Reparo, Pt 1 (R-rated version) Note: I'm going to be testing something here. But, here is the R-rated beginning of Reparo--all 32 pages of it! For those of you who may be reading this for the first time, this is a torture heavy beginning to the story. While the actual events that occurred do not change between the two versions, the torture is less explicitly described in the second version.

As for a little summary: Harry has graduated Hogwarts, and defeated Voldemort. He is living life as a Muggle, until the beginning of the story. Someone (guess who) decides that Harry needs to be back at Hogwarts. Will Harry ever be able to leave again?

Read on if you're interested..

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Reparo, Part 1: Pain

Waking up without remembering having gone to sleep was not a regular occurrence for Harry Potter. Nor was waking up with such a headache, unable to figure out where he was. The only other time he could recall was when his Muggle friends had convinced him to join a drinking contest, and he had vowed never to do so again.

The situation became even more odd when Harry realized that he was lying face down; he never slept on his stomach. Ever. He moved to lift his head to see what was going on, and discovered to his surprise that he couldn’t. Nor could he move his arms or legs—there seemed to be something tying him to the bed in the position he was currently in.

“Awake already, Mr. Potter?” a snide voice spoke from above him, and Harry could never forget that voice. “Professor” Snape, Dumbledore’s “trusted” spy to Voldemort. They had never resolved their issues; Harry had chosen not to take Potions and avoided the man as much as he could. But he thought he had left him long behind when he had fled to the Muggle world after defeating Voldemort, so what was Snape doing here?

“Mmph,” was the only response he seemed to be able to make, as his face fit down into the table so that he could breath but not so that he could move his jaw. He tried to lift his head again, and once again met with complete failure.

“Most impressive. Albus was not incorrect—you have a very high tolerance for magic and are able to dissipate it quite quickly. That will make this… more interesting.”

This? What was this? “Mmmph?”

“Ah. Yes. We are in Hogwarts. We will be remaining in Hogwarts. You will *not* be running away. You *will* be taking this potion. Shall we do this the easy way, or the hard way?” The man seemed to be taking some kind of sadistic pleasure in whatever was going on, but Harry was not interested in giving him what he wanted. He remained stonily silent, unable to respond coherently. “I will be releasing the restraints now, and you will move slowly.” Harry counted as the straps were removed—one over the back of his head, one over his neck, three over each of his arms, one across his lower back, one across his upper thighs, and two each across his lower legs. The man was paranoid!

Harry wearily pushed himself up out of the depression in the bed, moving slowly as requested, until he was sitting up with his legs hanging off the edge. There he glared at Snape before quickly glancing around the room. It was small and dank, clearly in the dungeons, and seemed to only consist of the bed and a single door. Larger than his cupboard, but smaller than Dudley’s second bedroom. Finally he looked back to Snape.

The Potions Master was standing nonchalantly between him and the door, holding a steaming vial of some potion that Harry couldn’t identify. He watched Harry looking around, an evil smile playing at the corners of his mouth; the mirth was apparent in his eyes, all at Harry’s expense. When Harry’s eyes settled back on him, he held the potion vial out to Harry.

Harry took the potions vial, and sniffed it cautiously. The odor was foul, as was the source. He was certainly *not* taking any potion from this man, especially not after being tied down and without being told what the potion was intended to do. He began to move as though he was going to drink it, before throwing it with as much force as he could muster at the ground. The glass vial shattered and the potion hissed on the stones as he smirked triumphantly at Snape.

“Ah,” Snape replied, apparently not at all put out. In fact, he looked rather… delighted? “The hard way, I take it. Very well.” His wand appeared in hand and Harry instinctively reached for his before realizing that he had been disarmed—as well as being undressed down to his shorts. Bare feet and no shirt wouldn’t get him far in the dungeons, much less outside in the dead of winter in Scotland. Harry just had time to take this in before his wrists suddenly snapped together and a rope appeared around them and yanked them upward, until he was hanging suspended from the rope by only his wrists.

It only took a few seconds for the pain to sink in—the ropes were digging into his wrists and cutting off circulation to his hands. He yelled in outrage and tried to find the floor with his feet, but he was too high up. “You—you—“

Snape chuckled darkly in amusement. “I did give you a choice, Potter. Now, I think that will keep you quite occupied while I rebrew the potion, don’t you? But I’d rather keep an eye on you as well. Come along.” He twitched his wand and Harry “followed” him, still suspended from above. Harry kicked around several times more furiously, but the rope wouldn’t let him get any swinging momentum, and the movement only caused the rope to tear into his wrists more deeply.

“You can’t do this, Snape! Let me down, now!”

Snape chuckled as Harry stopped moving in the corner of his lab, just far enough away that he couldn’t reach the walls. “I can’t? And why, pray tell, can I not?”

“Because—I haven’t done anything wrong! And this kind of punishment is not allowed! And—Merlin—you’re going to take my hands off!”

Snape sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well.” He moved his wand slightly and Harry was lowered so that the balls of his feet were just barely touching the ground. Relieved, he immediately put the weight on the balls of his feet, though it took some effort to balance so that he was not putting any weight on his wrists.

While he did that, Snape had already collected ingredients and was brewing the potion. “Fortunately for you,” he commented idly, “This potion only takes fifty minutes to make.”

Harry groaned at that. Already his calves were beginning to burn from having to hold his weight and his balance on the balls of his feet. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded, trying to distract himself from the pain in his wrists and his legs alike. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?”

“Albus,” Snape replied shortly, adding another ingredient. “Made me promise to bring you back here after you had defeated Him.”

“Why?” he asked again, but now there was a slight bit of hurt in his voice. Why would Dumbledore tell Snape to drag him back here?

“That is for me to know,” Snape answered snidely. “Now shut up, or I will make this even *less* pleasant for you.”

Harry repeated to himself over and over that all he had to do was make it through this torture, a little longer, a little longer still, and take whatever the idiotic potion was, and then he could *leave*. It was harder and harder to remind himself, though, as his wrists were rubbed raw and his calves began to cramp from the effort of taking the weight in their turn.

Without even a word of warning, Snape swished his wand and the rope holding Harry up disappeared. He collapsed in a heap, his legs cramping too badly to hold him up. A moment later, Snape dragged his head up with a fistful of his hair and ordered, “Open.” Harry saw red for a moment before he realized the consequences of his *last* rash action and opened his mouth as requested. He gulped the disgusting potion as quickly as he could.

“What..?” he finally gasped out when it was all down and Snape had released his hair as though it were as greasy as his own.

“Just a little precaution,” Snape replied with a smirk, “in case someone happens to see you down here.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, trying to get his legs under him but stopping when they began cramping painfully. “You—I’m *not* staying here! I have a *life*!”

“I said it before, and I will say it again. You can make this easy, or you can make it hard, but you are staying here.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed again, and this time he made an even stronger effort to get to his feet. He collapsed to the floor shaking, though, when the cramps began in his center and expanded to encompass his whole body. He lasted maybe thirty seconds before passing out from the pain.


For the second time in as many days, Harry woke up face down, tied down to the table. This time, though, he realized his surroundings more clearly. That didn’t stop the thrill of panic, though, when he struggled with all his might to push away the restraints and didn’t move an inch. He was *completely* helpless with Snape, who was proving to be quite sadistic. He needed to get out of here.

“First rule,” came the silky sneer from so close that he would have jumped if he could have, “is that fighting will only cause you pain.” As he said the last word, Harry felt something hard and thin snap painfully against the backs of his knees. It was all the more painful because he could not cringe or pull away, and he made a small sound of pain before he managed to control himself. “So just relax—you’re going to be there as long as I so desire it.”

Harry tried to focus on the pain instead of the panic, but he couldn’t relax no matter how much Snape demanded it. The stinging pain came suddenly in irregular intervals, so that he was tensed for it even though he could not cringe away. He knew that the thin skin on the backs of his knees had long since been torn open when Snape finally tired of his “game”.

“Pain never has been a sufficient motivator for you, has it, Potter?” the professor sneered. “Well, no matter. I have *other* ways of dealing with you.” Finally, the straps were removed, one by one. Harry hesitated until he knew that the last one had been removed, and then ignored the screaming pain in his knees as he leapt from the table in the direction of the door.

To his dismay, he had actually moved *away* from the door. Snape must have rotated the table during the night, or else this was another room, he realized. He spun around and found Snape between him and the door, scowling but with a maniacally pleased glint in his eyes.

“That is most certainly fighting. I *did* warn you what would happen…” He swished his wand and Harry screamed as the ropes reappeared around his already raw wrists and all his weight was dragged up toward the ceiling. It didn’t stop there either—Snape bounced his wand idly and the pain repeated with each bounce of the ropes. “I *could* simply break—or even remove—your legs. Or perhaps blind you. But Albus made me promise not to do any permanent damage. Pity.” Finally he stopped bouncing Harry and left him simply hanging, and Harry gasped desperately for breath through the haze of pain. “But it *does* seem that even you could learn from this.” He swished his wand and Harry dropped painfully to the floor, not making any effort to get to his feet but holding his wrists close to his body protectively.

“Back on the bed, Potter. On your back, this time.” Harry looked up with a glare on his face but obeyed grudgingly, sure that Snape would happily suspend him from the ceiling once again if he refused. Blood was already streaming down his arms from his freshly irritated wrists; he didn’t need it any worse. Gingerly he got onto the bed, and reluctantly he laid back, the back of his head fitting into the same depression as his face had before.

Snape moved slowly, the malicious grin on his face making it clear he was savoring the moment, as he moved to begin restraining Harry, beginning with his legs. “No!” Harry reflexively jerked away, before stuttering out an excuse, “You can’t—don’t—I’ll stay here!”

