Invictus

Author's Notes: So, here's Part Four at last. A few people have asked me to let them know when I update, so I've set up an announcements list at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/chthonicfics/.

Thank you again to everyone reading this for your interest, and above all to my beta-reader Hijja for her continuing support in telling me which parts I need to tweak and which parts I need to stop worrying about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Invictus ~
by Chthonia

Part 4: Strength

I jolt awake to a flash of light and a banshee wail.

My Alarm-spell! I sit up, scan the room. Scrabble for the wand.

He's standing on the opposite side of the room, behind the desk. And he's not looking happy. He slashes down with his wand and the screeching stops.

Not his wand. My wand. The bastard is using my wand.

He casts a detector spell that ripples around the room. He nods slowly, and meets my eyes through the shimmering wards. It shatters my nerves into icy shards.

"Not a bad effort, little Mudblood," he says, lip curling. "Now, are you coming out to play, or do I have to pull you out of there?"

I watch apprehensively as he paces towards the bed, stopping just beyond the outermost protective layer. A muttered word makes the end of his wand – my wand – glow cobalt blue.

"Hmm," he muses. He touches the blue wandtip to the edge of my ward. And a million tiny sparks pulse out across the surface of the spell, tracing its boundaries and the pattern of its interwoven strands.

He can't quite hide his surprise. There can't be many sixteen-year-old witches – Muggleborn or not – who can weave a Millefilum Charm.

That'll show you, you arrogant bigot!

He looks down at me, raising his eyebrows. "Well, well, well," he says. "What a pretty little spell. Do you mind if I test it?"

He walks back to the centre of the room, then whirls around.

"CRUCIO!"

Instinctively I fling myself aside, but the ward flares as the force of his curse flashes out along those millions of tiny pathways, and is absorbed.

It held.

I sit up, trying to hide the fear spreading like ice through my veins.

Now what? The thought of exposing myself to that kind of power... but I can't hide behind these wards forever! I grip the wand. Somehow I have to catch him off guard.

"Hmm. It rather looks as if you didn't quite believe in your own Charm." He walks closer and looks at the pattern intently. "Who taught you to cast this?"

"I taught myself."

"By which you mean you read it in a book."

I don't respond. I don't want to talk to him, I want to Stun him and get the hell out of here... if I can.

I will.

He continues to speak, mockingly instructive. "I don't suppose your book bothered to explain how to maintain the spell once you'd cast it?"

Oh God.

His lips curve in a predatory smile.

"Millefilum," he says, "has the appearance of being dense, and complicated, and impenetrable. And indeed it can be – but it has one small but fatal flaw. Do you know what it is?"

Patronising git! Of course I know what it is. Millefilum is impenetrable, but only as long as the caster holds the focus – as soon as I tried to dodge his attack it will have started to unravel. But that will take time, and I still have a few layers of protection behind that one...

"Yes," he nods. "I think you do." He holds the wand at shoulder height as he peers into the web of shimmering light. "And I think in this case, the Keythread is... here." He jabs down into the pattern.

The light flares – and vanishes.

How did he do that? It took me half an hour to weave that spell!

What am I going to do? Anything I can cast, he will counter with ruthless efficiency. I'm just a half-trained Muggleborn witch – how can I hope to take on a Death Eater?

But that's what he'll be thinking. Use it to your advantage, Hermione. You're not top of your year for nothing.

"Now," he says, "If I'm not mistaken, your next excuse for a ward is keyed to the frame of the bed – you obviously weren't confident enough to rely completely on your own willpower. Which, considering how long that lasted, was evidently sensible."

Bastard. It's one of the most elementary principles of defence to layer different ward types – that way they can't all be taken out by one attack. But if I can get him caught up in that overconfident sneering of his, perhaps I'll get a chance to strike.

I put on a nervous expression. It doesn't require much acting ability. Practising spells with the DA was one thing – actually facing a Dark wizard is quite another. It's Ron and Harry who want to be Aurors, not me.

"Of course," he continues, "this one is even easier to get past. A little crack to the curtain-rail will render it quite unstable."

I know that. Arrogant creep.

"However," he tells me, "I really don't like to damage my possessions, if it can be avoided. So why don't you bring this little charade to an end now, hmm?"

As if he really expects me just to give in, just to preserve his furniture? I stare at him with all the contempt I can muster.

"Excuse me if I value my life more than your bed."

