Fire loomed up in the grate fireplace as Voldemort entered Snape's quarters. Behind him Ackerly and Rowle pushed the fat, balding man inside.

"Leave," ordered Voldemort, without looking at the three men. He heard shuffles of robes and a door click behind him. His hand waved casually through the air; Harry's cupboard door closed, two chairs moved closer to the fire.

"Sit." Voldemort turned around. His eyes found his old potion master and a smile appeared on his formless lips. He watched the man struggle to find his seat; his forehead was still glimmering. Voldemort didn't take the other chair; with his hands behind his back, he walked around Slughorn and stopped before the fire.

"Do you remember when I asked you about Horcruxes?"

Slughorn shifted in his chair. Voldemort turned around and stared in his face. "That was over fifty years ago… Ah, but you do remember, I can see it in your eyes. It is the very reason you stopped teaching at Hogwarts… And one of the reasons you have been hiding from me so vehemently. In vain, I might add."

Voldemort approached Slughorn, who pressed himself anxiously tighter into his chair for as far as his fat body would let him. "You need not to worry…" Voldemort continued, "Albus Dumbledore is dead."

"Dumbledore… dead?" Slughorn repeated. He had suspected as much, why else would Voldemort be able to stroll around Hogwarts, without getting caught? But to hear the words out loud… Slughorn shivered slightly.

"Yes… Killed by my hand," whispered Voldemort softly, his eyes gleaming maliciously in the light of the fire. He granted five minutes of silence for Slughorn to comprehend the news, in which he studied Slughorn's composure intently. Then, he continued. "You remember our conversation. I daresay you figured out that I indeed succeeded into making a Horcrux. Well, more than one actually…"

Slughorn looked up to him in awe. Voldemort glared back. Too distracted with the news, Slughorn didn't realize the giant snake gliding underneath his seat. When the scaly skin brushed his legs, Slughorn flinched and looked down. Gasping, he pulled his feet away. He kept staring at Nagini, who rose up next to Voldemort. He stroked her with one of his long, white fingers yet didn't turn his eyes to her; he kept glaring at Slughorn. His former teacher gulped and gazed back at him, his face whiter than ever; drops of sweat trickling down in neck.

"I wonder whether you know more than have let on all those years back," Voldemort continued. "Of course, you could not tell me everything you know, not with the threat of Dumbledore… However, you will do good to enlighten me now."

Slughorn gulped again, but didn't speak. His gooseberry colored eyes fixated them on the fireplace, unable to meet Voldemort's. His enormous silver mustache was still trembling.

"I have created six Horcruxes, Horace. No, seven to be exact. The last one was, however, a mistake."

"Please, do not tell me! I have never told anyone, even Dumbledore didn't- I won't tell anyone – please…" yelped Slughorn desperately. "Please, I –"

"You worry that your knowledge of my little secret will make me kill you?"

Slughorn's splutters quelled. He wiped his forehead and closed his eyes.

"I shall undoubtedly do so in the end… But not before you tell me everything you know. Who knows… Maybe if you please me enough, I will allow you to live."

At that, Slughorn raised his head.

"Yes…" whispered Voldemort, and stepped a little closer. "I do not wish to waste your knowledge, your talents… Lord Voldemort is merciful, he appreciates your valuableness… It would be such a loss…"

Mesmerized, Slughorn continued to gaze at Voldemort.

"You would do anything to survive, would you not? Then listen closely… I have created an accidental Horcrux. The object in which my soul is concealed needs to be destroyed. I need to know how to transfer the piece of soul before doing so."

"I do not, I am not sure, please…" whispered Slughorn desperately again. "I do not know the details of Horcruxes! Please…"

Voldemort's hungry glare faltered slightly. It was foolish to hope that his old teacher would know… He himself hadn't been able to find out, even after nights of studying, after many efforts… He would simply have to find out on his own, like he had to do with so many aspects of darker magic already. Voldemort turned away from Slughorn and resumed his staring into the fire.

"Disappointing…" he said, after fifteen minutes of thoughtful gazing, "I confess myself disappointed." He stroked Nagini absentmindedly, and ignored Slughorn's desperate whispers of pleas.

"Please, please… I never dreamed of… please, have mercy…"

Voldemort tilted his head. "Mercy? Oh, my dear Horace, what have you given me in exchange for my mercy?" His expression was unreadable, but his aura waved radiations of anger. "However, as I said before, I consider it a loss if I were to kill you…"

Voldemort stepped away from the fire and fingered his wand. "You want mercy, you say? Then, I have a little proposal for you… With Snape as Headmaster, the Potions post is open… I want you to resume your teachings." He stopped to watch Slughorn's flicker of hope. "However, I cannot allow you to wander around with the knowledge of my Horcruxes, now can I?"

Voldemort raised his wand. Slughorn eyed it, his mustache quivering heavier than ever.

"You will forget our conversation. You will forget that you ever knew the existence of my Horcruxes. I shall erase all the memories you have concerning this topic. You will be able to teach the children the noble art of Potions, free of the burden of carrying my secrets…"

Slughorn looked horror-struck.

"If you do not accept, I see no other alternative than to kill you…" whispered Voldemort and raised his wand a little higher.

"No!" yelped Slughorn. "No, I accept, I accept!"

"Very good," said Voldemort, his eyes glinting with approval. "Wise choice, Slughorn. And now… Obliviate!"

"These are a few examples of the new changes," ended Snape his speech to his colleagues. "The students have been called for lunch. You will pick up your teachings after and then meet me in the teachers' lounge after diner. There's more to discuss…"

"How dare you," whispered McGonagall venomously. Behind her, the others nodded ferociously. "Dumbledore has always ensured us we could trust you… How could you betray him?"

Snape's expression was blank, unreadable. Pretending not to have heard her, he proceeded. "You will do well to stick to the new rules… Think of the students. It is the only way." He ended his last sentence somewhat pleadingly. Without facing his colleagues, he turned on the spot and swept of out the Entrance Hall into the Great Hall.