“I can see that,” Snape replied dryly, glancing pointedly at the leg that had not returned to its proper position. Shaking slightly, Harry began to move his leg back, fighting the urge to run. Before Snape could place the restraint over his leg, though, he couldn’t take it and leapt from the bed, this time in the actual direction of the door.

Snape let him make it to the door, which was solid stone and had no visible handle. Harry heard a quick swish and then an incredible pain blossomed on the back of his knees, toppling him to the ground in an instant. He didn’t make an effort to get to his feet, this time, just waited for the pain to continue.

“Hold your hands up over your head,” ordered Snape, and Harry could hear that he was suddenly right behind him even if he hadn’t heard his footsteps. Shaking violently in anticipation of what was to come, Harry reluctantly obeyed. “Hmm,” Snape made a noise in his throat, as if he were simply considering how the wrists could have become so bloody. “Hmm,” he repeated, wrapping his hand around one of Harry’s wrists, causing him to cringe at the pain. “You’ll understand, I cannot let these attempts go on,” Snape said finally, releasing his wrist. “Stand up.”

Harry began to lower his wrists to help push himself to his feet, but suddenly ropes appeared around them—not pulling him upward, but not allowing him to lower his arms down either. With effort he managed to get shakily to his feet without the help of his arms, and the ropes forced him to continue raising his arms with the rest of the body so that they continued to be over his head. He tried not to think about what Snape might be planning this time.

“Stand four feet from the wall.” Harry shuffled to a position that he thought was about four feet from the wall, and Snape must have been satisfied as he did not yell at him. “Arms straight in front of you.” The ropes lowered to allow him to do as he was told, nervously. “Hands on the wall,” was the next order.

Harry glanced back at Snape incredulously at this, and almost shuddered at the knowing smirk on the man’s face. Harry’s hands, even stretched out in front of him, were still over a foot from the wall. “You’ll need to lean forward—but don’t lower your arms,” Snape offered viciously. Turning back to the wall, Harry suddenly had a sinking sensation that he knew what Snape was doing. He leaned forward and ‘fell’ into the wall, feeling the already raw flesh on the backs of his knees stretch tight.

This time he knew the swish was coming even before the backs of his knees exploded in pain. He screamed at the pain and bent his knees slightly but managed not to fall, miraculously. “Straighten your legs!” Snape demanded, and Harry did. Another swish and his knees bent even further this time. “Straight!” repeated Snape angrily, and Harry did. Swish! With the third blow Harry’s knees collapsed under him. He would have collapsed directly to the floor, but the ropes remained around his wrists, holding them at the same height, and he screamed again as the ropes dug in and he swung against the wall.

“Get back up, you weakling!” The ropes lifted him painfully up so he was standing again four feet from the wall, then lowered just far enough for him to stretch out and reach the wall again. He was nearly weeping from the pain just from the injured flesh stretching, and then another swish sounded and he screamed painfully and collapsed again.

Again and again Snape forced him back to his feet and back to “the position” in order to be whipped again. Despite his best efforts Harry was sobbing and screamed with every lash, and this only seemed to spur Snape on. Finally the ropes disappeared instead of dragging him to his feet again, and he lay painfully on the floor, never wanting to move again. Both his knees and his wrists were streaming blood.

After hardly a moment of hesitation, Snape ordered, “On the bed!” When Harry moved slowly climbing to his feet, Snape sneered, “Or would you rather ten more lashes first?” Despite the pain that it caused, that got Harry moving.

When he was flat on his back and feeling incredibly vulnerable once again, Snape began to go about putting the restraints over him, maliciously slowly. Harry flinched badly as the first one snapped closed over his ankle, but managed not to struggle. One, two, three on his leg, and then each was tightened so that he couldn’t move it even an inch. One, two, three on the other leg; the tightness stopped his leg from shaking but he couldn’t relax it. One across his hips, almost painfully tight. One across each of his upper arms, and one across each of his elbows. When Snape pulled the straps tight over his wrists, he nearly screamed with the pain of it, his breath catching in his throat. Then Snape pulled a strap tight over his forehead, and then one over his throat, tight enough that Harry began taking quicker, shallow breaths in panic that he would be unable to get enough air.

“Ahh… There you are, all snug,” Snape smirked. “Tell me, Potter, what is your worst fear? And be honest, now… I’ll find out if you’ve lied.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what Snape meant by “finding out” and snapped his eyes closed before managing an answer. “Dementors,” he gritted out, praying that Snape didn’t have any handy.

“Oh?” Snape replied, his voice a calm mockery of curiosity. “Are you quite certain?”

“Yes,” he answered with as much certainty as he could muster in his nervous voice.

“Then you will not mind opening your eyes so I can be sure.” Harry felt the bed begin to move so that he was more upright than supine. “Open your eyes!” Snape demanded harshly, and Harry snapped them open in obedience. Snape incanted something and suddenly Harry could no longer blink. His eyes immediately began watering painfully, and he turned his eyes as far away from Snape as possible. He would *not* make this any easier.

“Ah. I almost forgot.” Harry refused to look back even as he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes, but a moment later he saw something close to his face and smelt something foul. “Open.” Suddenly refinding his defiance after the last potions disaster (of which he still didn’t know the result), Harry clenched his mouth shut. Snape growled. “I do NOT have time for this.” A sharp blow to his stomach knocked all the breath from Harry’s lungs painfully, and he instinctively opened his mouth wide to gasp for breath. Instead, he got a mouthful of a chunky, disgusting potion, and then his mouth was sealed shut magically. He was going to *suffocate*! He swallowed frantically and tried to get air through his nose, before Snape finally cancelled the spell holding his mouth closed and he gasped for breath, his eyes still held wide open and watering all the more painfully. He coughed as much as he could from his restrained position, trying to get the bit of the potion that he had apparently aspirated away from his lungs.

He waited for pain to follow the potion, or at least something, but felt no effects. Snape gave him two minutes of silence, then ordered in a dangerously soft voice, “Look at me, Potter.” Harry’s eye muscles were getting sore from looking anywhere but directly in front of him, but he refused to look the man in the eyes. “Twenty lashes when we are finished here, and five more for every second that you hesitate!” Snape roared, and after trying to resist for a few more seconds the promise of certain pain made Harry look at Snape.

“Legilimens.”


Darkness. Harry tried to empty his mind but everything was spinning. Memories began to flash past, faster than he could comprehend, of his Muggle life after escaping the wizarding world. Then suddenly they stopped, lingered in a memory, one so painful that Harry had thought he had blocked it out of his mind.

Ron was screaming, screaming so loudly, there was nothing Harry could do. His scar was exploding with pain and he was frozen in place by a spell and held tightly by several Death Eaters besides. Voldemort’s cackling in sadistic pleasure was getting louder even as Ron’s voice could no longer sustain the scream. His mouth was open in a silent scream as he continued to writhe in horrible agony, until even that slowed and finally stopped. Suddenly, Harry was released, and he could hardly hear the horrible laughter as he rushed to his friend’s side, shuddering at the glazed look in his motionless eyes. Harry shook him, screamed at him to wake up, say something, move, but he was gone. Gone, in the most horrible way.

The memory cut off and then began again, the same emotions flooding Harry almost to overwhelming, and he felt that he wanted nothing more to die. Then the flashing of memories began again, before stopping on another.

Sirius and Bellatrix were still battling, and Sirius was laughing. “Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather’s wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.

For a moment, Harry felt the restraints as he sagged against them. Before he had even a second to try to empty his mind, though, the memories were rushing through his mind—being banned from Quidditch, hours upon hours of carving lines into his hand, watching Voldemort rise, seeing his dead parents but not being able to enjoy it, watching Cedric die, seeing Ron turn away from when thinking he had submitted himself to the Tournament without telling him… realizing he would not live with Sirius after all, knowing Buckbeak was going to die, dying from the venom of the Basilisk, realizing that Tom Riddle was Voldemort, seeing Ginny lying as though dead, hearing Ginny had been kidnapped… standing by the side of the petrified Hermione, being certain he would never return to Hogwarts, seeing Vernon fit bars to his window, watching as the Queen destroyed Ron’s horseman in the fated chess game, staring at the three-headed dog, leaving his parents in the Mirror of Erised…

And then the memories from the Dursleys began, and rushed by almost too fast for him to see. Until they stopped on one, the most horrible one of all, the one he had actually forgotten.

It was dark, and cold. He had been locked in the cupboard for almost a week now, and his stomach screamed for food. He hadn’t even been given water in the last day and a half, the Dursleys were gone, the house was deathly silent, and Harry knew suddenly that he was going to die, die in this wretched cupboard, and the walls were closing in on him and he was screaming, clawing at the door, at the walls, desperate to get out, but no one came, and the panic just continued on and on and on…

The memory replayed, again and again and again, until Harry honestly thought he was there and dying, and the suddenly return of the dimly lit dungeon room and the restraints cutting into his tense body were completely foreign to him. He was gasping desperately for air, struggling to no avail, completely panicked.

Snape slapped him across the face and with a gasp he realized that there were no walls to close in on him. His former professor was *grinning* in front of him, darkly, sadisticly, idly rolling his wand back and forth in his hands. “Dementors, you say?” he smirked. “I’ve never seen Dementors do *that* to you. How do you suppose I should punish you for lying to me?”

Harry stared in wide-eyed horror at the man, his breath coming faster just at the thought of being locked in another dark, closed space, left to die. His mind was still spinning, memories and emotions replaying themselves in the back of his mind as he tried desperately to focus, to muster a response.