He frowns. "If you truly value your life you'll show a little more respect. I really won't be happy if you force me to break something – as far as the furnishings are concerned, that is. And, unlike you, I am capable of carrying out my threats."

I glare at him, but I'm thinking hard. Perhaps this will provide the distraction I need.

"Still being stubborn?" he says. "Very well. Nox."

The room goes dark, but he can't extinguish the light behind my wards. It's reflected as a faint glimmer in his pale eyes.

"Ah," he mocks, "I do like a sitting target."

Don't be provoked, Hermione. He's just made it easier for you.

He turns away. I check that I have a firm grasp of the wand. I can't see him, but I follow the sound of his footsteps. He stops – halfway across the room, I think.

This is it. Deep breath.

"REDUCTO!" His spell flares across the room and

"Nox. Finite. STUPEFY!"

everything goes dark as I quench my wards and fling the hex at him with all my strength.

The curtain-rail cracks. I dive away from the bed.

"Verso!" He throws back my Stunning Spell, but I'm well out of the way.

I crouch on the floor, as still as I can, mouth open wide to breathe silently. Where is he?

"Oh, so you do want to play," he drawls. "What fun."

Thank you, you stupid arrogant git.

I stamp on my impulse to attack wildly – I can't afford to get this wrong. I hold the wand steady.

"STUPEFY!"

"Defendo."

Damn!

He's wreathed in red flames as his counter-spell absorbs my attack. He turns towards me and I dodge away again.

"Caedo!"

His cutting spell hits the wall and dissipates in a grating scream.

The knife. I forgot the knife! It's still under the pillow. Stupid, stupid me!

Forget it. It wouldn't have done you any good anyhow. Concentrate!

I listen carefully. My bare feet mean that I can move silently. He can't. That has to give me an advantage.

His boots click against stone, over... there.

"STUPEFY!" I cast and jump aside.

"Remitto!"

I recognise the homing spell just in time. "Protego!"

The red streak rebounds.

"Defendo."

The Stunning Spell is so weak by now that it barely glows in defeat.

I try to calm my breathing. He's fast. That surprises me more than it should have.

Well, I don't suppose you survive ten years at Voldemort's side for nothing...

So why isn't he throwing something really nasty at me? Does he really think I'm so inept that he doesn't need to? Bastard.

You're complaining about that? Use it to your advantage!

How? How?

I wish I had my own wand. It might not make much difference, but it would feel cleaner.

He attacks. "Accio Mudblood."

"Protego!" Damn. I'm not even sure that would have worked – and now he knows where I am.

"Strangulo!"

"Pro-"

His jinx wraps around my neck with a force that knocks me to the floor. The wand rolls out of my hand.

No! Get it off me!

I can hardly breathe. I scrabble at my throat.

But there's nothing there.

He laughs. "Lost for words, little one?"

Bastard. My head is spinning. I can't hold my breath much longer

How dare he do this to me with my wand?

The wand! I feel about for it frantically.

But the thing around my throat is getting tighter...

Protego! I scream in my head. PROTEGO!

My hand comes down on the wand. My fingers tingle as they close around it.

PROTEGO!

I can still only speak in my mind, but the wand gives me just enough strength to loosen the pressure... I suck in half a breath.

"Finite," I gasp.

It's gone. I fill my lungs with cool air.

"Oh, well done, Mudblood," he sneers. "Petrificus!"

"VERSO!"

Just in time. But I didn't get him, either. I'd have heard him fall.

So where is he? I strain my ears to hear him breathe.

Silence.

This is hopeless. I'll never get him.

You have to try. There's no choice!

But what can I do?

Could I use the desk for cover? I should be able to find it, I've spent long enough exploring this place in the dark. It's just a metre or two that way, I think...

I take a silent step to my right. And another. And my toe makes contact with something that rolls away with a metallic clatter.

The goblet – lying where I left it after he woke up before. Why oh why didn't I pick it up?

"Flagello."

I yelp and stagger as the hex stings my leg.

"Flagello!" Said with savage amusement. Bastard.

It catches my arm as I leap away. I turn and point back towards his voice.

"Stupefy!"

"Defendo."

I can see him sneering in the red glow. "Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy. Don't you know any other spells, Mudblood?"

I'll give you one of your own, you smug Slytherin bastard!

"Serpensortia!"

I barely keep my balance against the recoil, but it works – the sound of the snake slithering across the stone floor makes my skin crawl. I hear him suck in his breath, and I get ready to cast. If I can attack him when he goes for the snake, maybe he won't react in time.