"We can't possibly," Professor Flitwick squeaked, watching the swishing cloak of Snape disappear behind the door. "We must do something."

"We must think of the children," said Professor McGonagall curtly. She too stared at the door. "I think it's best to comply for the time being."

"But, Minerva! We cannot just pretend everything's fine. You cannot possibly agree–"

But Professor Sprout shared the same look Professor McGonagall did. "Maybe Snape is not acting entirely on his own accord, Filius," she said thoughtfully. "As foul as he may seem, it is probably his way of looking out for the children too."

"Thank you, Pomona," said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding.

"But he – he was the one who killed –"

"I know," Professor McGonagall sighed. "Filius, the situation couldn't get more grievous, and this goes without saying, we must not trust Snape, yet we cannot afford to fight right now. We ought to consider the children, guide them the best way we can."

"Come," Professor Sprout finally said. "Let's follow him inside. The students are coming."

She hadn't even finished her sentence when a handful of students emerged from the stairs around the corner. They gaped at their teachers and the Professors looked back, aghast, watching them all in their Slytherin uniforms.

"Oh my," breathed Professor Flitwick.

"We knew about this," said Professor McGonagall sorrowfully, but she too found it hard to see her Gryffindor-students walking around in silver and green.

"You're back!" It was Luna. She crossed over to her old Head of House. "Are you alright?"

"Thank you, miss Lovegood, but don't you mind us. How are you?"

"It is rather horrible, isn't it?" she said dreamingly. "Have you come back to teach again?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, eyeing all her former students. Gradually, more people crossed the Hall, but froze upon the sight of their teachers.

"You're back!"

"You're unharmed!"

Some applauded, others were gazing hopefully. The rest of them, however, still looked quite depressed. Even with their teachers back, there was no hope into fighting their way out of this.

"Quiet!" raved the Carrow siblings, who pushed their ways to the crowd of students. "Go inside! Now."

McGonagall stiffened when Alecto Carrow kicked a student in the shins. He fell down with a howl and grabbed his legs.

"Move!" Amycus assisted his sister, and kicked the boy in his back.

"That's quite enough," said Professor McGonagall angrily and pushed the Carrows out of the way. She extended her hand to the boy and he jerked himself up, rubbing his painful shins.

"Who do you think you are?" cried Alecto, but McGonagall merely glared sternly at her over her square shaped glasses.

"Come on," Professor Flitwick squeaked, turning his attention to the watching students. "In you go."

McGonagall paid one last haughty look, and followed the students inside. She looked around, expecting to find a grim dungeon-like dining hall, but everything was the same as usual. The Enchanted Ceiling was the same, the four long tables were standing in the midst of the Hall and her old spot at the teachers table was still in place. She walked over to the platform. Snape was already standing there. He avoided her eyes and looked at the students, who were all taking a seat at their old House-table. McGonagall sat down. The other teachers followed her example.

"As you can see, your teachers returned to Hogwarts," Snape began. "After lunch, you are all to continue business as usual. New schedules will be handed out while you eat."

Snape paused. The doors behind the Staff's table opened and the students looked at a fat, balding man, wobbling inside. He skulked to a nearest seat and smiled awkwardly to the staring students.

"I want to introduce Horace Slughorn, your new Potions Professor," Snape resumed his speech. "He has kindly agreed to resume his old post as Potion master."

Snape gestured to Slughorn, who stood up from the table and paid a subtle bow to the students. A few clapped, the rest remained silent.

"He is not the only new teacher. You know Amycus and Alecto Carrow," continued Snape, waving his hand to the patrolling Death Eaters. "I'm happy to announce that Amycus Carrow will take up the Dark Art's post."

The students silently whispered with each other. Dark Arts? Had it not been always Defense against the Dark Arts? Snape voice now rose above them. "And because professor Burbage has – er – resigned, the post for Muggle Studies will be occupied by Alecto Carrow. The subject is, from now on, mandatory for everyone.

"Furthermore, I present your new Prefects and Headboy- and girl," said Snape lazily, ignoring the indignant faces of the students who were appointed during the summer. Hermoine and Ron looked at each other; they were amongst the firstly picked students.

"Foul git," whispered Ron quietly. He was supporting Harry against his shoulder, making it look like Harry wasn't asleep. Their attempts to wake Harry had been fruitless, so they had settled with setting him up against Ron. They didn't dare to get up and take him to the infirmary, not while Snape was speaking. It would not do good to draw attention to themselves. They simply had to wait until he was finished.

A handful of true Slytherins were called to the teachers' stage. They each received new badges. The Carrows were busy instructing everyone to applaud.

"Do you think it's safe to leave now?" Hermoine asked, fifteen minutes later, over her plate of dry-looking toast. She looked over Ron's head and pushed a stack of toast in her back.

"Dunno," answered Ron, who handed her some butter from under the table. They had agreed to smuggle out some food for Harry later.

"Are you sixth years?" asked a bored-looking girl to Ron. He jumped and quickly grabbed Harry's arm, to prevent him from falling over. He glanced to her shiny Prefect-badge and gave her an indignant frown.

"Yeah. So?"

The girl huffed. "Manners, red roof devil. I've got schedules for sixth years here." She handed over three with sheets. Hermoine took them. The Prefect-girl pulled her hand away and gave Hermoine a contemptuous glare. She then stalked away.

"We have got Transfiguration after lunch," Hermoine said, while scanning over their new schedules. "Apparently, we are not allowed to choose our own classes. I thought, after our O.W.L.'s…"

"Who cares about classes right now?" asked Ron sharply. "Hermoine, we've got to bring Harry to bed."

Hermoine turned slightly pink. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I think we better do it now." She waited until Ron was finally standing. He had pulled Harry's arm around his neck. Together, they dragged Harry out of the Great Hall, doing their best to draw as less attention as possible.