“Speaking of punishments, I do believe we have one to deal with regarding your earlier insolence,” Snape reminded. He didn’t bother to lower the bed back down from its upright position; instead he began by removing the restraints on Harry’s arms and then cast the spell once again to pull his arms over his head painfully. He then proceeded to wave his wand and the rest of the restraints were removed all at once. Another wave and the bed jerked back suddenly, leaving Harry hanging with a sudden gasp of pain. “It does hurt, doesn’t it?” Snape commented calmly. “And you hardly weigh anything.” He muttered another spell and suddenly the weight on Harry’s wrists doubled, and he screamed in pain. After a few seconds, the extra weight disappeared and his wrists merely felt numb in comparison.

“We might as well get this over with, don’t you think?” Harry was deposited once again four feet from the wall, and the ropes lowered slowly. He lowered his arms with them, but they stopped before his arms could get down to where they were completely parallel with the ground. He hesitated. “Hands on the wall,” Snape ordered sharply, and Harry forced himself to lean forward despite the feeling that he would not be able to catch himself. His hands were now more even with the level of his head than his shoulders, and he realized immediately that he would not be able to bend his knees at all without falling, as precariously balanced as he was.

The silence felt as though it was lasting forever, and Harry actually began to turn his head to see what was taking Snape, when suddenly pain exploded on his legs with no warning swish. He gave a choked gasp of pain as his legs immediately bent and all his weight fell on his wrists even as he swung against the wall. “Eyes on the wall at all times!” Snape snapped. “Get back away from the wall!” he continued when Harry stood but remained leaning against the wall for a second too long. Suddenly the wall was hot, so hot that it burned his shoulder that had been touching it. He jumped away from the wall immediately and the ropes dragged him back to the point four feet away.

“Perhaps you need some… encouragement.. to remain standing. Five more lashes for each time you fall.” Harry was shaking but tried to still himself as the ropes began to allow him to lower his arms and he obeyed, albeit reluctantly. “Or… perhaps I have a better idea,” Snape continued after a moment, and Harry knew that he would not enjoy this ‘idea’. Snape spoke one spell, then another, and the second seemed to result in a heavy weight suddenly pushing Harry forward. He would have stumbled forward but suddenly his feet were stuck in place. Fortunately, he caught the wall with his hands as before, though it suddenly took more effort to hold himself even as upright as he was, since the weight did not leave.

Snape must have somehow silenced the switch, because Harry no longer heard it coming, only the horrible pain that exploded in the back of his knees. They gave slightly but his knees couldn’t bend very far, and his feet did not leave the floor. “Straight!” Snape ordered, and even as the skin was stretching the pain came again, startling a cry of pain out of Harry. “Straight!” Pain blossomed again, and again, until Harry’s whole world seemed to be consumed in the pain in his knees. Then one time, the pain didn’t come immediately after he had straightened his legs. He waited and waited, his arms shaking with the effort of holding the weight on his shoulders as well as his own body weight.

The pain, when it came again, seemed worse even than before. “Straight!” Again. And again. And again. Harry almost wished that he had been counting, but then he was glad he hadn’t. His arms burned but he hardly noticed with the continuing pain in his legs. Finally, with the last lash, the spell that was holding his feet to the floor vanished and he collapsed once again, arms still held over his head by the ropes for a moment before those too vanished. He was left quivering on the floor, muscles too exhausted to move him.

“Second rule—no magic, whatsoever. You will not be pleased with the consequences if you disobey me,” Snape said, then he swept from the room, the knobless door slamming closed behind him.


Harry lay for long hours on the floor, not moving. The lights did not dim, as he checked several times by flickering his eyes slightly open, nor did they brighten. He had no idea how much time was passing by, but his stomach was beginning to truly demand food. Finally he realized that he had been left alone and should be trying to escape, as his efforts with Snape present had shown less than full success.

He nearly cried out in pain when he tried to stretch his legs out. The blood had dried on them while he had been laying curled up, and straightening them seemed as though it was going to tear them open all over again. He had to do it, though. He had to get out of here, and now. He therefore forced himself to continue straightening them slowly despite the immense pain that seemed to flood through him as he did so, until finally he had his legs straight.

He then attempted to push himself up and found that his arms were shaking with exertion. It had taken slightly different muscles to hold himself up against the wall, though, so he managed. He then began to crawl toward the door, which was only about eight feet away. This took him at least ten minutes, and he felt as though he was going to collapse when he reached it.

He then began to reach deep inside of him for his magic. Harry had learned, over the years, to consciously utilize his wandless magic on occasion. It never worked for anything very complicated and it couldn’t be done in a hurry, but for something like unlocking the door it would work. He closed his eyes and focused on drawing his magic out of his center and toward his hand, which he placed on the door. Then he began to will it to unlock, not bothering with any spells or hand movements.

The door clicked and then opened. Harry’s eyes burst open triumphantly. He moved as quickly as he could to get to the other side of the door, then slowed and groaned as he saw where he had gotten himself.

It was another room in the same style, only with doors on either side instead of on one side only. The door behind him slammed shut, which didn’t bother Harry particularly since he wasn’t interested in going back the way he had come. He wanted out of here. Struggling to his feet, he toddled across the room and placed his hand on the new door.

He willed with everything in his being for the door to unlock, but to no avail. Finally he collapsed wearily next to the door and put his head in his hands. He was never going to get out of here.

A long while later, the door opened. Harry immediately tried to roll through it, but Snape seemed to be expecting it and kicked him back harshly, knocking all the breath out of Harry and leaving him flat on his back gasping.

“Wandless magic too,” Snape commented with a gleeful note in his voice. “Didn’t I tell you that there was to be no magic?”

Harry was finally regaining his breath and he glared up at Snape. “What did you expect, that I wasn’t going to try to get out of here? You have no right to lock me up!!”

“Oh, I had every expectation that you would attempt to escape. And it is most fortunate, because I can now justifiably test my new method of ‘motivation’ on you. Not that I need justification, mind you, but it is ever so much more interesting when you give it to me. Now, come along.” With a swish of his hand, Harry was lifted from the ground and carried to one side, where a hole opened up in the wall. He was then let down on the ground directly next to the hole. “See, I’ve prepared a room just for you, Potter,” Snape sneered. “Now get in.”

Harry stared at him in disbelief. Surely the man wasn’t idiotic enough to think that he was going to enter a dark hole with no idea what awaited him inside? “Inside now Potter,” Snape ordered again, menacingly. He shook his head, glaring at the man.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Must you make *everything* difficult, Potter?” He conjured a rope again, but this time it fastened itself around Harry’s neck and pulled him forward and into the hole. He tried to hold on to the edge but the rope began to choke him and he was forced to let go.

With a resounding thud the hole closed up, leaving Harry in pitch black. He couldn’t hear anything from outside. He was still on his hands and knees, and he had only to sway from side to side to feel the walls. He began to crawl forward but immediately met a wall. Feeling around with his hands carefully he quickly discovered the size of the hole, and his breathing began to come faster. The hole was barely wider than he was and there wasn’t room for him to stretch out. He started to sit up and cracked his head against the ceiling painfully. There wasn’t even room for him to sit up against the wall.

Snape couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave him in here long. He couldn’t. Harry kicked out at where the ‘door’ had been, and found it to be as solid as any of the walls. Harry felt another surge of panic as he realized that if he wasn’t careful, he could forget where the exit was supposed to be. With some effort he managed to get himself turned around so that he was facing toward the door, and placed his hands on it. He willed it to open, but got no response. He willed it to lift up (thinking that perhaps it was entirely physical) but that had no response either.

“Let me out,” he whispered desperately, and his whisper echoed around the tiny hole. He pounded on the door, ignoring the pain in his hands. Suddenly he felt stone against his feet, which was odd because he hadn’t moved his legs at all. Panicking, he pushed out and found his feet flat against the wall. He started to try to turn around, and discovered to his dismay that the ceiling seemed to have lowered as well. He could lift up slightly, but he could not stretch his legs out at all from their partially bent position, and he could not sit up enough to pass his legs underneath him either.

Panicking, he pushed against the walls, and felt them move in closer, bending his knees closer to his body, until his knees came in contact with the side wall. His breath coming faster still, he rolled onto his back with his knees above him and pushed harder. An instant later the ceiling was low enough that his knees once again impacted with stone, and he could no longer turn back onto his side. The walls kept moving for a moment so that his head was all the way up against the door and he was forced to lift it before he was pushed back into the door again.

Harry began to scream in terror and continued to push at the walls until he could no longer move in any direction. Then he just screamed, until even his voice was gone and his mouth stayed open in a silent scream between gasps for breath. His wide eyes took in the pitch black and he finally passed out from pure terror.


Harry woke up with a crick in his neck from sleeping in a strange position, and wondered where he was. He never slept on his back with his knees jammed up next to him and why would he sleep with his head up against something so hard and craggy..?

His eyes snapped open and took in the nothing that he could see and the deathly silence in the room. Then he registered that his knees were ‘jammed’ up against him, solid against a wall of stone, as were his feet, his tailbone, his back, his sides, and his neck and head. He tried to push against the walls and felt them close in on him slightly more even as his muscles cramped painfully from being stuck in a strange position for so long.

He tried to scream and managed a partial yell before his voice cracked and went silent again. He was going to die—he had been left alone, Snape had forgotten him, he had no food and no water and his throat was so dry and painful and his lips were swollen and his muscles were still cramping excruciatingly.

Suddenly, he heard a rumbling sound and the ‘door’ scraped his head and neck as it lifted up. Then his neck, which was not up to the task of holding his head after being kept in such an odd position and cramping, let his head drop with a crack to the floor. He saw stars as well as light and whimpered (as much as he could). He tried to push with his legs to get himself out but they cramped painfully and he remained tantalizingly close to freedom but unable to get there.