But his spell is not the one I'm expecting.

"Lumos."

I blink. I never thought he would choose to fight in the light.

He's just in front of the opposite wall, wand up in defence position. Standing ever-so-slightly tensed, ready for movement. Expression calm. No – not calm, focused. Eyes darting in quick evaluation from me to my wand to the desk on my right to the snake on the floor between us.

The snake.

Oh my God, the snake. The long, red-and-black, thick, hissing snake. What on earth made me cast that, of all things? I've managed to avoid snakes since... since then.

A stream of white light knocks it away towards the bed. I snap my focus back to him but his wand is back in position. No chance of getting past that. I glance at the snake. And freeze.

It's slithering across the floor. And it's coming towards me.

Oh God.

His voice cuts through my horror.

"Draco tells me you've been working on Vanishing Spells lately," he drawls. "So let's see if you're up to dealing with a snake, shall we?"

Snake. Hideous wedge-shaped head. Darting tongue. Bone-chilling hiss.

"I can handle a snake." I look at him defiantly, but my mouth is dry.

"Really?"

Bastard. He could have hit me with half a dozen spells but instead he's just standing there. Smiling darkly. Toying with me again.

But with his wand held ready. He's not underestimating me now. And I don't think that's a good thing.

Neither is that creature on the floor. It's halfway towards me. Close enough to see its scales rippling.

Vanishing spells aren't difficult, exactly – I didn't have too much of a problem with the mice. But they aren't trivial, either. Especially when applied to large, angry, slithering snakes. And especially when I can't risk letting my guard down for the time needed to cast one. But there are faster spells than Evanesco...

"Do you want me to help you? I might if you ask me very nicely," he says.

I hate him, I hate him. I am not going to give up now.

I push that emotion away. It's not anger I need now, but alert focus. Like his. Survival is the only thing that matters.

If I can distract him...

I glance at the wall to my left, at him, at the hissing snake. Angle the wand as if to strike downwards, prepared to block if he tries to strike... but he doesn't.

"Oh, don't worry, Mudblood," he says. "I won't interrupt. I can take you anytime I want."

Then take this, you arrogant bastard!

I swish the wand downwards but continue the arc to point left at the wall

"Reducto."

then slash back towards the snake

"Petrificus totalus!"

and directly at him.

"STUPEFY!"

The Reductor curse ricochets off the wall and hits his hastily cast Shield moments before the Stunning Spell. He staggers under the combined impact – and vanishes.

The snake is stretched rigid across the floor. I should deal with that while I have the chance-

"I suppose you thought that was clever?"

He's right behind me.

I spring forward, out of his reach. He laughs.

"Your Muggle instincts betray you, I'm afraid. Impedimenta."

I'm halfway across the room when the jinx throws me off my feet. As soon as I hit the floor I roll over to kneel upright. I still have his wand – but he has mine pointed straight at me.

He smiles in sickening triumph. "Expelliarmus."

"Protego!"

But it hits me before I can complete my defence. The wand stays in my hand but his spell lifts me off my feet and slams me face down on the bed in a cloud of dust from the fallen curtains. I push myself up. His hand closes over mine.

His fingers curl around my wrist like a black-clad vice.

No.

I prise at his fingers with my left hand, but he's holding on too tightly... I can't budge his hand – I need to get a better angle! I struggle forward but he shoves me down, pinning me to the bed with a hand between my shoulder-blades.

No no no no no no no

I reach blindly for the wand with my left hand. He draws my right hand back out of reach.

I can't let him win, I can't!

I kick out wildly. Nothing but air – I can't make contact. I push up against his hand on my back – but he's heavier than me, and he has gravity on his side.

He pulls my wand hand back further with a painful wrench to my shoulder. I flail wildly with my other hand but he brings his left arm down across my shoulders so that I can hardly move under the weight. Can hardly breathe.

No...

I bury my face in the dusty fabric, trying to twist to lessen the pain in my shoulder.

"This really has been a most enlightening interlude, Mudblood," he hisses into my ear.

I freeze. He's too close. I can feel the folds of his robe draped across my back.

"But now that we've made clear which of us is stronger," he continues softly, "I think it's time we restored the proper balance of power, don't you?"

I bite back a sob as he forces my right hand up and even further back, twisting my wrist cruelly so that even though I have to hold on, I can't maintain my grip...