"He said that You-Know-Who took him to Azkaban this morning."

"Oh dear… No wonder he is so worn out."

"Yeah. Maybe we should give him some chocolate?"

Harry listened to the voices as though they were coming from a badly tuned radio. His head felt heavy and he was unable to lift his eyelids. Slowly, he recognized Ron's voice.

"Look! He's waking up."

"Harry?"

Groaning softly, Harry lifted himself from his pillow and opened his eyes. He automatically reached for the night stand, to find his glasses, before realizing he didn't need them anymore. He looked around and his eyes found Hermoine, who was sitting beside him.

"What-? Where am I?"

"You're at the hospital wing, mate," answered Ron, who was standing next to the bed, looking somewhat relieved.

"Here," Hermoine said, swishing her wand through the air, conjuring a new pair of glasses. She caught them midair and offered it to Harry. "I don't know where yours are."

"Thanks, Hermoine, but I don't need them anymore," said Harry, but took them anyway. Upon meeting her puzzled look, he explained. "Voldemort restored my vision. I know, weird right?"

Hermoine nodded. "Strange indeed. It is very hard to restore someone's vision, that's why nobody really bothers… So why would Voldemort? What spell did he use?" added Hermoine eagerly.

"Dunno," answered Harry, trying to recall the day it had happened. His head was pounding. "There was a bunch of Latin."

"But do you know why he did that?" pressed Hermoine on.

"Give it a rest, okay, Hermoine?" said Ron sharply. Harry was grateful. Fresh images of the fireplace in Voldemort's manor, with the two armchairs and the sofa, his bedroom with the snakelike bars, Voldemort's wand with the vaporish whip, and Voldemort himself, towering over him as he got tortured, flickered through his mind.

He focused his gaze on the bed. The Hospital Wing could be described as his third bedroom, apart from his bed in the Gryffindor tower and his small bedroom back at the Dursleys. How many nights he had spent here already…

"We have cleaned you up a bit," Hermoine said slowly, watching Harry apprehensively. "You were covered in blood. Madame Pomfrey's isn't here. She is taking care of Hagrid."

Harry's stomach turned. "What? Where's Hagrid? What happened to him?"

"He is fine," said Hermoine hastily, pushing Harry carefully back in his pillows. "He got hit with a lot of curses, so naturally he is not feeling so well. Pomfrey said he's going to be fine, though."

"Yeah, it's probably his tick, half-giant skin, you know. So he will survive," nodded Ron. "If you are feeling up to it, we were planning on visiting him tonight."

"Where is he?"

"In his cabin," answered Hermoine. She pushed Harry back at his pillows again. "We can't go now. And you still look a little drowsy, Harry."

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"Nearly an hour," Ron answered, taking a seat next to Hermoine on his bed. "You blacked out in the Great Hall. McGonagall convinced Snape to let us bring you here. At first, he wanted to do it himself, the greasy git. He wanted us to go to our lessons."

"There are lessons? Now?"

"Yeah. We are supposed to go the Transfiguration now, but McGonagall insisted we bring you here instead. It's good she's back, isn't it?"

"Yeah… Who does Snape think he is? Bossing everyone around like that?" As he said it, a sharp pain shot through his scar. It didn't diminish; clutching his hand against his forehead, he felt the pain building up.

"He is headmaster now, so he – what's up Harry?" asked Ron a little warily. He looked frightened to Harry, who was now closing his eyes, pressing harder onto his head with both hands.

"Scar," he muttered, and heard Hermoine gasp and sensed both Ron and Hermoine jumping off his bed. Harry opened his eyes. Voldemort was walking lazily through the room. Behind him three Death Eaters followed.

"Leave him alone!" said Ron, who started to look green in the face, but defiant nevertheless. His hand found Hermoine's and he pulled her behind him.

Voldemort looked down at Ron and Hermoine. His eyes followed Ron's movement. Slowly, his mouth curled up in a malicious smile. "You have nerve, my brave boy. A former Gryffindor, I take it? Friend of Harry's? Ah yes, how lovely, protecting the ones you care about."

"Leave them alone." Harry pushed himself up by his elbows and stared at Voldemort. Red eyes found Harry and he smiled when the boy backed away in his pillows as he advanced on him.

"I suspected I could find you here, Harry," he said, stepping closer, until he stood before Harry's bed. "Now that you have rested, I want you to tell me the secret you are keeping."

"I won't," replied Harry, braver than he felt.

Voldemort's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile "We can do this the hard way, if you insist." His eyes reached up and he addressed the nearest Death Eater. "Take the girl."

The man gave a little smile and stalked his way over to Hermoine. She backend away and Ron lunged forward, tackling the Death Eater to the ground. He thrusted his elbow in the man's face and he yelped out in pain. His partner quickly whipped out his wand. In his movement, his mask fell off and Harry recognized Avery, the man who had been under Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse back at the graveyard, two years previously.

"No!" Harry yelled. He jumped of the bed, but before he could attack Avery, he was hauled back by his arm. His scar seared with pain and he didn't have to look up to know who held him.

"Let go," he growled, tucking his arm away from Voldemort's tight grip. There was a loud bang and Ron flew through the air; smashed into the opposite wall and slumped to the ground. He didn't move.

"No!" squeaked Hermoine, ducking under Avery's mowing arms. She ran towards Ron, stooped down to his lifeless body and whimpered. "No, no, Ron..."

Harry struggled again. His face directed to Hermoine and Ron, he grasped Voldemort's wrist, and tried to loosen the grip on his arm. His head was about to burst with the pain from his scar and Harry struggled with more force, until–

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort. His face showed a mask of anger, his red eyes flashed dangerously across the room. "Enough! How dare you embarrass me with your incompetence of restraining a couple of children? Shall I show you how it is done?"