“Well? Aren’t you coming out, boy?” Snape’s voice filtered in snidely, and even though it was unpleasant and Harry hated the man his voice sounded heavenly as the first sound Harry had heard in who knows how long that wasn’t from himself. “Or shall I just close you in again for another hour?”

An hour? That had only been an hour?? “No!” he whispered urgently. “Can’t..!”

“Did you say something?” Snape responded mirthfully, obviously having heard Harry. “I couldn’t hear you.. was that a yes?”

Harry gave a little sob. “No, please, no, no more,” he begged, not caring anymore. “Just let me out of here, please!”

“Yes, I do believe you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?” Ropes appeared around Harry’s wrists and he nearly screamed as his cramped arms were forced to quickly straighten. After they were straight, though, he was pulled out of the hole, and he couldn’t even force himself to care about the fact that his entire back had been scraped up by the rough stone floor.

“Straighten your legs,” Snape ordered, and Harry realized that they were still curled up close to his body. He tried to obey, he really did, but his legs only cramped painfully and refused to cooperate. Harry looked up at Snape, terrified, but the man only conjured ropes and stretched his legs out as painfully as he had his arms.

“Alright, on the bed,” Snape then told him almost wearily. “I suppose I shall have to feed you.” Harry was almost grateful that Snape found it necessary, though really he should have been angry that the man had considered not feeding him. Surely starving him to death could be constrewn as “permanent damage”?

Then again, he thought being traumatized by being stuffed into a tiny stone hole and left there to suffer was permanent damage. He shuddered and pushed himself to his feet shakily, barely controlling his cramping legs. He toddled as quickly as he could to the bed, where he quickly took a seat and then laid down and waited for the restraints to be put on.

“Sit up, you imbecile. I am not going to feed you—you will feed yourself. Surely you are capable of such a simple task?” Snape sneered, and Harry sat up again quickly—or as quickly as he could.

“Sorry, sir,” he replied quickly.

“That’s right,” Snape gloated. “You understand your position now, don’t you?” He handed Harry a bowl of what looked like some kind of porridge or something of a similar consistency. “Eat. Yes, Potter, I think you truly comprehend your place, now. All it took was a little instruction. Now, I will explain the rules.”

Snape turned and paced for a moment just as in class, before continuing. “If you disobey any simple instructions I give you, you will be given at least five minutes in the hole at the end of the day. As for disobeying any of the rules, which will be threefold after this discussion, those will result in much longer periods of time in the hole.” Harry shuddered slightly, and his tone become a bit more harsh. “No, you aren’t interested in disobeying, are you? Now, I will remind you of the rules. Rule one is no fighting me. If I believe you have disobeyed a simple instruction intentionally, I will consider it an infraction of this rule and deal with it accordingly. Rule two is no using magic under any circumstances. That includes shielding yourself from magic that I cast on you. And rule three, which I am enstating now, is no speaking. A nod or shake of your head should be sufficient for anything I care to know from you. Understood?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer aloud, and then shook slightly and closed his mouth, nodding quickly. He carefully did not turn his head in the direction of the small door in the wall, not wanting to think about the hole. He quickly tried to finish the porridge, despite the fact that it had no taste and a rather disgusting texture. He didn’t know when Snape was going to take it from him.

“Very well,” Snape said finally, when he had finished eating. “Follow me.” Harry hesitantly got off the bed and tried to keep up with Snape, who was walking at his normal fast pace. Harry, on the other hand, still had sore and cramping legs and could barely stay upright. His walking at the moment was more like a controlled fall from leg to leg, and as much as he sped it up, he couldn’t keep up with Snape. Finally, Snape entered another door from the long hallway, and Harry kept his eyes on the door to make sure that he would follow Snape in. He knew he had no chance of escaping from Snape in this condition and he didn’t want to earn more time in the hole.

“You will be helping me to prepare ingredients—hopefully with more care than you showed while you were a student.” Harry nodded and moved toward the desk that was indicated to him. “Chop these, first,” Snape ordered, and Harry did as he was told, trying to ignore the fact that his legs were shaking and did not seem apt to hold him much longer. He made cuts as precise as he could, but his arms were shaking as well.

“You call this *care*, Potter? That’s five minutes in the hole tonight, and more if you don’t shape up!”

Harry opened his mouth to request a chair, then realized he wasn’t supposed to speak and lowered his head toward the desk again. He moved even more slowly now, trying to make sure that each cut was precise. Slowly his muscles seemed to get used to being once again stretched out and didn’t shake quite so much, to his great relief. He was already dreading the five minutes he had in the hole, though.

“Powder this,” Snape ordered. Then, “Pickle these.” “Prepare an infusion of this.” And so on, the orders came and Harry followed them, until Snape said, “It is time for bed. But first, you will follow me.” And, shaking, Harry *did* follow. After all, if he tried to run, he would only get a longer time. “In the hole,” Snape ordered, and only then did Harry balk, backing away instead of moving forward. He *couldn’t* enter that nightmare voluntarily; he just couldn’t.

“Potter! That’s thirty minutes more! Get in there *now* or I will make it an hour!” Harry shook his head, unable to do as he was told. Thirty-five minutes. He couldn’t make it. He just couldn’t. His breath was coming faster as he turned and sprinted toward the door, banging his fists on it futilely when it refused to open for him. “Potter. You are fighting. Two hours. Or would you prefer the entire night?” Harry shook his head frantically but couldn’t bring himself to move back toward the hole.

“You seem to need some other type of motivation, Potter. Shame, I thought this would be enough. Don’t worry, we’ll save your thirty-five minutes, but first, you will come with me.” He smiled evilly. “If you’re not ready to go to bed, then we’ll simply have to have some more fun.” He waved his wand and Harry was, again, hanging from the ceiling, this time from chains that cut all the more deeply into his already damaged wrists. He was transported from one room to another, where two large tanks of water sat. Snape moved Harry up and over one of them. “Let this be *another* lesson to you, Potter. Fighting will *not* be tolerated.” Suddenly the chains opened up and Harry was dropped into the water.

The first thing he realized was that it was cold. Less than a second later, his wounds warned him that it was not just water—the pain was incredible. He had submerged completely after dropping and let out much of his air in pain and surprise. He kicked to get back to the surface, trying to ignore the pain.

Something was pushing him down, down, away from the surface. He struggled, tried to kick upwards, but he was only moving down, down toward the bottom of the tank, and he needed to breathe, so badly. He couldn’t, though; Snape wouldn’t let him drown in here. His sadistic ex-Professor was enjoying watching Harry in pain and torment far too much to kill him, he was sure. Holding on to this thought, Harry desperately held on to the little bit of air still in his lungs and waited to be let up.

Whatever was pushing him downward slammed him into the bottom of the tank, pushing the rest of the air from his lungs. Without thinking about it he gasped instinctively, and the salt water burned all the way down his throat and into his lungs. He was drowning, dying! He thrashed painfully, his lungs still begging for *oxygen*, and then suddenly the chains reappeared around his wrists and jerked him up and out of the water.

Harry couldn’t breathe because his lungs were full of water. Then, he felt the most horrible sensation; he was vaguely aware that Snape’s wand was pointed at him as he felt his lungs suddenly contract, expelling the water forcefully and painfully. It felt as though his lungs had suddenly been crumpled like a piece of parchment in Hagrid’s hand. Jerking on the chains in agony, Harry then proceeded to gasp desperately for breath as soon as his lungs had re-expanded.

He didn’t even feel himself moving before he was suddenly plunged into hot water—so hot!! His whole body burned, his wounds even more so. The chains were gone but he was being pushed down again. He struggled weakly, but hadn’t even recovered before he was submerged again. Time seemed to pass like an eternity while he held his breath and stayed still and waiting for the chains to reappear, his skin burning from the heat and his wounds burning doubly from the salt. Finally, his lungs screaming for air, he did as he expected Snape was waiting for and breathed in water as his brain was demanding that he do. It was every bit as painful as the first time, and his lungs burned all the more the second time they were filled with the salt water.

This time, to Harry’s surprise, the chains appeared around his legs and pulled him out upside down. His lungs were crumpled once again and water came spewing out of his mouth painfully just as he cleared the water. He jerked and coughed, gasping for air, before he was once again submerged.

SO COLD! It was ice, burning his skin with cold and causing him to shake already. He thrashed in the water, but this time the chains had not disappeared and he was suspended upside down in the water. He tried to bend himself upward but he was too weak from lack of air. Relaxing back, he gave in and sucked in water, his body jerking again at the agony of it. He waited to feel the movement upward, and waited, and there was nothing. He gasped in a bit more water, to no avail, and felt the edges of his consciousness becoming fuzzy. So *this* was what it was like to die, he thought, and then his lungs compressed even as he was lifted out of the water.

The pain of having his lungs (which were increasingly tender) compressed for the third time woke him partially, but the haze persisted even as he coughed and gasped. Then chains jerked and lowered slightly, submerging only his head—hot hot HOT! He contracted his muscles reflexively and got his head out of the water, only to be lowered a little further. He held his face up out of the water for long moments, every muscle shaking. Then, suddenly, he dropped in completely, and his next gasp for air was actually one of water.

It hurt—Harry’s whole world was pain and terror. He was going to die, with his skin burning off his body, his wounds being eaten by the salt and his tender lungs being seared from the inside out by the foreign substance. As he hung underwater in a half-conscious haze, his brain screaming at him, Harry felt the thread holding him to sanity getting thinner and thinner. All he had to do was give up, to snap that thread, and his suffering would be over. Snape could do nothing more to him.