He lifts his left hand from my shoulder. There's pain shooting all down my right arm and I can't possibly move against it.

Very slowly, very deliberately, he pulls his wand from my fingers.

He drops my hand and steps back. I roll away onto my side.

And in the same movement I dive for the pillow and my fingers close around that knife I hid hours ago. I leap up and fling myself at him.

I'll kill him if I have to!

Lighting-fast, he knocks my hand aside – but not enough to stop me completely. I plunge the knife into his shoulder, hard. He yells in pain and surprise.

But mostly pain.

I pull at the knife so I can stab him again and again and again – but he seizes my wrist and holds it there, motionless.

No! I have to make him let go! I manage to twist the knife slightly.

His eyes go wide with shock. Under my hand there's something wet seeping through his robes.

So the bastard bleeds like anyone else.

He grits his teeth but his fingers only tighten on my wrist. His wand falls from his other hand.

He reaches clumsily in his pocket. His face twists as he pulls my hand – and the knife – away from his shoulder. He points my wand in my face.

"Expelliarmus."

I am hurled to the floor. Somewhere across the room, the knife clatters against stone. He kicks me onto my back but I barely register the pain. I stare up at him, try to back away...

He looks down with utter venom, one hand pressed to his shoulder. In the other is my wand, and it's pointing straight at me. He grates out his words.

"Petrificus Totalus."

My head snaps back as every muscle in my body goes rigid. I can't move. I can't move! I strain to roll away from him I but I can't even make myself twitch. Where is he? All I can see is that crazy paving on the ceiling.

He steps into view. Cold grey eyes above a mouth twisted in a horrible expression that should never be called a smile.

Those baleful eyes are the last thing I see before he disappears and everything goes dark.

But I'm conscious. If this motionless silent blackness is consciousness.

Though if I can wonder whether I'm conscious then I must be conscious, mustn't I?

But I can't move!

Of course I can't move – he Petrified me. All I can do is think.

I wish I could move.

Breathe, Hermione.

But I don't have any control over that.

Don't panic, don't panic, DON'T panic...

Is this what it was like for Neville when I did this to him? I'm so sorry...

Think!

I've been Petrified before – and that was his doing as well. But that was different, I can't remember anything about it. Just that big yellow eye in the mirror, then nothing. Not even darkness.

I think it was better that way. Better not to be so acutely aware of how vulnerable I am to anything that might be down here.

But there's nothing down here. I've been through that before.

Nothing except a dirty great Petrified snake, that is.

Oh God.

I hope that Petrification spell holds. Sometimes they wear off if they aren't done right, and I cast it so quickly...

Maybe it would be better if it did wear off. Perhaps the snake would kill me before he came back. Before he can make me tell him anything else. Before he can do... whatever he's going to do.

Whatever he's going to do... I can't think about that. Judging by that look on his face it'll be very, very nasty. What was he said yesterday? 'I'm going to treasure every single second...'

And I can't even move.

I don't want to die. But... but if he's going to kill me anyway wouldn't a fast-acting venom be better than having him drag it out?

Don't think like that. You're not going to die.

Like I really believe someone's going to rescue me now?

They might. As long as you're still alive, there's hope.

As long as I'm still alive, there's pain. Better the snake than him. At least it's not personal with the snake.

But the snake is silent. I wonder if it is conscious? Does it know that I am here? Is it wishing it could move? Does it still want to attack me?

I'm getting whimsical. That's not a good sign.

And all either of us can do is wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Is this what death is like, this endless paralysed darkness?

No, this is more like purgatory. Death's waiting room.

How long will I have to wait?

As long as he wants me to wait. He wants me to be quietly freaking out down here.

That should make it easier to hang on, but it doesn't.

And I'm starting to ache. Basilisk-Petrified people can't feel the hardness of the floor, but the Body-Bind is different. I can feel it all right, but there's sod all I can do about it.

Do rocks get sore from sitting in one place too long? Is that why they hitch rides with passing glaciers?

Don't think about things that don't make sense!

So what am I supposed to think about? Digging an escape tunnel? Why I ended up here? Why he hates me so much? None of it makes sense.

I need something to fix my mind on, something tangible.

Well, isn't that going to be easy when I can't see anything, I can't hear anything and I can't touch anything?

I'm hungry.

Great. Just what I need to be thinking about right now.

Maybe I could try counting my breaths.