He backhanded Harry hard across the face. Dazed with the impact, Harry's grip of Voldemort's wrist loosened and Voldemort slammed him into the bed. With his other hand, he pointed his wand at Hermoine. A flash of purple light filled the Hospital Wing and with a shriek, Hermoine fell beside Ron, eyes closed and her mouth half-open.

"No!" moaned Harry. He grasped the sheets of the bed and tried to get up, but Voldemort stamped his foot down to Harry's stomach. An immediate wave of nausea spread through his body, reached his throat and with great effort Harry held back the urge to vomit.

Voldemort withdrew his foot and slowly crouched down, so that his face leveled Harry's. "You. Meddlesome. Foolish. Impertinent. Brat." He hissed each word with increased resentment and grabbed the front of Harry's robes.

"I ought to kill your little friends. The next time you dare to intervene, I shall, Harry. I shall kill everyone in the room with you and I will make you watch their most painful deaths." He now spoke calmly; collected, but the sound of his voice revealed the anger hidden within. The red eyes flashed a confirmation of rage. "However, right now, I need them to make you speak, don't I?"

Harry, who had closed his eyes to the piercing pain in his scar, opened them quickly and shot Voldemort a look of intense hate. "You will not touch my friends. You won't – Aah!"

Voldemort got up and hoisted Harry along with him. He slammed Harry against the wall, grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair, while pressing his wand to Harry's throat with his remaining hand.

"I have had it with your undying defiance," hissed Voldemort in Parseltongue, and shook Harry's hair so vigorously, that he moaned with pain.

"Let… Go…"

The Death Eaters didn't laugh; they stared at Voldemort and Harry, who were hissing at each other in a language they didn't understand, glad to not be at the receiving end of Voldemort's fury.

"No. I will not let you go. How dare you challenge me?" He bashed Harry's head to the wall. "How dare you to continue your disobedience, even after the many punishments I have put you through?"

Without able to stop himself, Harry started to tremble. Starts were dancing for his eyes and when he blinked, Voldemort's face slid in and out of focus. "I didn't ask for you! You killed my parents, you killed so many others, you force your will onto everyone. Do you just expect me to accept quietly?"

Voldemort chuckled softly. He relaxed the grip in Harry's hair a little and lowered his wand. "You are a child, Harry Potter and children need to accept the will of their superiors."

This time, Harry didn't retort. He didn't feel like adding another blow to his already pounding head.

"I am going to teach you a little lesson, Harry. A lesson in which you will never think of defying me again," Voldemort hissed, relinquishing Harry's hair. He watched the boy sank to the ground, before wheeling around to the Death Eaters. He beckoned Avery over. "Take him bellow. I shall attend momentarily."

Avery pulled Harry roughly from the ground and steered him to the exit. When Harry tried to take a glimpse at Ron and Hermoine, Avery pushed his head down and shoved him towards the stairs. The low grunt of Ron told Harry that his friends were also getting dragged out of the room.

A sudden panic took over him, as he stumbled down the stairs, with Avery in his wake. What lesson was Voldemort going to teach him? Did it involve Hermoine and Ron? Why had he been so stupid to endanger his friends? Avery led him to the dungeons, past Snape's quarters and past the entrance of Slytherin's dormitory. Harry had never been to this side of the castle before, he didn't even know this part existed… This must be dungeon Filch always bragged about, Harry assumed and watched as Avery opened the door. The Death Eater jabbed him in the back and without even thinking about disobeying, Harry stepped inside.

There was a split second in which Harry considered running back out. His insides plummeted the moment his eyes fell upon glimmering, polished shackles, hanging from the ceiling and the cabinet full of what looked like whips. He heard Ron's growl bounce from the wall of the staircase, and watched as Ron got shoved inside as well.

"What should we do with them?" Ackerly asked, holding a struggling Ron by his neck, while Rowle dropped an unconscious Hermoine onto the floor.

"I reckon we better tie them up," Avery answered and gestured to the hanging shackles.

"Like hell you will," Ron shouted and wrestled himself out of Ackerly's grasp. He crossed the room towards Hermoine, while pulling out his wand; directing it to Avery. The laughter of the Death Eaters echoed through the cell. But Ron stood his ground: "Expelliarmus!" he yelled. Avery hit the wall next to the door and sagged down; his wand flew out of his hand and disappeared out of sight. Ron didn't stop to watch; he turned his wand towards Ackerly, which such speed, the man was unable to raise his own wand. "Stupefy!"

"You little –" but Rowle didn't get to finish his sentence; Harry took a dive and trashed himself into the Death Eater. They rolled over the floor.

"Get his wand!" Ron yelled, and Harry thrust his elbow in Rowle's face; reaching for the wand with his other hand. Rowle was too strong; he didn't let go. Red sparks emerged from the tip as Harry and Rowle wrestled together, tugging on each side of the mahogany stick, until a loud SNAP bounced off the walls.

"You broke my wand! You filthy piece of –!"

Ron dashed over, pointed his wand at Rowle's face and bellowed: "Stupefy!" The man remained motionless on the floor and Harry rolled off; scrambling to his feet while holding a little piece of wood in his hand. He looked at Ron, who grinned back at him. Harry couldn't help it; he sniggered a little nervously, too.

"Nice one," he said and threw the piece of broken wand back to the ground. "Come on, we should hurry, before Voldemort gets here."

"Yeah," said Ron, and gently lifted Hermoine off the ground. "You take their wands. I'll get Hermoine."

Harry grabbed Ackerly's wand and wheeled around to look for the other. It was too dark. Harry swept his hand over the cold stones, but couldn't find Avery's wand.

"I can't find the other one."

"Leave it then! Go on, you first."

Just when Harry reached the upper step, his scar burned white-hot. At the same time, he heard Ron yelping with pain. Before he could look back, somebody grabbed him roughly by his ankle and Harry doubled over; his chin hit the stone step and he tasted blood. He slid down the stairs, hitting each step after step with his already injured chin.