His lungs contracted for a fourth time and he would have screamed in agony if he could have. Instead, he was weakly trying to fill his lungs with a bit of air, precious air, and waiting for his body to once again be submerged. Instead, he was suddenly lowered until his head was on the ground and then dropped the rest of the way so that his body flopped painfully on the floor. Then, without a hesitation, he was jerked upwards again, this time upright by his wrists. It was hard, so hard to get a full breath of air while hanging this way, and he coughed and gasped through his haze before he was dropped on the floor again.

“Enough,” Snape said drily. “In.” Harry blearily realized where he was—in front of the hole. “Thirty five minutes start whenever you’re inside.” Harry gave a little sob but wasn’t sure he could move if he wanted to. Snape gave a wave of his wand and Harry slid across the rough stone floor and into the hole, and cringed when the door slammed shut, locking him once again inside.

For perhaps five minutes he was exhausted and in pain enough to not think about where he was as long as Snape was not tormenting him. A part of his mind knew, though, and the panic and adrenaline was slowly building. His breathing came faster, not because he couldn’t get air but because he could almost *feel* the walls closing in on him. Already he could feel the side walls from his position on his side, and his feet were almost touching the door. He stretched them out slightly and shuddered as he discovered that he was right. But he wouldn’t feel the fourth wall, or the ceiling. He wouldn’t.

He kicked at the door in fury and panic, despite the fact that moving his legs was like torture, and the fourth wall suddenly touched his head. His stomach contracted almost as painfully as his lungs had earlier. “No, no no no no no no,” he began to chant, trying to focus on the sound of his voice rather than the fact that he could feel all the walls and it felt as though they were closing in on him. His throat was so sore and raw from the night’s events, though, that he was soon reduced to whispering painfully. “No no no no no no,” he continued, and then he began to claw at the wall in terror. “Let me out, please, let me out, no no no no no!”

The panic seemed to feed itself. It wasn’t long before Harry was tearing and pushing at the walls, and then they began to close in on him in earnest. He sobbed desperately and bloodied his fingers from scratching and pushing at the rough stone walls, wishing desperately for release, until finally the door opened. He could hardly move but he squirmed his way out nonetheless, still gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face. “No, please, no, no more, no,” he whispered desperately, not daring to look at Snape’s face.

“I thought I told you ‘no talking,’” Snape said dangerously, and Harry felt his breath catch his throat. He wanted to beg and plead and apologize, but he had suddenly swallowed his tongue. Instead he nodded painfully and mentally begged the man not to punish him.

To no avail. “That will be thirty minutes tomorrow night. For now, I would like some rest, so I’ll have no more ‘games’ from you tonight.” There was a short pause. “Well? Follow me, Potter, unless you’d rather spend the night in there?” Harry shook his head quickly, violently. “Very well, come along.”

He led Harry back into the inner room, Harry limping slightly from weariness, where Snape indicated for Harry to lay down on the bed. “No, Potter, face down,” he corrected when Harry began to lay down on his back. When Harry had laid down and his face was down in the hole, Snape began to snap closed the straps and tighten them. Harry shook slightly as he did so, at least until the restraints stopped even that. The restraints across the backs of his knees, which were freshly raw from the salt water, made him whimper in pain, as did the tightening of the restraints over his wrists, which he could feel bleeding even still.

Finally, though, Snape had secured him tightly, and he spoke again. “Remember, no fighting, Potter, and no magic. I’ll be back in the morning.” Harry wished he wouldn’t be. He waited until he heard Snape leave before letting out a soft sob. He had been close, so close, to just letting go. He understood, suddenly, why the Longbottoms were as they were—there came a point where that thread, the thread tying someone to consciousness, to awareness and understanding and fear and pain and *life*, was severed. He had wanted so desperately to do it, to severe it and end his suffering, but some part of him clung to consciousness, despite the continued pain and terror it seemed to promise.

It took quite a while, but finally despite his vulnerable restrained position Harry felt exhaustion and oblivion rising up to overtake him. He welcomed them and buried himself deep in his sleep, wishing never to wake to another day.


Harry’s wish was not fulfilled. Instead, he awakened to a whip across his back. He tried to jerk in pain but he was still strapped down. He swallowed a groan of pain and wondered what that was for.

“That was just a wake-up call,” Snape answered his question with a sneer. “All other pain for the day will be well-deserved, I am certain.” Harry would have shuddered, but he couldn’t move. That in itself was enough to make him feel supremely uncomfortable if not scared. Not terrified like he was in the hole, but certainly not a position he wanted to be in longer than necessary. Even when Snape had removed the straps, though, Harry forced himself to continue laying still until he received an order from Snape. He would not give Snape any excuses to torture him, not today. His whole body still ached from the day before, especially his still raw wounds.

“Good,” Snape grunted, though he didn’t sound very happy. Take that, Harry thought. “Sit up.” He did as he was told and was handed a bowl of porridge. He ate quickly, ignoring the extreme stiffness in his wrists; his stomach was screaming for food, now.

“I must make an appearance in my main lab today, and you will be coming with me. Therefore…” he waved his wand and Harry flinched instinctively, but his shorts (the only thing he had on him when he woke here) had been painlessly transformed into robes. “This is a temporary transfiguration,” Snape commented, “and it will last eight hours at the longest.” Harry felt any buried hopes of running away deflate inside of him.

“Follow me,” he ordered, and Harry did, down long corridors until he was thoroughly lost. Walking was a painful proposition also, as the salt water from the night before had left the wounds on the backs of his knees more painful than ever.

Harry followed orders closely and carefully in preparing ingredients for many hours before he realized why they were there.

“Severus!” a familiar voice called out from the doorway. He turned and saw Professor McGonagall, now Headmistress of Hogwarts. “Oh, and who are you?”

Harry stared at her in surprise. Didn’t she recognize him? Wasn’t she going to save him? He cringed as Snape’s hand fell on his shoulder, and tensed when the man spoke. “I’m sure you remember me mentioning my cousin, Salazar.”

“Oh yes,” McGonagall replied. “Well, it’s nice to see you, Salazar.. I’m very glad you’re feeling better.”

Harry opened his mouth to plead desperately for her help, but Snape’s hand tightened painfully on his shoulder, reminding him how much of a mistake talking could be. “He’s mute,” Snape said, “he can’t talk. And he’s not very comfortable around new people, as I’m sure you can see.” Indeed, Harry was shaking in fear now, terrified because he knew that Snape knew that he had been ready to speak.

“Very well, Severus. I’m glad you haven’t managed to kill yourself in a Potions accident.” She looked at Harry, and he pleaded with his eyes, but didn’t dare try anything more. She merely smiled sadly and said, “Take care, Salazar.” Then she turned and left the room, and Harry sagged slightly in disappointment.

Snape’s voice suddenly appeared right next to his ear; the man must have leaned down to put his head there. “Let me explain something to you, Potter. You are *mine*. No one will recognize you. No one knows where Harry Potter is, thanks to you. No one will miss you. And you are incapable of escaping. The sooner you accept this, the better it will be for you.”

Harry stepped away from him, shaking now in anger rather than fear. “I am *not* yours, Snape! Someone will miss me, someone will realize that you are mistreating me, or I will escape! You can’t keep me here!” he asserted in a hoarse voice that he could hardly believe belonged to him.

Snape shook his head in a terrible mockery of sadness, delight gleaming in his eyes. “Oh? Perhaps you need a bit more ‘education’ tonight. A few more ‘games.’” Harry backed away a little further, shaking his head. “Get back here, Potter,” Snape suddenly ordered angrily. “You still have ingredients to prepare!”

Harry clenched his fists and tried to make a decision. Part of him wanted desperately to run, but the intelligent part of him knew he had no chance right now, while Snape was around, and he would do better to show himself as submissive so he might be given a chance to escape at some point. He didn’t want to find out what kind of ‘games’ Snape had in mind, but he was going to find out either way. Slowly, he stepped forward to the desk and followed Snape’s barked directions, just as he had done before.

His legs were tired and his stomach was grumbling when Snape finally called an end to the day. He guided Harry back toward the room, and Harry’s breath caught with fear when they entered the room and he caught sight of the wall that held the hole. Snape, however, guided him past that room and into the next room. “On the bed. Face down,” Snape ordered curtly. Harry did as he was told, but wondered what was going on. Surely Snape wasn’t letting him sleep already?

The potions master took his usual deliberate care closing and tightening each strap. Then he did something to the bed and it split, pulling Harry’s arms and legs out so that it was as though he lay spread-eagled on the bed. If he thought he had felt vulnerable before, he felt even more so now.

Snape whispered in Harry’s ear again, “Have you ever cut yourself with a knife, Potter?” Harry felt his stomach drop precipitously. “I think I’ll give you a few permanent reminders of who you belong to—how does that sound?” Then slowly, painfully, he began to cut Harry’s flesh, starting on his neck.

The pain lasted for what seemed hours, though Harry had no idea how long it took. Methodically Snape covered every piece of Harry’s skin with markings, always dragging the knife through Harry’s skin slowly and sometimes stopping to pull the cuts open further, causing Harry nearly to cry out. He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached and still gasped in pain several times when Snape cut a particularly sensitive area, like the inside of his thigh or the bottom of his foot.

When Snape had finally finished with his ‘artwork’ he paused for a long moment, then began to take the straps off. Harry didn’t know what Snape had planned, but he hoped desperately that he considered this agony punishment enough.

“Turn over, Potter.” Harry had to bring his legs and arms in to be able to turn, and he hesitated before returning them to their places away from his body. He nearly screamed at the pain when his tender open skin contacted the bed, but confined himself to a pained moan. Then, to his terror, Snape began to close the straps around him again, still holding the bloody knife in his hand. Harry felt his breathing come faster.

