - and watched how the bathtub filled itself with hot water. And the scrubbed, like he'd never done in his life. His back felt sore when he was finished, though it still didn't feel clean.

After an hour, he gave up and rose from the tub. He was almost finished drying up, when fresh new robes appeared on a stool, next to the bathtub. They were the same as he had been wearing before; the same black - similar to his school robes – soft robes and the fabric felt welcoming on his body.

Disgusting, Harry thought. I'm walking around in Voldemort's clothes, or at least the ones he provides, sleeping in this bed, being in his house, doing his bidding.

Yet he was glad he felt this way. Voldemort had not tortured his spirit away completely. He wasn't going to crawl anymore, begging for punishments and pleading for release; that was over. He would rather let Voldemort agonize him to insanity then give him the satisfaction of behaving like an obedient slave.

A new force of strength rushed through Harry. A part of him still knew that when he actually had to face Voldemort, he wouldn't feel this secure anymore, but he put that aside. Right now, it was time for action. He had to get out of this place.

He entered the bedroom again and looked up to the window. The snake-formed bars told him escape wasn't possible, but Harry tried anyway. He walked over and grabbed one of the steely snakes. It didn't budge; Harry tried pulling it away, but gave up after a few seconds.

"Come on," he said angrily, pulling at the bar again. "Just break or something."

He looked across the room, maybe there was something here he could use. But at everything he looked, he saw books.

Hemoine's paradise, he thought and felt a sting of sadness. He missed her. Now more than ever. She'd know what to do. She'd probably know a way of wandless magic, a trick to open the window. Then again, his was a room Voldemort had picked out for him; there was no way in which Voldemort would allow this to be easy, to be even possible.

Harry looked back at the bars. The snakes reminded him of the little engraved snake on the tap in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom; the passageway to the Chamber of Secrets. Slowly, an idea popped up in his head. Could it work?

"Get out of the way," he hissed, in Parseltongue and to his great surprise, the snake came to life and turned a little to the right.

"Yes!" he shouted triumphantly, and gripped one of the steely snakes. "More! All of you, get out of the way."

Suddenly, Harry heard the door of his room appearing behind him. To his relieve, the snakes weren't all the way to the side yet. He slowly let go of the bars and turned to face whoever was standing in the doorway. It was the man Harry recognized as Ackerly.

"You will join the Dark Lord for diner," he said, looking from the bars to Harry with narrowed eyes.

"No," said Harry defiantly.

"No?" he heard a cold, high voice from behind the man, and Harry's insides froze instantly. Voldemort appeared, stepping into the room.

"You may leave, Ackerly," he told the man, who bowed and vanished out of sight. Voldemort kept drawing nearer to him, and Harry tried with all his might to keep his breathing steady. He forced himself to keep looking at Voldemort's bright red eyes, which flamed more fury, with each step he took.

"Get away from me," Harry yelled, taking a few paces backwards now himself. He saw Voldemort grinning with amusement, as he kept on walking.

"It seems that my lessons don't have a very lasting effect on you, do they Harry?" he said and the malicious smile on his face slowly made place for a silent look of rage. "Did you really think – were you foolish enough to believe that I would not find out about your idle escape attempt? The snakes and I are connected of course."

Harry felt stupid for a moment, but quickly replaced that feeling with a mixture of panic and anger. He shuffled backwards along the wall, with Voldemort following him.

"Perhaps I need to remind you what will happen to those who keep defying me," Voldemort began, raising his wand. But this time, Harry was ready. With reflexes, thanks to his Quidditch-talent, he flung himself sideways from the wall, on the ground and rolled up to watch Voldemort's next move. He heard the wall crack when the red, shining whip, which had emerged from Voldemort's wand, hit the spot he'd stand in seconds before.

Voldemort turned around, eyes filled with the deranged anger Harry had seen before, and brandished his wand in his move. Harry jumped out of the way again and nearly hit the bed, which made him stumble out of balance. He was just in time to dodge another blow of Voldemort's whip.

To Harry's amusement, Voldemort let out a cry of fury, but his urge to laugh disappeared quickly when he saw Voldemort advancing. The whip out of Voldemort's wand evaporated, but Voldemort raised his wand. Harry flung himself over the bed and rolled behind it. The wall above his head shattered when a curse it the grey bricks. Harry ducked his head when tiny pieces of broken bricks fell into it, and waited for another sound.

Feeling trapped, he crouched forward, hoping Voldemort would take the other side. He slowly raised his head, and ducked when a red light flew his way. The wall behind him exploded again. Suddenly, he felt his body levitate, as if he was hanging by strings, and floated through the air. The invisible strings snapped and he fell on the ground, right before Voldemort.