Maybe I should just let myself float away. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad if he could see I had nothing worth saying.

Maybe.

But that's me I'm talking about. My mind. My identity. I will not give that up.

Deep breath.

No, that doesn't work. Wait for a breath, then.

One...

Two...

Three...

It's so odd to be focusing on my breathing when I can't affect it in any way.

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven...

...

...

...

One thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine...

Two thousand...

Maybe he's not going to come back at all.

Just count – worrying about the future isn't going to change it.

Two thousand and one...

Two thousand and two (another palindrome)...

Two thousand and three...

...

...

...

Three thousand, seven hundred and ninety six...

Three thousand, seven hundred and-

Something's moving.

Count! Three thousand, seven hundred and ninety-eight...

But I did hear something. The snake? Or...

Three thousand, seven hundred and ninety-

"Lumos."

No.

Yes.

He's back. But I can't see him.

The light hurts my eyes.

There's a faint rustling sound, then footsteps and a clink as he picks up the knife – or the goblet?

He walks towards me – and stops. I still can't see him.

What's he doing? If only I could see him instead of having to lie here waiting! If only I could move a muscle so that I'd know I'm not frozen up with fear!

More rustling. Picking up his wand from where he dropped it?

And now I can see him, and I wish I couldn't. He's wearing some sort of dress robes – flowing grey silk and grey gloves to match those grey eyes that are staring down at me with none of their former viciousness but just a terrible calm that is far, far more terrifying than his anger would have been. And I literally can't move a muscle. Can't even look away.

And yes, he does have his wand in his hand.

He crouches beside me and trails the tip slowly down my cheek.

"Hello, little one."

My brain is screaming at me to move, to get away Now, but my treacherous limbs are under his control, not mine. And there is nowhere to go. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

"Your audacity is really rather impressive, Mudblood," he drawls. "Or, perhaps merely rather foolish... very few people would dare to attack me in such a manner. Perhaps it's time for you to learn why."

He's so close I can smell him, the faint dusty scent of those robes overlain by something that is... too sweet, rich and putrid like roses and rotting grass. It makes me want to gag, but I can't even hold my breath, of course, I just have to lie here breathing slow and steady as if he wasn't looking down at me with that thin, cold and oh-so-predatory smile.

I... I- He's going to do something terrible, I know it, it's written in every line on his face, and there's nothing I can do except wait until he decides to stop talking and act.

I hate him.

He turns his wand over in his hands.

"I do hope your inept fumblings haven't damaged this," he says.

He stands up, sweeping his gaze slowly along to my toes.

"So, let's put it to the test, shall we?"

Another blood-freezing smile. Then a sudden jerk in his shoulder and oh God oh Godohgod it's like Crookshanks' demon twin has sunk all his claws into my leg to plough furrows of blood and muscle and I want to SCREAM but I can only stare up as cold sweat forces its way from every pore and my head rings with silent shrieking and paralysed shaking-

"Ah, little one, what am I going do with you?" he murmurs. He's stopped the clawing, I realise, but oh God not the pain.

He crouches beside me and rests his wand across my lips. My gaze flickers between his hand and the merciless depths of his eyes. He smiles, running the wand down over my chin, under my jaw...

"Yes, Mudblood," he gloats, "I could do anything I liked, and you wouldn't even be able to plead for your miserable life. So defenceless..." He draws the wandtip across my throat. "So exposed..."

He stands abruptly. "But it's not time for you to die just yet. Not when I haven't had what I need from you."

He stabs the wand at my chest.

"Finite Incantatem."

I shudder and roll away from him, clutching at my leg and trying not to sob. There's blood oozing through my robe and holding the wound doesn't make the pain any less but it's such a relief to regain even this much control. I take a deep breath – my choice to breathe!

"No. Face me, Mudblood."

I daren't do otherwise, though I'm so stiff that every muscle I move feels like it's been pounded with a crowbar. I curl up, fixing my eyes on the curious silver dragon motif gleaming on the heels of his boots, just inches away from my eyes. Such elegant polished boots! They should be gracing some high society ball, not this dark brutal place. How can he go out and pretend to be civilised, then come down here and... and...

I twist my head to look up at him. He gazes back, expressionless.

What's he hiding behind that mask? W- what is he going to do...?