“Do you not like this Potter? I thought you wanted to ‘play’ some more—why else were you so defiant?” Harry refused to look at Snape anymore, focusing on the ceiling and trying to think of anything other than the pain as his injuries were pressed into the bed by the tightening straps. Then Snape moved up to right next to him. “You don’t want to watch, Potter?” Then he strapped Harry’s head tightly to the bed before casting a spell that locked his eyes open. “It would be rather hard, wouldn’t it? But I can help.” He cast a reflecting spell on the ceiling, and suddenly Harry had a perfect view of his body, laying out as if captured in the middle of a snow angel. It was as though it was a bizarre mockery of the famous picture by Michelangelo—Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a flash of the knife.

Snape was wielding it and nearing Harry’s body, and Harry sucked in air in fear. He braced his body for the pain, but wasn’t ready for Snape’s slow movements as he carved an ‘S’ into Harry’s tender flesh. Then he moved slightly over and carved another, and then another. Harry couldn’t believe the man’s sadism, and he gritted his teeth at the pain and refused to cry out. Snape stopped after carving an ‘S’ on the inside of Harry’s elbow and stretched it carefully, causing Harry to hiss. Then he continued down Harry’s arm, ending with a relatively deep cut on Harry’s palm which hurt more than any of the others so far.

The potions master continued his ‘work’ in a clockwise fashion around Harry’s body, leaving no area untouched. Harry’s eyes watered both in pain and from being locked open for so long, and through the swimming tears he could see his skin becoming more red than white. He wanted to clench his fists to help to deal with the pain, but Snape had placed one strap over his fingers to hold his hand open. Not that clenching his fists would help when Snape had carved them deeper than anywhere else. Finally, after too long for Harry to comprehend, Snape had covered every area on Harry’s front with the bloody ‘S’s. He began to undo the straps once again.

“Oh dear, you *are* a mess, aren’t you? Well, we’ll just have to clean you off, don’t you think?” Snape smirked, and conjured chains that snapped around Harry’s wrists and lifted him off the bed to follow Snape. Harry had a terrifying sinking feeling that he knew *exactly* what Snape had planned.

When they entered the room with the tanks, he gasped, his suspicions confirmed. However, Snape brought him to a stop *next* to the tanks, rather than over one of them. He waited nervously, still hanging from the ceiling, while Snape moved to a cupboard and returned with a small vial. He waved it in front of Harry’s eyes. “Remember this, Potter?”

Harry blinked blearily at the vial, seeing some kind of strange plant matter in it but nothing more. His eyes were still blurry from tears, a result of the spell to hold his eyes open that persisted even now that Snape had canceled it. He shook his head tentatively, feeling that that was the wrong answer.

“No? You stole some from me, in your fourth year. This time, though, I’m giving it to you voluntarily.” Snape opened the vial and removed a wad of it. “Open your mouth, Potter,” Snape ordered, and Harry did despite his fear that this was going to be painful. Snape stuffed it in his mouth. “Close and chew,” he ordered, and Harry did. Now he remembered the strange taste and texture—this was Gillyweed.

But—that meant—he began to struggle slightly on the chains as his brain made connections. He was going to need to be in the water, and *soon*. Then he felt the flattening sensation and the pain his throat and struggled slightly more, trying to gasp for breath but already failing as the gills grew in. Snape finally moved his wand to raise Harry over one of the tanks, and then began to lower him slowly… ever so slowly.

He was strangling slowly, he couldn’t breathe, which was ironic because there was plenty of air around him. He jerked his body around on the chain in agony, his body screaming for oxygen. Then the pain started, exploding from his feet and then working up his body as Snape lowered him into the ice cold water. The salt flowed into the newly formed wounds (and even the old) and he tried to scream in pain but couldn’t. He couldn’t, because there was no air in his lungs, and he couldn’t draw any in. He felt the world going dark, when suddenly his neck and head were submerged and he drew water in mercifully through his gills.

He gasped for air, or rather for oxygen, even as the salt water continued to tear at what felt like every inch of his skin. This was pain, pure pain, torture, and it hurt, it hurt so badly that Harry didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so bad or that he would ever feel anything so bad again. Then, suddenly, he was raised out of the water so that he could no longer breathe, the chains still around his wrists to hold his arms above his body. Then he was suddenly lowered into water, almost his entire body, and it was SO HOT! He tried to draw water in through his gills before realizing that his neck was just above the water. He struggled furiously, trying to get his head and neck down toward the water, but the struggling only tore his wrists open and began to tear at the muscles in his shoulders as well. When he was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, his head was suddenly submerged.

He got fewer than five seconds to gasp water in through his gills before he was out again, choking on air, desperate for more oxygen. He was swinging, and then plunging into water, ice cold, his whole body tingling along with the horrible pain from the salt water. But he could breathe, could suck in water, until he couldn’t. He thrashed desperately, just out of reach of the water, and felt a pop and threw back his head wanting to scream with the pain when his shoulder came out of joint. He was lopsided hanging out of the chains now, though, and he got his gills into the water on one side, pulling in as much water as he could before Snape raised him up slightly again. His shoulder screamed with pain, so much so that he hardly noticed the other pain, the world becoming fuzzy around the edges. His body weight was pulling it out of joint further and further, and he had never felt such agony.

Then his other shoulder popped out of joint at the added pressure and he opened his mouth in another silent scream, begging, pleading with anyone who could hear (which was no one) for the pain to stop. Finally Snape put him under the water and he was able to get enough oxygen for his vision to somewhat clear, though the pain still felt blinding.

When he felt the upward jerk he sucked in as much water as he could, preparing for more torture. He was lowered quickly into the hot water, though, which seared his skin painfully. The cuts almost felt numb with pain, but his shoulders continued to throb and stab and ache. He felt almost tired, despite all the pain, and let himself float somewhat separate from himself and the pain and terror.

This went on for a long time, until it felt to Harry as though he had been choking on oxygen and breathing water forever, and that pain was his constant companion. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to have his shoulders not throb rapidly and stab with pain with every movement, and it seemed that he no longer had any skin to speak of from all the pain and burning.

Then Snape was lifting him out of the water but bringing him down to ground level and through the hallways, his body still dripping. He twitched slightly but couldn’t jerk any longer despite the fact that he could not get any air into his body. He needed water, and he needed it NOW! Suddenly the chains were gone and then he was being shoved into the hole. The door was slamming closed behind him, and he still couldn’t breathe. Did Snape not realize that he still had gills? He felt a deep-seated panic as he contemplated the idea that Snape had made a mistake, and he was going to die, was going to strangle to death on air. Then he gave into the feeling, welcoming death as a relief from this experience, right before ice cold water began spurting onto his back and then pooling around him. His back burned again, but he lowered himself all the way down to the ground, submerging his gills as soon as he could. He gasped water in and lowered his entire head as soon as the water was deep enough.

Then, suddenly, he took a deep breath of water and there was pain! He realized that his gills were gone and came up above the water still filling the hole, coughing desperately to try to get the salty water from his lungs. Finally he gasped in several breaths before realizing that the water was still rising and he had less and less space in which to breathe. He screamed aloud for the first time since the gillyweed and tried to keep his head above the water. It was even harder because his arms didn’t want to move very well, his shoulders still out of their joints and painfully so.

Finally the water stopped flowing in, leaving Harry in a horribly uncomfortable position with his nose scraping on the ceiling in order for him to breathe. He gave several choking sobs, not sure how much more he could take. He wanted to push against the walls, to try to get out, but he couldn’t move his arms practically at all.

The door to the cell opened and he gasped in relief as the water flowed out. Instead of letting him out, though, Snape cast some spell and then the door slammed shut again.

It was cold, very cold. Harry felt as if he was in a refridgerator, and the water moving around his still wet body didn’t help. His teeth began to chatter almost immediately. He kicked out at the door in anger, and the walls moved in a bit closer in response. It was *so cold*!

When Snape finally opened the door to the cell, Harry was too exhausted to move. The warm air flooding in felt wonderful, though, and he closed his eyes to try to enjoy it. Then ropes appeared around his ankles and dragged him out of the hole and into Snape’s possession once again.

“Still defiant, Potter?” Harry gave a little sob and shook his head. He was cold, tired, and in horrible pain. He just wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes for a few seconds until Snape kicked him. “Stand up!” Wearily he sat up, and then did his best to stand to his feet without his arms, though it was unsteady at best. The pain in his cut feet certainly didn’t help. He hobbled after Snape, sure that the man would not take his own cuts as an excuse for ‘lagging’. “Sit,” Snape said, indicating the bed. Gingerly Harry did as he was told. Snape took hold of his arm.

“Your struggling has damaged your shoulders quite badly. Fortunately for you, I know how the remedy the problem.” Suddenly, Snape began to rotate his arm around, and Harry screamed in pain. Snape stopped and he breathed heavily. “Shut up, Potter, or I will shut you up myself,” Snape spat, glaring at Harry. Then he began to rotate the arm once again, and Harry gasped and gritted his teeth but tried desperately not to scream. “No no no no stop!” he finally screamed, but the arm continued to rotate slowly, until with a pop and a blinding pain that caused Harry to gasp and pale dramatically as it slipped back into place.

“That will be more time in the hole tomorrow night, for speaking.” Harry was still gasping from the pain, hardly registering what the man was saying. “But I will make it easier for you.” He conjured a large sock, and then stuffed the middle in Harry’s mouth and tied it around his head, gagging him. Harry choked and gagged for a long moment, trying to breath around the sock, before gasping when Snape took hold of his other arm and began to rotate it slowly as he had the other.