"Making a brake for it?" Avery hissed in his ear and before Harry could react, an ice-cold, metal shackle clicked around his wrist. Avery pulled the chain and Harry was forced to walk along, until his back hit the stone wall. With a burst of flames, the torches got lit and Harry squinted his eyes to the sudden light. A figure in black, silky robes descended the stairs and Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"And what do we have here?" a high-pitched voice whispered dangerously.

"They tried to escape, my lord," Avery's hoarse sounded through the cellar.

"Did they now?" said Voldemort smoothly and looked from Ron, who was sitting against the wall; wiping blood from his eyes, with Hermoine at his feet, to Harry. "And you did not think to take this boy's wand, did you?"

Voldemort's eyes didn't leave Harry. He watched the boy, standing quite unable to move, and laughed softly when he witnessed the fear in creeping into the green eyes.

"Revive Ackerly and Rowle, and chain those two over there," ordered Voldemort, while waving at Ron and Hermoine.

"Yes, my lord," mumbled Avery and turned towards the motionless Ackerly.

Voldemort approached Harry and held out his hand. Harry looked at it puzzlingly, wondering whether Voldemort was going to slap him again.

"I require the wand you're holding, Harry," explained Voldemort softly. "Hand it over."

Harry looked down at his other hand, his unshackled one; his fingers were clenched around the wand as though it was a safeguard. He could turn it to Voldemort, he could use it to cast a Disarming or a Stunning Spell… But what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his wand, even if he could, when it would only anger him even further? He was still tied to the wall by chains, with no help to be had. And so reluctantly and shakenly, Harry lifted the wand for Voldemort to take.

"Very good, Harry," said Voldemort. He threw the wand to the revived Ackerly, without looking at him, and stepped a little closer to where Harry was standing. His hand found the other shackle and he held his other hand again

"Give me your arm."

This time, Harry did not obey; he was not going to willingly let himself get imprisoned. He stared into Voldemort's red eyes and ignored the whirling inside his stomach when Voldemort drew a little nearer; towering over Harry, leering down at him.

"I said, give me your arm," he hissed, more dangerously now, and grabbed Harry's wrist. He slapped the shackle around it and turned towards Avery. "Pull him up."

Harry's arms got lifted up by the shackles when Avery turned the wheel on which the cord was chained. Avery stopped the moment Harry's eyes leveled with Voldemort's. His feet dangled one and a half foot from the ground. A burning pressure set in his shoulders, cramping his neck, and the metal shackles cut his wrists. Harry grasped the chain around the shackles tightly, to help lighten the pressure of his wrists, and he restrained himself from gasping, blinking away the tears in his eyes. He heard Ron's grunts when he received the same treatment.

Harry's mind raced through the memories of his summer. How Death Eaters had come to take him downstairs, how Voldemort had taunted him over diner. How Voldemort had forced him to call him 'my lord' and had punished him when he refused to do so. He remembered each night vividly now, where he was taken back to the bedroom by Voldemort. Where he had to endure endless nights of agony, endless pain and suffering. And now Ron and Hermoine were going to face the same fate. This could not be happening…

"And now," Voldemort said slowly, while tilting his head, studying Harry's face. "My dear Death Eaters will show you the consequences of your foolishness… Start."

Harry's eyes widened; turning away from Voldemort, he looked at Avery and Ackerly, who both raised their wands and cried: "Crucio!"

Ron let out a pierced, agonizing scream. It shilled down Harry's spine and cut through his chest like physical pain. Ron convulsed in his chains, banging his body against the wall and continued screaming. Harry looked away and met Voldemort's sickening smile.

"Stop! Stop!" Harry yelled, struggling against his own bonds. "You win! I will tell you everything! You have won! Now, stop!"

"Say please, Harry."

"Please!" Harry shrilled desperately. "Please, you win! I will tell you everything. Just stop! Please."

"Call me master."

Horrified, Harry looked into those bright red eyes. Ron's screaming increased.

"Fine! Fine, have it your way. Please stop, m-m…"

"I am waiting, Harry…" chuckled Voldemort softly. "If you want your friend's suffering to end, then you know what you have to do."

Harry closed his eyes and pushed the words out of his throat. "Please, master, stop!"

"Very good," said Voldemort lazily. He raised his hand to Avery and Ackerly, without taking his eyes of Harry. Ron's screaming stopped. Harry opened his eyes and turned to watch Ron, who was panting heavily, hanging limp in the chains, binding him to the wall.

"You are mine, Harry. Remember that. You are mine to control… Mine to force my will upon," he turned his snakelike face back to the two Death Eaters. "Again."

"What?" Harry yelled as Ron's screaming resumed to fill the whole room.

"You see how hopeless you are? Nothing will come and rescue you, Harry. Nobody will risk their neck for you anymore," cried Voldemort, drowning Harry's yells of rage and Ron's screaming of agony. "You are now handed to my mercy and you will do well to act on it! Rowle, why are you not participating?"

Voldemort raised his hand again, and Ron's screaming died out. Rowle moved uncomfortably and presented his snapped wand. Voldemort looked at it.

"It was Potter, my lord," he spluttered. "He broke my wand."

Voldemort swiftly crossed the room and halted before the Death Eater. "Leave," he hissed. "If you are not fit to handle a teenager, then I have no use for you anymore. You deserve to get your wand broken, do you not, Rowle?"

Rowle backed away, unable to meet Voldemort's eyes. "Yes, m-my lord."

"Then you understand that a suitable punishment for you is to remain wandless. Now get out of my sight."

Rowle did not need telling twice; he wheeled around and sprinted up the stairs. Voldemort turned his gaze at the two remaining Death Eaters. They took an involuntary step back, watching Voldemort's face contorted with anger.

"Revive the girl, Ackerly, and make her feel the wrath of Lord Voldemort."

"No," moaned Ron weakly, raising himself up in his chains. "No, don't touch her."