You've proved your point, you don't have to... please don't

He flicks his wrist and I'm jerked into the air. I grab for a bedpost but my limbs aren't reacting in time and he tears me away, flinging me across the room so that I'm hovering in the empty corner. His eyes meet mine for the briefest horrible instant and then I am spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning and flailing out helplessly. There's nothing to hold onto I feel sick I feel sick

I slam up against the ceiling, gasping for breath. His lip curls contemptuously.

"Well," he says, eyes resting momentarily on his wand, "at least you don't appear to have damaged it." He looks back up at me. "You should be very, very grateful for that."

He walks across the room so that he's standing underneath me. I'm trying to keep my expression neutral – I have a nasty feeling that anything I say or do will provoke him into doing something even more hideous.

"It really is a pity that we can't do this outside," he remarks. "Draco's told me all about how much you enjoy flying lessons."

If he'd said something like that before, it would have been accompanied by a mocking smile. This time it isn't – and that seems to make it all the more lethal.

"But then," he continues, "with your background, you could never have the instinct for that."

He flicks his wand and hurls me back against the wall.

He meets my eyes for an instant, and now he does smile. I was wrong about him looking more deadly without it.

He's going to drop me...

I crash to the floor. My ankle twists in sudden sharp pain.

He rams the end of his wand against my throat and drives my head back against the wall. There's a bolt of agony from my ankle. My back scrapes painfully against the rough stone.

He angles the wandtip upwards, digging in underneath my jaw and forcing my chin up so high that he has to step forward to look down at me. A fold of silk brushes my hand.

I should reach up, grab that wand out of his hand, away from my throat.

But I don't. For some reason I can't seem to move.

He just stands there for a minute, pitiless eyes boring into mine.

"Tell me," he says at last, "was that the first time you'd used Cruciatus?"

What can I possibly say that could persuade him not to make this worse?

"Answer me!"

Just do as he says!

"...ess." That strangled squeak is all I can manage with his wand impaling my throat like this.

"I thought as much. Now, would you like me to show you how to do it properly?"

No, please, not that...

He raises an eyebrow. "I do want to hear your answer, Mudblood."

"n-no."

"No? You're happy to use it, but not to face it yourself? Typical Gryffindor. Don't go thinking you're any better than I am."

He steps back. I slump to the floor, swallowing painfully as I shift my weight off that ankle as gently as I can. He stands watching me, arms folded. I'm watching him, too, watching for any small signal that I could influence him. But mercy isn't in his vocabulary.

"You know," he says nastily, "it really is hard to resist demonstrating the pleasures of Cruciatus, when you stare at me in such a deliciously terrified manner."

I try to wipe my fear from my face.

But what's the use? He wants to hurt me.

"Oh, don't worry," he says. "Fortunately for you, I don't have time to give that the attention it deserves. Not this evening, at least." Another malicious smile.

Does that mean he might just go away? I hide my relief – I don't want to give him anything to react to.

"Yes," he muses, "I'm actually having dinner with your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher tonight. I'm sure she'd be most interested to know that some of her students have been learning Unforgivable Curses... but you'll forgive me if I don't pass on your regards."

Umbridge? I know she's evil, but... Ron's dad keeps going on about how close the slimy bastard is to the Minister, so I shouldn't really be surprised. But the idea of him having a direct line into Hogwarts is sickening.

He laughs at the expression on my face.

"Oh, I don't like her too much either – those petty bureaucrats can be so tedious. But then, neither do I like you, but that doesn't stop me giving you the benefit of my time."

Like I'm supposed to be grateful for that, or something?

It's almost as if he wants me to retort, as if he wants an excuse to attack me. But I'm not going to give him one.

"Oh, so my company isn't good enough for you? Well, perhaps I could bring back one of your little friends, if I happen to run into one of them tonight?"

He's horrible. Horrible. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

"No," he says softly, "somehow I thought that idea wouldn't appeal to you. Would you rather I just brought Draco for a visit? I'm sure he'd find your current predicament most amusing."

Oh, God. I couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing me like this, let alone the ferret...

He chuckles. "You obviously dislike that idea so much, I'm almost tempted to do it. But I think we'll keep this just between the two of us, hmm?"

He watches me, one elegant eyebrow arched. I think the bastard wants me to reply. I hate him! As if I'd ever choose his company over anyone's... but the idea of him watching Draco gloating over me ... I nod wordlessly, and stare at the floor.

He turns away, and stops. I look up and follow his gaze.

Oh no. I'd forgotten about the snake.