He screamed into the gag, but it muffled the scream as it was intended to do. What felt like hours but was probably only seconds passed before the arm popped back into the joint with a jarring pop and another burst of intense pain. He paled again, shaking from the pain and the weariness. It had been a *very* long night. Surely Snape was done now?

“Stay Potter. Do not tempt me to continue,” Snape said, and then he strode from the room. Harry sat up slightly straighter as he saw the man leave, then slumped again as he realized that he had no chance in his current state. He felt as though he would likely pass out if he stood; there was no chance he could outrun Snape, much less his curses.

After a long minute in which Harry felt as though he could fall asleep sitting up, Snape returned. “Tilt your head back and open your mouth.” Shaking slightly, Harry obeyed. “Swallow,” Snape then ordered as he poured a potion into Harry’s mouth, but he needn’t have. The potion tasted so awful that he only wanted it out of his mouth, and he knew better than to spit one out with Snape sitting right here. When he had swallowed the whole thing, Snape began pouring another into his mouth. He choked slightly, having been hoping for a chance to gasp out a breath, but he swallowed quickly and then gasped for air again. “You may lower your head,” Snape said, and Harry hung his head in weariness.

“Lay down—face down,” Snape ordered, his voice sounding strangely weary. Harry glanced up at him fearfully but didn’t see any sadistic humor in his face. Shaking rather violently he laid down as ordered, spreading his legs and arms as necessary. Snape moved even slower this time, pulling open several of the cuts after securing the appropriate limb so that Harry could not jerk it away. Harry gasped slightly several times after he pulled particularly hard or poked at an open wound, but managed to refrain from screaming again. Finally Snape had secured every point on his body.

“Sleep,” he ordered, and then all was dark and Harry was left alone with his pain and exhaustion.


Snape took sadistic pleasure in waking Harry by pulling one or more of his ‘markings’ open, and several (including the one on his inner elbow and one on his thigh and one on his shoulder) he ‘recarved’ each morning. Then he would feed Harry a bowl of porridge (his only food for the day) before guiding him to the lab. Harry hobbled, especially since Snape took great care to reopen one if not both of the wound’s on Harry’s feet before taking off the restraints. Harry knew he couldn’t complain, though, or Snape would only find worse ways to hurt him. Therefore he stood on his painful feet all day, until that pain hardly mattered to him anymore.

Every night Snape found an excuse to stuff Harry into the hole for at least half an hour, but thankfully never longer than an hour. Still, Harry found himself beginning to breathe faster before they even reached the room each night, and no matter how well he tried to ‘behave’ Snape always found an excuse. Harry could feel that he was becoming worn down, and knew he needed to escape soon.

Finally, after three days of this ‘status quo,’ Snape left into another room for a short time, admonishing Harry to “stay, or else.” This was probably his best chance, especially since he’d had three days to heal, and he had no idea what Snape might do next to break his body. His barefeet aided him in slipping from the room quickly but silently, and he ran down the halls ignoring the pain in his body and the lightheadness from insufficient nutrition and loss of blood.

The dungeons were a maze and Harry had no idea how to get out. Finally, though, he saw someone—a stranger, but it was someone other than Snape. He ran to the tall man and pleaded desperately, “Please, you’ve got to help me, it’s Snape, he’s got me locked up and he’s torturing and I have to get out of here!” The stranger suddenly grasped him and pulled him close, and then leaned over and whispered into his ear.

“What have I told you about running away, Potter? And about speaking?” It was Snape’s voice, and Harry shuddered and struggled briefly before going limp in Snape’s arms. “Just because you have stopped struggling does not mean I will be able to lighten your punishment, Potter,” he added aloud. “You must learn from your mistakes. Come with me.” Snape motioned for Harry to walk in front of him, and told him when to turn. They came to a stop when they were back in the inner room, at the ‘bed’. “Face first,” was all Snape had to say, and Harry laid down as ordered. He was strapped in, and then Snape painstakingly opened each and *every* one of his wounds wide before unstrapping him. “On your back.” Harry’s limbs were shaking from being tensed and from the pain, but he did as he was ordered. Pain flared again in all the wounds as they contacted the bed, and he tensed with it.

Snape proceeded to do the same thing on his front, and then retrieved the knife to deepen some of the cuts, following a pattern that Harry could not understand. All he could understand was the pain, especially as Snape pulled the skin around the new, deeper cuts tight to make them as wide as possible. He gave a choking little sob as he realized that Snape probably had something similar to the other night planned.

“Yes, Potter,” Snape confirmed with an evil grin. “You should not have tried to run. I will be forced to make certain that you do not consider it again.” Harry would have shuddered slightly at this, but he still couldn’t move. Finally Snape finished and unstrapped him. “Follow,” he ordered, and Harry did—right up until they reached the door to the room with the water tanks. Then he moved to sprint past Snape, who merely stuck a foot out and tripped Harry, who fell hard onto the floor, scraping his already tender skin. “Another mistake. More time under the water, I should think.” He waved his wand and ropes suspended Harry upside down by his ankles and carried him inside.

There was no Gillyweed this time, only pain seemingly without measure and salt water filling his lungs time after time. Sometimes Snape would hang him so only his head was under the water, forcing him to use his exhausted muscles to pull himself out of the water to get air, but he quickly tired of that. Most of the time he would submerge him completely, getting the maximal pain value from the change in water temperature (which felt worse each time he went from cold to hot or hot to cold) and allowing the most salt water to enter his carefully opened wounds. Every time Harry aspirated water, he would use the same spell to crumple his lungs, which hurt more each time. And once, he even performed it while Harry was still underwater. When the spell released, his lungs forcibly reinflated, dragging even more salt water into them. Harry wanted to die more than ever, but knew that Snape wouldn’t let him. After having his lungs pumped *at least* ten times (Harry lost track before long), he was hanging limply from the chains, even when his mouth was only just below the water. Finally, Snape gave up his ‘game’ and lowered Harry to floor, where he coughed and gasped for air, hardly even aware of the evil man towering over him.

“Enough,” Snape said. “Up!”

Harry tried to obey, he really did, but he hardly even had the energy to get to his hands and knees. Finally Snape sighed in exasperation and conjured the ropes once again, guiding Harry in front of him to the hole where he dropped him again. “Inside.” Harry couldn’t drag himself inside that hole voluntarily, even now, so he pretended to try and then collapsed again. Snape responded by dragging his injured body across the floor slowly before the door slammed shut.

At first Harry curled up into as tight a ball as possible, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about where he was. He was sure that he could feel the walls closing in on him, though, until he couldn’t help but snap his eyes open (for all the good it did him) and claw at the walls. He pushed desperately against the door and the back wall, and then he felt the walls pressing in. The harder he pushed, the faster they closed, and he screamed in terror. Soon he was on his back, the walls close to his sides and the ceiling pressing his knees down into his chest, and the wall behind him lifting his head up until his chin almost touched his chest. He stayed in this position, hyperventilating, until Snape finally opened the door again and cast a spell that slid him out.

Snape stared down at him for a long minute, and then sneered, “You, Potter, are pathetic. Would you like to take your last chance to walk for quite some time, or shall I drag you like the object you are?”

Harry *really* didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to scramble to his feet, hoping that Snape would change his mind about whatever else he had in mind, but he couldn’t keep his balance or muster enough energy to climb to his feet. Finally he collapsed back down into a sitting position. Snape shook his head, clucked his tongue disapprovingly, and a rope appeared around Harry’s ankle. It didn’t lift him off the floor, just jerked him onto his back and then dragged him into the next room, and Harry was sure his back was entirely scraped open. He just hoped that Snape didn’t take it as an excuse to carve the designs deeper.

Once in the next room, the rope lifted Harry up and deposited him in a heap on the center of the bed. “Face down,” Snape ordered for the second time that night, and Harry managed to get himself mostly into position before Snape angrily tugged his limbs the rest of the way.

To Harry’s surprise, Snape didn’t put straps over his feet, ankles, or calves—instead he started with Harry’s thighs and then proceeded to secure the rest of his body as normal. Then he returned to Harry’s legs and strapped one of them before bending the other up so that his knee was bent at a right angle.

Harry tensed himself for some new game with the knife, but instead he felt one hand wrap itself firmly around his leg just above the ankle and the other grasp his foot. Then the hand on the foot began to bend it slowly but firmly to one side, further and further, until Harry gasped in pain—his ankle was not supposed to bend that way! He tried to jerk his leg away, but Snape held it fast and tightened his grip painfully before continuing to bend the ankle further and further, until Harry screamed into the bed as he felt muscles tear with a pop. All he could feel was his ankle, screaming in pain along with him. It was as though his ankle was throbbing, but in one long throb that never ended. He wasn’t conscious of anything else until he felt the other ankle begin to bend, and he screamed again and tried to kick the leg out of Snape’s grasp, but Snape held tight and said something that he couldn’t comprehend through the haze. His ankle bent and bent and bent and then popped, and suddenly his pain was twofold, overwhelming him until he was the pain and he screamed on and on until his voice gave out.

“Are you quite finished, Potter?” Snape asked snidely when Harry had finally calmed, though the pain was still a large part of his consciousness. Another large part was the realization that Snape had been right—he was not going to have a chance to walk for at least several weeks. “Sleep.” Harry thought for sure that he would never fall asleep with the pain in his ankles, but he finally slipped into a restless and nightmare-filled sleep.


Harry woke to throbbing pain in his ankles. He then realized that part of the reason was that they were being prodded by someone, and gave a muffled moan to alert Snape that he had been successful in waking him—and in increasing the pain. He clenched his teeth at the intense pain that emanated from both of his ankles.