"Silence," Voldemort hissed. "Avery, you take this boy. He is undoubtedly in need of learning his place…"

"Hermoine didn't do anything," Harry protested, as Voldemort approached him. "It was all me. Just take me alone."

"Then this will be a suitable punishment for you too, will it not?" said Voldemort softly. From a little distance, Harry heard Hermoine moan.

"No, please. It was all me. Don't hurt them."

Voldemort nodded to Ackerly and Avery, and they raised their wands. "NO! Please!" Harry screamed, but his voice got drowned by the high-pitched yells of now both Ron and Hermoine. They trashed against their bonds; bouncing into each other. Hermoine let out a cry, tears streaming across her cheeks. Ron kicked into the air.

Harry wrestled his own shackles and continued to beg. "Stop! Just stop. Take me instead. Please."

"You take after your dear Mudblood mother, Harry," said Voldemort slowly. "She too begged me to spare you. She begged me for mercy. Much like you do now…"

Voldemort chuckled softly. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Harry and gave his terrible smile. "Crucio!"

Somehow, with Ron's and Hermoine's screaming in his ears, the pain was worse than ever. Yet the physical stress wasn't enough to overcome his mental agony; Hermoine reached a high-pitched shriek, with got drowned by Ron's roars. Harry wasn't aware of screaming himself; joining in with Ron's desperate howls of threats. Just when Harry thought he could not take it any longer, the pain stopped. Hermoine and Ron stopped shouting too. The three of them panted heavily, while hanging limply in their shackles. Through half-closed eyes, Harry looked up to the blurry outlines of Voldemort. Scarlet eyes stared hungrily back. Harry blocked them out by shutting his eyes tight; his scar burned past endurance. He wanted to pass out… to die…

Harry felt something cold touch his cheek; and thought his head would burst with the pain of it. Voldemort was stroking his face, and titled his chin, so that Harry was forced to face him again.

"Remember this, Harry. The next time I will not be so lenient anymore. The next time I shall bring you down here again, and I shall torture your friends near insanity, and I shall keep going until you learn your place. Am I understood?"

"Y-yes," whispered Harry hoarsely.

"Good," Voldemort smiled and withdrew his finger from Harry's chin. "And now… You will tell me where you hid the house-elf, won't you?"

Harry looked away and glanced at Ron, who was hanging next to him, still panting, with his eyes closed. Hermoine wasn't visible, but he heard her wheeze. This was his fault. He had put his friends in danger, he had put Ron and Hermoine in this torment, and the only way out was to obey Voldemort…

"I told Kreacher to – " Harry started, but got interrupted by Voldemort's finger.

"Tell me in Parseltongue, Harry. The others do not need to know."

Harry looked to Voldemort's snakelike face. It wasn't hard to imagine him as a real serpent. Harry took a deep breath and continued. "I told Kreacher to hide himself after retrieving your locket. I didn't specify where he should hide himself… So, I don't know really."

"But surely, you are able to summon him, are you not?"

Harry gulped. There was no way out of this. Not without hurting his friends. "Yeah, I suppose so. But he doesn't have your locket… Not yet anyway," Harry tried.

"Yes, I know. Somebody stole it from him. But you told him to get it back, did you not? So, we must simply wait for him to succeed… In the meantime, tell me to what house the elf is bound to."

"I-I can't," Harry answered desperately. "Please. I cannot tell you, I'm not Secret-Keeper."

"Secret-Keeper to what?"

Harry hesitated. Voldemort's glare increased. "Secret-Keeper to what? Answer me!" Voldemort turned to the two Death Eaters.

"Wait!"

Voldemort held up his hand. Immediately, Ron and Hermoine started to scream. Struggling frantically against his bonds, Harry shouted: "Wait! Stop! Alright, alright… To the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry bit his tongue. The moment he said it, he knew he had made a huge mistake. His mind was clouded with the threat of Ron and Hermoine's well-being, leaving him unable to think straight. Why couldn't he have said 'Sirius' home'? Why had he blurted out the headquarters? Voldemort turned back at Harry, his eyes flashed with hunger. "Who is Secret-Keeper then?"

"Dumbledore was! Dumbledore was Secret-Keeper. Please, let them go!" yelled Harry. He watched in horror as Voldemort tilted his head into his neck and laughed his high-pitched, terrible laugh. He then raised his hand again, ordering the Death Eaters to stop.

"But Dumbledore told you the location, did he not? And now that he is dead… You are able to tell me where it is."

"He didn't," lied Harry quickly, amazed with Voldemort's scarce knowledge. Surely, Snape must have told him already? Surely, he must have had already some idea? Maybe even through the Malfoys, when Kreacher had come to visit them? Could he pretend to have never set foot in Grimmauld Place? Could he save his blunder by lying now?

Voldemort chuckled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Do not lie to me, Harry. I know for a fact that the House-elf is bound to the House of Black. Are you telling me that your dear deceased blood-traitorous Godfather used his house for the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry felt as though a bucket of ice cascaded in his stomach. How could he be so stupid? Voldemort had not known about Grimmauld Place being the Order's Headquarters and now Harry had told him just that. Of course, the Malfoys had not known… Kreacher was bound to secrecy; he probably had only been able to tell them about Sirius.

"Answer me, Harry. Is Black's house the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry breathed hard. He was an idiot. A good for nothing, stupid idiot… "Yes," he answered reluctantly, before Voldemort could order Ackerly and Avery to continue the Cruciatus Curse.

Voldemort laughed again. "Well, well… See what a little persuasion can do, Harry? Do you understand now what defiance and open emotions can bring you? In the end, you are as weak as the others, you foolish boy… There is nothing you can hide from me! Lord Voldemort!

"But you have satisfied me, Harry. Well done. And now, if you want your friends and yourself to get out of these chains, you tell me the exact location of the Order of the Phoenix…"

"But I can't," tried Harry, a desperate attempt to clean up the mess.