"Well, well, well," he says. He glances back at me with a feral grin. "That poor snake can't be very comfortable all stretched out like that, wouldn't you agree?"

No. He wouldn't...

"Serpents," he continues, "are such magnificent creatures. Of course, not everyone has the intelligence to give them the appreciation they deserve, but even so... how could you treat it like this?" He shakes his head. "You really do need to learn some respect."

No, please don't...

He raises an eyebrow at me. Then he steps back a few paces, and lifts his wand.

"Finite Incantatem."

In a hissing fury the snake springs into a coil and launches itself at him. And then it's suspended in the air, writhing helplessly.

"It's not very happy with us, is it?" he remarks, eyes gleaming. "Perhaps you ought to apologise to it."

He floats the thing across the room towards me. I glance frantically at the bed. If only I could get hold of that length of broken curtain-rail, at least I'd have a chance of defending myself. But it's on the other side of the room, and I'm not running anywhere with my leg in this state.

"I'd stay where you are if I were you," he tells me. "If you distract me I might just drop your little pet, and somehow I don't think you'd want me to do that."

As if he's not going to anyway? I can't stop staring at the snake. It's not jerking about quite so violently now, as if it's calmed down... or as if he has some sort of control over it. It was his wand that cast the thing, after all.

And now it's right above me, head swaying from side to side. No hissing or flickering tongue, though. It's unnaturally quiet.

He lowers it so that it's hovering in front of me.

I hold myself motionless. I can't bear to look. I really hope he can control it...

"You Summoned it, Mudblood. Are you telling me you're afraid to touch it?"

I... I...

"Or would you like me to take it away?"

I manage the tiniest of petrified nods.

"You call that an answer? How many times do I have to tell you to speak up?"

"... please."

"As you wish," he says sarcastically. "But first I'd like to hear you apologise to it."

He really is crazy. But I'd better do as he says. His voice is strangely thick, the strain of holding whatever spell he has on the snake, I suppose. If he loses control...

"I... I'm sorry." I feel a little silly, talking to a semi-conscious snake, almost as if I'm apologising to him, in a roundabout way.

But I'm not. And 'I'm sorry' would be far too trivial for that anyway.

"That wasn't too convincing, considering the concern you show for lesser creatures. Perhaps you should touch it after all – just to show how sincere you are."

Just do as he says – he's never going to get rid of it if you don't.

This is... surreal. I blot everything else out.

It's only a snake. Nothing like the Basilisk...

I force myself to reach forward. My stomach feels like a whole troupe of scouts are using it for knot-tying practice. The snake is writhing almost sleepily, and I'm terrified it'll turn on me as soon as I touch it. But it doesn't. I run my fingers along its... back, I suppose. It's warmer than I expected, and not slimy, as I'd have thought it would be, but not exactly not-slimy, either.

"Very good. Perhaps you did mean it after all, hmm?" He's still speaking in an odd, distanced, tone. I hate him, him and that too-smug grin of his.

Focus on the present. You're alive, and he isn't hurting you.

Yet.

"That's enough," he snaps.

I jerk my hand back as he flings the snake upwards, fully alive now, twisting and lunging until he hurls it against the wall so that it falls to the floor twitching. He throws it against the wall again. Again it falls, and this time it isn't moving.

"Evanesco!"

It disappears. A cloud of black and red dust drifts to the floor.

I... I don't know what to think.

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

What? For killing it?

But didn't I want it dead?

I didn't want it here, but...

But what I really think is not the point. It's what he wants to hear that's important.

He steps forward with a whisper of silk.

"Yes," he says quietly. He brings his wand up under my chin again, so that I have to look at him. "I'd like to see some gratitude, Mudblood."

Oh, what's the use? If I'm stuck here there's no point in making him mad. Madder than he is already, that is.

But I'm not stuck here. Someone will get me out.

So better still be alive when they get here, right?

I close my eyes. "Thank you." You sick bastard.

I feel numb.

He presses his wand a little harder against my throat. It hurts more than it should – it must be bruising where he dug in before.

"Now, I'd like to hear that again, with your eyes open this time. If you're going to lie, you might as well be honest about it, hmm?"

I'm not even going to try to follow that one.

Don't think. It's easier not to think about it.

I open my eyes. He's smirking. It would be so much easier if he wasn't smirking.

I stare past him at the ceiling. I don't want to look at his face.

"Thank you."