“I’m afraid that even if you’re in pain, I can’t stop our morning rituals,” Snape said, not sounding upset in the least. That was the only warning Harry got before Snape began to pull his wounds open again, destroying scabs before beginning to carve deeper in his chosen locations. Harry tried not to think about the pain but his breathing sped up nonetheless.

“There. Much better,” Snape finally finished, sounding pleased with himself. He then began undoing the straps holding Harry to the bed. “Sit up.” He handed Harry his bowl of porridge for the day, which Harry ate quickly as always. His stomach always begged for more, but he knew that the only other thing he was likely to “ingest” was salt water, and that would all be going to his lungs. He shuddered slightly at the thought.

“I’m sure you’re aware that you will no longer be capable of walking, for quite some time. If I feel that you are likely to attempt to run again, I reserve the right to resprain your ankles as many times as necessary. In the meantime, I have come up with a form of “transportation” that should work ideally. Accio broomstick,” he called, and a broomstick sped into the room and hovered next to the bed.

Harry stared at it for a long moment. It was a very basic broomstick, which almost looked like it was merely meant to be used to sweep the floor. It couldn’t have many charms. Worse still, it didn’t even have stirrups. He looked at Snape questioningly, and he answered, “Oh, the stirrups. I wouldn’t want you injuring yourself—I’ve removed them just for you.” He smiled darkly and Harry worried about what that smile meant.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Snape said, and levitated Harry onto the broom. When he released the spell Harry winced immediately. There was no cushioning charm on this broom. “You’ll be sitting on that all day, Potter, so you’d better get going. Then he walked out of the room, the broomstick following him and Harry almost losing his balance at the unexpected movement. It appeared that he had no control whatsoever over this broom—somehow he was less than surprised.

He spent every day, all day, in the Potions lab, but now he was sitting on the broomstick with no cushioning charm and was quite sore by the end of the day. His ankles, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be improving at all. He had a the feeling that having them hanging down below the rest of his body was not a good thing, but Snape didn’t seem particularly worried about him healing—if he had, Harry was sure that he would have offered a potion to reduce the noticeable swelling. Instead, he just added a step to their nightly ritual—rotating Harry’s ankles around painfully as Harry’s screams were muffled by the bed.

His mood became lower and lower. Harry was beginning to feel that Snape was correct—he was never going to escape, not at this rate, and no one knew about him or cared. If someone finally *did* think to look for him, why would they think to look at Snape’s cousin Salazar in the dungeons of Hogwarts?

These thoughts, combined with the continued torture each morning and more importantly each evening (each time he was stuffed into the hole, it felt smaller and more terrifying), left him in a perpetual state of wishing that he was dead. Thus it was no surprise that when he was given the task to chop Hellebore and Snape left the room temporarily, he took his chance. He ingested the Hellebore, knowing that it was highly poisonous, then carefully but effectively slit his wrists, taking bizarre pleasure in the fact that he had to cross two of Snape’s ‘designs’ on each arm in order to do so. Soon blood was flowing quickly out of his arms, though, and he was feeling more lightheaded all the time. He was hardly still upright on the broom when Snape re-entered the room and saw what he had done.

The next hour was blurry at best to Harry. Snape immediately closed the wounds on his wrists, then secured him to the lab table when he tried to claw the slits back open. Then he forced him to drink a potion which resulted in him ejecting every content of his stomach (which fortunately only included bile and the Hellebore). Once Harry was done vomiting, he was forced to drink another potion, which finally brought the world back into focus, much to his dismay.

“What did I tell you about fighting, Potter? Didn’t I warn you that you belong to me, and there will be no escape?” Snape ranted. Harry glared murderously in his general direction from his position still stuck to the lab table. Snape’s voice lowered dangerously. “So, you thought you would take away my fun and attempt to obliterate any signs of my ownership at the same time, did you? Well, that can be remedied.”

Snape waved his wand and heavy metal enclosed Harry’s wrists and much of his lower arms. Then Harry was released from the table, only to be deposited on the broomstick painfully. He held tightly to keep from falling as Snape strode quickly ahead of the broomstick, in past the hole to the inner room. There Harry was deposited haphazardly on the bed. “Face down—now!” Snape exclaimed when Harry hesitated. It was a bit of a trick for Harry to as he was told without putting weight on his ankles, but he managed.

Snape started with his head and neck this time, strapping him down tightly all the way down to his thighs before painfully rotating Harry’s ankles as he did every night. Then he strapped Harry’s legs down too and long minutes passed in silence before Harry felt the knife begin recutting the designs. He gasped at the sudden pain, but actually screamed when Snape immediately poured a potion that burned deep into the wound onto the first design before moving on to the next. The burning didn’t stop right away, and Harry’s brain was split between two things—the incessant burning in previous designs and the pain of the knife cutting already inflamed flesh.

Snape continued to spread the pain around Harry’s back systematically, lavishly pouring the liquid potion over each and every cut, sometimes taking time to spread them wider so that the potion burned even deeper into Harry’s skin. After the first scream in surprise, Harry held out for quite a long time—all the way until Snape began to carve his hand open, in fact. Then he screamed again, but managed to cut the sound off when Snape only increased the pressure on the knife in response.

Harry imagined that the process of reopening each wound (which Harry now had memorized) took hours and more, and he was already exhausted from his earlier injuries. Soon, he slipped into the state of half-consciousness that was becoming more familiar. He couldn’t fall asleep for the pain, but he sunk deeper and deeper into a hazy world where he hardly knew where he was and the pain was distant and manageable.

Finally, Snape finished his ministrations on Harry’s back (all the way down to the bottoms of his feet, one which he carved a second ‘S’ on the arch that caused Harry’s body to stiffen painfully even before the potion was poured over it), and unstrapped him. He ordered him to turn over, but Harry was too close to unconsciousness to comprehend the order. Snape instead turned Harry over (less than gently) with a spell, and then poured a potion down Harry’s unsuspecting throat. Harry nearly choked but managed to swallow, and sprang back to full awareness almost instantly.

Snape once again fixed it so that Harry was forced to watch as he repeated the process on his front. Harry tried to find that netherworld where the pain was not so extreme, but he couldn’t seem to manage anything less than full awareness. Thus he cringed each time the knife neared him, and Snape nastily took advantage of the moment at times to hesitate painfully close before stabbing through Harry’s flesh, the pain enough that Harry’s body tried to arch up against the restraints in protest. Blood would well up from the new cut, but Snape would immediately pour the purplish-black potion over the wound. Harry quickly saw that the bleeding stopped with the potion and, though the burning continued, a scar formed almost immediately where the cut had been. The potion was apparently seeping deep into the cut to painfully heal it, and Harry wondered why Snape bothered.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that scars remain,” Snape said absentmindedly even as he cut into the inside of Harry’s elbow. “This is a powerful healing potion that will heal even the deepest cuts, but the scars that remain are permanent—even magic cannot remove them. So you see, you will now have so many reminders of how precious you are to me,” Snape finished explaining with a dark smirk on his face. Harry’s stomach sank; the word ‘permanent’ echoed in his brain along with the continued pain and burning. Then Snape reopened the deep wound on his palm that still hadn’t finished healing and poured even more of the potion into it—Harry screamed in agony and thoughts of permanence were eaten up in the experience of pain, pain, and more pain.

Finally Snape completed his sickening task, and Harry stared in horror as Snape stepped back and he saw only his body, covered with bright red “S” shapes that were already scarring with a burning pain. Then Snape raised the bed up and stared into Harry’s eyes, which were still locked open. “Legilimens,” he spoke, and then the memories were spinning through his mind.

Harry fought the intrusion with all that he had, but Snape hammered painfully through every defense, aiming straight for one memory—his ‘favorite’ memory. When he reached it, he played it over and over, and Harry was back in the cupboard, trapped and terrified, his claustrophobia overwhelming him. Then, after more iterations than Harry could count, he realized that he was no longer being forced to relive the memory. Snape was swimming in front of his teary eyes, and speaking again. “Legilimens.” Once again Snape had to start at the most recent memories and batter through until he reached the one he wanted, and began to repeat it again, and again, and again, until that was all Harry knew. And then Snape was out of his mind, and then he was battering back in, and again, and again, until the only thing that Harry could do was bring the memory to the front of his mind, offering it to the man so that he would not have to suffer the agony of having his mind torn apart anymore.

Then, though, the Legilimens was battering through, searching for another memory, a memory of complete panic in the hole, of it closing on him until he could no longer move and all he could do was scream. He repeated the process, over and over, until all Harry could see was the dark hole, and then he began to alternate rapidly—he was reliving the cupboard, and then the hole, and then the cupboard, and then the hole, and then the cupboard, the hole, the cupboard, the hole, the hole, the hole—he snapped out of the memories only to see pitch blackness. He felt out with his hands and realized to his terror that he was *in* the hole. He tried to fight back against the Legilimency, but there was no one else in his head, and this was real, too real. He pushed desperately at the walls, clawed at them, screamed desperately in panic, and wished for oblivion. He closed his eyes, willing himself to pass out in panic as he always had before, but unconsciousness was not coming.

As the walls closed in on him tighter and tighter and his breath came faster, Harry suddenly realized that this was it—his life, pain and torture and Snape, forever. He was never going to escape; Snape was never going to stop. Harry felt something inside him stretching thinner and thinner with the panic, until finally, it snapped—the tenuous thread that had been holding him to his sanity was gone. “Harry” retreated to a point deep inside his mind, a place that was calm and painless and wide open and not frightening in the least. What was left at the surface was an emotionless shell, one that did not care that he had been left unexpectedly in much too small a space, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion (now that the hysteria and adrenaline had evaporated). He no longer screamed, cried, or pushed; he just waited. He had no memory of the past, and no hope for the future. As far as he was concerned, he had always been here. Always, always, always.

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