"Yes, you can. With Dumbledore dead, you are able to reveal its location." Voldemort stepped a little closer. "And you will. But first, you will summon Kreacher for me. Let's hope for your sake he succeeded into finding my locket. Summon him. Now!"

"Fine. Kreacher!"

With the sound of a cracking whip, Kreacher appeared. His many folds of skin wiggled when he wheeled around to face Harry.

"Do you have my locket?" Voldemort asked, and Kreacher turned his attention to him. His flappy ears hanged and Kreacher shook his head. Harry moaned. His scar seared with fresh pain and he felt a boiling of anger somewhere in his stomach, which was quite unconnected with his own fear.

"Who has it?" Voldemort asked, jeering down at Kreacher. The house-elf faced the ground.

"Mundungus Fletcher," answered Kreacher quietly, with his raspy voice. Voldemort let out a shriek of rage and turned his attention to the two puzzled Death Eaters.

"Find me this Mundungus Fletcher. Bring him to me!"

Ackerly and Avery stiffened a bow and turned around towards the stairs. Voldemort grabbed Kreacher by the hem of his filthy rags, lifting him up. "You will continue to search for Mundungus Fletcher. Bring him to me when you find him." Voldemort threw Kreacher back at the ground.

"You have been helpful, Harry, and Lord Voldemort awards his helpers. You are allowed to rest now." And with that, Voldemort turned around and disappeared out of sight.

Harry waited until he no longer heard footsteps. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

Ron grunted. "Fine. Fine, I will live. Hermoine, are you okay?"

Hermoine did not speak. She let out a soft whimper, to answer Ron.

"I'm sorry," said Harry again, shifting his arms to help relieve the pressure on his shoulders. His neck was aching past endurance and the cramp radiated through his back. His eyes found Kreacher. "Will you get us down please, Kreacher?"

Kreacher pulled the wheel and the trio fell down to the floor. With a snap of Kreacher's fingers, their shackles popped open. Harry kneaded his bloody wrists. Ron dragged himself to his feet and gently helped Hermoine to get up. They picked up their wands, which had been thrown away by the Death Eaters.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said. Something soft brushed against his arm and he felt a light tug. Hermoine sat beside him and supported his arm; Ron took his other arm. Together, they pulled Harry up. Hermione gave a weak smile; her eyes were red, swollen, and her bushy hair was tangled. She put her arms around him. Harry returned her hug. Ron broke in and the three off them held each other tight. Immense relieve washed over Harry. He could not express how much it meant to him that they were hugging him, still accepting him, that they tried to comfort him even though they had experienced a great ordeal themselves.

After a few minutes, they broke apart. Ron was stroking Hermoine's back and she leaned into him, sobbing silently. Harry turned his head away and looked at Kreacher.

"I didn't want to endanger you, Kreacher. You better just go and find that stupid locket."

But Kreacher gave Harry a little smile. His great, bloodshot eyes popped with a wicked glance. "Kreacher lied. Master told Kreacher to hide the locket and Kreacher obeyed."

"What?" gasped Harry. "You lied… You have…? How?"

"Kreacher found the thief. He was trying to sell the locket. Kreacher attacked Mundungus Fletcher and took the locket. Then Kreacher hid it, like Master said he should."

"What is he talking about, Harry?" Ron asked. "What locket?"

Harry didn't answer. He wasn't sure whether it was a good thing that Kreacher had lied. When the Death Eaters were to find Fletcher, they would surely know. Voldemort would find out. And then Ron and Hermoine would pay the price. But at the same time, he felt a spark rise up in his chest. This locket was important to Voldemort. He didn't know why, but somehow he knew it was a chance to circumvent Voldemort.

"Kreacher, do you think you can find Mundungus Fletcher again? Can you erase his memory of the locket? Do you think you are able to convince him to hide?"

Kreacher merely looked at Harry. "Hide the traitorous thief?"

"Yes. You told Voldemort that Fletcher has it. He will find out that you lied when they catch him. He must hide. Tell him that they are searching for him, that they are coming for him. Can you do that?"

"Kreacher will obey Master, because he has no choice," rasped Kreacher and gave a stiffened bow. "But Kreacher does not care for the thief."

"You don't have to," said Harry, a little impatiently. "Just make sure the Death Eaters or Voldemort are able to find him. It is important."

Kreacher nodded his flappy ears, gave another bow and disappeared with a loud crack. Harry turned to Ron and Hermoine, who were both looking back with dumbstruck expressions on their faces.

"What the hell was that all about?" asked Ron again. "Why are the Death Eaters after Mundungus? And what locket are you talking about?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. "I don't even know what the locket looks like. But Voldemort wants it back. Apparently, Sirius' brother stole it from him. I want to know why this locket is so important to Voldemort."

But then something hit Harry. He had been inside Voldemort's mind. Voldemort had called the locket a Horcrux. He had called him, Harry, a Horcrux too, back in his mansion. He turned to Hermoine.

"Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

She gaped at him. To Harry's disappointment, she then shook her head. "I have never heard of that. I will look it up. Why?"

"What are you talking about, Harry?" interjected Ron. Harry felt slightly annoyed with the look on Ron's face.

"I'm not losing it," he said. "It is something Voldemort calls that locket. It is something he called me."

But the look on Ron's face, a mixture of worry, confusing and slight contempt, did not disappear. Harry felt too tired to explain any further. Suddenly, Hermoine jumped and squinted to the corner next to Harry. Both Ron and Harry startled and wheeled around. Harry heard something slither along the wall and saw the vague contours of something huge.

"Is that a snake?" squeaked Hermoine, grabbing Harry's arm.

"Yeah, that's Nagini! Voldemort's snake."

"Come on, let's get out of here," Ron mumbled. He was still shaking, still looking a little green and he seemed like he could pass out any minute. They went up the stairs and staggered through the corridor, supporting each other, pausing every now and then to prevent themselves from falling.