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort and grabbed Harry by his hair. His scar, which had seared as if a hot ironed poke had been pushed against it throughout the happening, was now burning fervently. Harry felt several hairs leave his scalp, as Voldemort forced him to stand.

"Let – go – of – me," he growled, and struggled to get out of Voldemort's firm grip. To his surprise, Voldemort let go. He fell backwards on the ground, but got up quickly and watched Voldemort rub his wrist. The stared at each other for a couple of minutes; Voldemort looking deliriously angry and Harry, panting heavily.

"It seems," Voldemort finally spoke, with a collected voice, which did not exactly match the deranged look on his face, "that I need to take a different approach. You will be very sorry for this, Harry, very sorry indeed."

"Will I?" Harry answered, ignoring the building pain in his head. "What are you going to do? Torture the living daylights out of me? I'm sorry to inform you that I will never obey your pathetic commands anymore. You might as well just kill me… Riddle."

"You dare-?"

"Yes, I dare," Harry said, letting his own anger rise up. He knew he'd pay for this, he knew another fifteen minutes of agonizing pain wasn't far away, but he didn't care anymore. Standing up to Voldemort gave him a tiny bit of satisfaction; a tiny bit of feeling in control.

Voldemort kept staring at him, seemingly debating inward whether he should just kill him, but he didn't act. Then, unexpectedly, a horrific smile formed on his face. Harry felt his aiding anger abandon him, felt the prickles of fear returning.

"Very well," Voldemort whispered. He beckoned with his long, white fingers for Harry to come closer. When Harry didn't move, his hand snapped forward and closed it around Harry's robe. He pushed him away; towards the appearing door. Harry's felt Voldemort's hand on his shoulder and tried to shrug it off.

It didn't work. Instead, Voldemort gripped his shoulder more tightly and Harry's scar seared with fresh pain. Voldemort led him through the corridor, and they descended the staircase, until Harry was shoved in the room with the fireplace.

Harry felt their presence sooner than he saw; he looked up in the room full of Death Eaters; their echoing snickering ringed through his ears. Voldemort's soft chuckle followed behind him. He shoved Harry further in the room and the Death Eaters burst with laughter now.

"Such an impudent child this is," Voldemort told the Death Eaters, who nodded in agreement. Silent suggestions of endless torture filled the air and another row of laughter followed suit. Harry started to feel angry again.

"It seems our young guest here has grown a little tired of our hospitality," Voldemort continued dangerously and the laughter of the Death Eaters died out.

"I caught you trying to escape, didn't I?" he now spoke directly to Harry, who turned to face the floor. "Tell me, Harry, what do you think your punishment should be?"

Harry didn't answer. Voldemort turned to the group of Death Eaters. "What do you think his punishment should be?" he asked. A new burst of suggestions broke out; the one more dreadful than the other. A few Death Eaters volunteered for the job.

"No," Voldemort whispered softly, raising his hand to carry them to silence. "No, the boy is mine. You will not touch him." He turned to face Harry again.

"You don't like it when you're being kept in the dark, eh Harry?" he said, while advancing, and Harry tried really hard not to step away. "I noticed when going through your worthless mind. You want some answers, do you not? Well, you're in for a treat."

Voldemort looked up when the sound of Apparition spread across the room with a loud bang. It made Harry jump slightly and without being able to stop himself, he turned around, trying to find out where the sound had come from.

"Ah Lucius," Voldemort said. "Is everything set up?"

"Yes, my lord," he answered, looking paler than Harry had seen him those times Malfoy had brought him food in his dungeon.

"Your son is ready?"

"Yes, my lord," Malfoy answered again. Another loud "BANG" cracked in the room.

"My lord, we have finished the arrangements. The Order is on their way, as we speak, but the passageway is clear."

"Very good," said Voldemort and a cruel smile formed on his lipless mouth. "Go now. All of you. Do not disappoint me. The consequences will be dire for those who disappoint me."

He turned to Lucius Malfoy. "I have been very merciful to you, Lucius. But if you fail me tonight, I will not be so forgiving anymore. Now leave!"

Harry watched each Death Eater Disapparate, until he and Voldemort were alone once again. He had the terrible feeling that something horrible was going to happen. His scar revealed Voldemort's excitement with a painful sear.

Voldemort beckoned Harry to come closer. Sparing himself another wrestle with Voldemort, Harry complied and stepped a few careful paces into his direction.

"What is happening?" Harry asked, but was answered with a painful strike on his cheek.

"You will find out soon enough," Voldemort answered and grabbed Harry by his arm. With his scar, screaming for release, he felt the sensation of being pushed through a rubber tube, the same sensation he had felt the first time when Voldemort had taken him. They were going somewhere. And when Harry's feet hit a grass ground, he realized where. With a dreadful, fear stricken panic, he looked up and saw the edge of Hogwart's terrain.