And... and... the strange thing is that as I say it, I half mean it. He did get rid of that snake, after all. He could have just left it here. Even if he did... kill it, I'm, well, glad? Relieved, anyway, that it isn't still here.

He smiles. "Very good, Mudblood. I think you're finally starting to learn. Perhaps there's hope for you after all."

I keep my face blank. God, I hate him.

He walks away from me, then turns abruptly. "Oh, and I suppose you're probably hungry. Would you like me to leave you something?"

I nod dumbly. I'm so hungry it hurts.

"Manners, Mudblood," he snaps. "When someone puts themselves out for you, you should really show a little more appreciation." He flicks his wand and a line of cold fire flares across my legs. I jerk away, jolting my injured ankle. That hurts even worse than his spell.

The bastard, the bastard. I hate him! What does he want me to do, anyway? Beg? I won't!

But I have to eat.

I look towards him, but keep my gaze unfocussed. "Yes, please," I say flatly.

I thought I was beyond blushing by now, but it's so humiliating having to ask.

He narrows his eyes, as if wondering whether to make me ask again, but then his lips curve in a satisfied smile. "Excellent – I'll be happy to oblige. Don't say I'm not good to you." And with a sarcastic flourish, he waves his wand at the desk. A large bowl of soup appears, with a loaf of bread beside it.

"Don't eat it all at once, now," he smirks. And vanishes.

The room plunges into darkness.

Has he really gone?

It sounds like it. But I can't believe he's going to let me off that lightly, after... after what I did. Not that the snake wasn't...

I shudder.

But he hasn't let me off. I know that, deep down. He just wants me to sit down here fretting about what he's going to do. While he goes and has a nice dinner with that Umbridge cow. I'm sure the two of them could have a lovely evening swapping tips on inflicting pain.

Bastard.

And... And... he's won. I know I can't fight him. All I can do now is try to stay alive until they rescue me.

I clench my fists.

I will be rescued. I will be rescued. I will not cry.

I touch my ankle carefully. It's swelling a little, but it doesn't seem to be broken... What are you supposed to do with sprains? I think back to the first-aid course I took a couple of summers ago. I guess I can rule out the 'call for medical help' option.

I can smell that bread from here, fresh and warm and so alive in this dead place.

You can wait a little longer. First things first.

I pull myself towards the bathroom, supporting my ankle as best I can. I send cold water splashing into the sink and balance on the edge of the bathtub, my injured leg stretched out in front of me with a wet towel wound round my ankle and another held against the three deep hot ragged scratches on my thigh.

My foot is painfully cold by the time the bleeding stops.

I unwrap the towel from my ankle, soak it in cold water and bind it round my foot again. I concentrate on every little movement. It's better than thinking about, well, anything, really.

I'm hungry.

Yes, I know I'm hungry. No need to dwell on it.

I grab a dry towel off the pile and wrap it around my neck. I lift my ankle down and crawl towards the desk.

My hand touches cold metal. I freeze.

Just that damn goblet again. So it must have been the knife he took – he's not taking any chances this time, then. I drag the goblet along with me as I manoeuvre towards the desk and climb up on the chair.

Oh, that soup smells good – a rich meaty smell mingled with the sharp scent of garlic.

No need to worry about vampires, then.

That's not even funny, in this place.

I tear off a hunk of bread, dip it in and chew carefully, savouring the taste.

I only manage to eat about half of it. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it before he comes back, but for now I need to rest my ankle... and to sleep. I haven't slept properly since... well, sleeping properly is probably too much to ask, but sleeping at all would be good after all those hours lying rigid on the floor.

The bed is still covered by the fallen curtains. I almost heave them onto the floor, but then I pile them at the end of the bed – you're supposed to elevate sprains, if I'm remembering it correctly.

Not that it makes much difference. He'll probably come back tomorrow and break it properly.

I shiver. Please God, get me out of here.

I unwrap the wet towel from my ankle and wipe the last traces of blood from my leg before throwing it on the floor. I replace it with the dry one, winding it round as tight as I can. I stand the broken pieces of curtain rail against the wall at the head of the bed. Then I lie back and pull the blankets over me.

The last time I lay here, I had a wand in my hand and wards around me... The last time I lay here, I had a chance of getting out. That seems such a long time ago now.

You still have a chance.

Yeah, right. I don't have a wand, I can't walk and I'm so tired I can hardly think straight.

So get some sleep...

And then what?

Don't think about that...

I stare up into the darkness, and slide swiftly into sleep.