"I could sleep for a week," panted Ron, when they reached the entrance hall.

"Oh, I don't want us to separate now," breathed Hermoine. "I don't want to be on my own."

"Yeah, and I don't feel like sharing the same bedroom with Malfoy while being this sick," agreed Ron. He dragged himself towards the stairs.

"Or ever," added Harry in. "Shouldn't we go to Hagrid's?"

"Let's go back to the Hospital Wing," answered Ron. "We'll go to Hagrid tomorrow."

Hermoine agreed. Together, they climbed up the stairs and entered the infirmary. Harry let himself fall down to the bed, without taking off his robes and pulled the sheets up. Ron and Hermoine chose the beds next to him.

"You know, it was really weird," said Ron after a while. "You and him, hissing to each other."

Harry looked up to the ceiling. He could only imagine how it must have been like. "Voldemort wanted me to speak in Parseltongue. He said the others didn't need to know. So apparently, this locket is some sort of secret. Something so valuable, that he doesn't want to share... We can use that."

"Use it how?" Hermoine asked. "For what?"

Harry didn't answer. Images of the dungeon raced through his head, as though he was watching a film. Hermoine and Ron screaming, Voldemort standing before him, demanding him to tell him about Grimmauld Place. Harry fought down the urge to get sick.

"I accidentally told Voldemort that Sirius' home is the headquarters," he whispered. "He knows. He –" but then Harry remembered. He had not exactly said what the address was. Voldemort had wanted him to summon Kreacher first. In his rage, he probably had forgotten to ask for the address. Another spark lit up in Harry. Maybe there was still a chance.

"Nobody blames you, Harry," whispered Hermoine sympathetically. "I don't think either of us could think straight when…" Her voice trailed off.

"I didn't tell him where it is, though," continued Harry. He felt a tiny wave of gratitude towards Hermoine; it helped relieve the tight feeling of guilt in his chest. "He wanted me to summon Kreacher first."

"So what are we going to do now?" Ron asked eagerly. "Try and go to Grimmauld Place?"

"For now, we're going to keep our heads down and do nothing," Harry said, turning to the slightly disappointed Ron. "Not yet anyway. Listen, we have got to form a plan. We're going to try and free the others first."

"Harry is right, Ron," said Hermoine. "We can't just act without a plan. We have to think this one through."

"But –"

"Ron, what if we act and fail? We must think of a plan first. It is our only chance." Hermoine shifted in her bed.

"Yeah, but what if we stay here and get interrogated again?" pressed Ron. "What if he's coming back for another round?"

"That's true," said Harry slowly.

"What if Mundungus isn't able to hide himself?" continued Ron, without listening to Harry. "What if the Death Eaters were to find him? Then You-Know-Who knows he has been lied to... I really don't feel like going back to the dungeons, to tell you the truth."

"How do you think of escaping then?" Hermoine asked. "Use the Floo Network?"

"Nah..." said Ron slowly. "Dad said they don't trust the Floo Network anymore. Before the raid at the Ministry, they suspected that Death Eaters might had already infiltrated the place. So the Order avoided the Floo Network. And now that the Ministry has fallen, they'll definitely know."

"So, we will have to fly," Harry said. "We could use our brooms and fly to London."

"How do you want to do that without being seen?" Hermoine asked skeptically.

"We will go by night, take of in the Forest-"

"We can't use the air, mate. They have placed an anti-escape jinx around the premises. I heard Snape tell Carrow, back when I was... well, when I was in the Great Hall this morning," said Ron. "They have placed in in the air around Hogwarts, so no one can fly or run out."

"But that means we can't escape within the walls as well?"

"No, it only works outside. When you try to go through the gates."

They said nothing for a while. Harry heard the soft breath of Hermoine. His eyelids felt heavy. He wanted nothing more than a long sleep. How were they going to escape? When Mr. Weasley had been attacked by Voldemort's snake, they had been able to come to Grimmauld Place, too. Then Harry remembered. "Can't we use a Portkey?" he asked, sitting up right in the bed.

Ron shook his head. "They will know. Every Portkey gets immediately registered with the Ministry. When they receive notice of an unauthorized Portkey, they will come to our place of destination."

"Yeah, but Grimmauld Place is secure. They will not be able to enter, right?"

"I don't know if it will work... We can't risk it without being absolutely sure," said Hermoine slowly. She was still clutching her waist and she looked slightly distorted when she shifted again.

"In short, we are hopeless," said Harry bitterly. His fingers fiddled with his sheets. Of course, Voldemort would not leave him alone to rest, not without being absolutely sure that Harry wasn't able to escape.

"If only we could Apparate," sighed Ron, who leaned back into his pillows.

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate in and out Hogwarts!" hissed Hermoine. "Pick up Hogwarts, A History one time, will you?"

"Why bother? You know it by heart," yawned Ron. Harry didn't intervene their bickering. Absentmindedly, he watched the setting sun through the window. His scar was still prickling, but it wasn't as bad as before anymore.

"Let's go to sleep for a while. I think we're safe here for now. Let's get our strength back and come up with a plan tomorrow."

Ron answered him by snoring softly. Harry looked to Hermoine, who lay on her side. She smiled softly to Harry and closed her eyes as well. "Night."

"Night," whispered Harry and let himself fall. He was already fast asleep by the time his head reached his pillow.

Note:

First of all: Happy New Year! Thank you for favoring and following this story. And for the reviews, of course. Always happy to receive them! On a depressing note, I have exams coming up and I am really running behind my school work, so I will not be able to post another chapter in the upcoming month.

Hopefully, the length of this chapter is enough to saturate you for four weeks. I might have gone a little too far with this one. Don't worry though: I intend for it to get a little more lighter. When the exams are over, I will update as soon as I can (which will sadly be after the third of February).

P.S. Please, don't mind the grammar errors (or maybe even unfinished sentences). I will fix the mistakes when I get the chance to reread this chapter.