Intersections

Chapter 15: Demons

Voldemort's face held an unnatural glee as he circled around Harry, his robes swishing softly around him. The Death Eaters stood stock-still and silent, forming an immovable black and silver wall around their master and his captive. "Harry Potter," Voldemort breathed, drawing out his wand and stroking it lightly. "I must say, it is an honor to meet you."

The Death Eaters sniggered quietly.

Harry's body felt as if it had been encased in icy fear. Numb with horror, barely breathing, he tracked Voldemort's movements with his unfocused eyes; the other wizard was a pale smear in the dark landscape.

"Rumor has it, Harry," Voldemort continued, drawing out Harry's name like a caress, "that you lived as a Muggle until very recently. That you knew nothing of the magic you so rightfully possessed, that your power had been denied to you by your filthy Muggle relatives until the great, all-knowing Albus Dumbledore decided to grace you with his presence four years too late." He spat out Dumbledore's name like a curse. "Harry, dear, dear Harry," said Voldemort, shaking his head in an imitation of sadness, "were you not - angry?"

"I am hungry, Master..."

The hissing voice near the ground drew Harry's attention downward. His heart lodged in his throat, his horror increasing tenfold, as he squinted at the gigantic snake circling his feet, her scales undulating with poisonous brightness in the dim, flickering light.

"Soon, my precious Nagini..." Voldemort hissed, and the snake slithered away toward the Death Eaters as Voldemort drew closer to Harry, stroking Harry's face with his unnaturally long fingers. Harry let out a muffled cry of pain as a searing pain shot through his head, his forehead threatening to split into two.

"Tell me, Harry," said Voldemort softly, grasping Harry's chin and thrusting it forward forcefully so that Harry was forced to look into the scarlet, slit-like eyes, "do you not seek revenge against those who wronged you? Your relatives, who gave you the barest of shelters and meals; your filthy Muggle classmates, who bullied and teased you endlessly; even Dumbledore, who chose not to contact you until he thought the wizarding world needed its savior?"

Harry made a strangled noise of protest, and he tried to free his head from Voldemort's brutal grasp. The accusations rang loudly throughout his head, echoing some of the thoughts he'd had in the darkest of nights, when he could no longer suppress the bitter resentment he felt toward his relatives, who belittled and bullied him unreasonably, toward his classmates, whose callous indifference had killed his self-confidence, toward Dumbledore, who had not bothered to search for him sooner, even toward Ron and Ginny and the twins, who were raised in the magical world to which Harry belonged.

"Do not deny it, Harry," Voldemort said quietly, dropping Harry's chin and raising his wand. "I can see it all in your head. You want them to pay, don't you?" Unbidden, Harry's mind flashed to Piers Polkiss sneering on the steps of Stonewall High, helplessness overwhelming him as Polkiss moved closer and closer to an unwilling Hermione -and then the image in Harry's mind shifted. Polkiss was sniveling and cowering at Harry's feet, just as Harry had done at Polkiss' in primary school....Harry couldn't help but feel a jolt of vindictive pleasure at the sight.

"I could teach you, Harry," Voldemort offered softly, gently stroking the side of Harry's face with his wand and raising Harry's chin with the tip. "You could learn so much more than what Dumbledore and his friends have chosen to teach you. You deserve to know so much more already. Aren't you resentful that Dumbledore did not seek you out to go to Hogwarts when you turned eleven? That he waited until he needed you to develop your powers? That he didn't believe in your abilities until he had proof?" Voldemort smiled, shaking his head slightly in a disappointed manner. "What a fool the old man was," he whispered. "I believe in you, Harry. I see how much potential you have. You could be great, you know, at my side..." Voldemort's voice trailed off delicately, the offer hanging unspoken in the air.

Harry's heart thudded frantically against his chest. Voldemort killed my parents, he reminded himself. He killed my parents, and Dumbledore said that Voldemort wants to kill me too....He could hear the tense, quiet breathing of the Death Eaters around him, and despite the freezing temperature, the air felt hot and stifling, filled with heavy anticipation.

Voldemort waved his wand so that Harry's gag disappeared. "Well, Harry?"

"I..." Harry's voice was weak, and he tried to clear his throat, taking in a great gasp of icy air. He blinked back tears of pain from his throbbing scar, his head and heart pounding in tandem, and he curled his fingers into his palms behind his back. He looked upward toward the clouded sky, away from Voldemort's red eyes and the black wall of Death Eaters and the snake slithering around the graves on the ground, and remembered the promise he'd made to himself long ago, back when he was still living at the Dursleys: that once he finished his schooling, once he left Privet Drive forever, he would never again be anybody's slave...never again allow someone to order him around and dictate his life...

"Harry?" said Voldemort softly, dangerously. "Have you no answer?"

"I do have one," said Harry quietly, and he was surprised to find that his voice did not tremble. He continued, more firmly, "I do have an answer."

"And what might that answer be?" Voldemort's voice was mocking. "Do you, or do you not, accept my offer? Will you join me, Harry Potter? Will you be my loyal servant?"

Harry took a deep breath. "No."

The graveyard went completely silent.

Voldemort seemed frozen in shock. The Death Eaters seemed to have lost all breath, and their eyes glittered from behind their masks, little pinpricks of light in the darkness. "No?" Voldemort whispered, and his scarlet, slitted eyes were narrowed in fury. "You dare say no to me, Harry Potter? Are you certain, Harry? For I must warn you that I do not forgive easily...when you are begging me to give you a second chance, I will not give it, Harry...think carefully..."

"I'm not joining you," Harry repeated, and though his body was shaking now with fear, his voice did not. "I won't."

"Very well," said Voldemort softly. "You are much like your father, Harry...he refused me as well..." He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Harry. "You have made your choice, Harry, but you will be disappointed....Crucio!"

Harry's voice tore through his throat. Lava was flowing through his veins, burning him from the inside out; flashes of white light danced in and out of his vision, his forehead repeatedly split open by a searing pain, and he was screaming, convulsing, the ropes binding him to the headstone still cutting into his skin...

"Still no, Harry?" Voldemort taunted. He waved his wand, and the ropes binding Harry to the headstone disappeared. Harry fell hard on his knees, his ankles and wrists now freed, and came face-to-face with Voldemort's snake - Nagini. She reared her head and opened her mouth...Harry could see her glistening fangs - "No! Don't!" he cried, terrified, the same time as Voldemort ordered, "Wait, Nagini...soon..."

Nagini's head weaved drunkenly for a moment between Harry and Voldemort. She hissed menacingly at Harry, her rough tongue flickering in the air, and then she slinked away.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, which soon turned into an agonized scream as Voldemort hit him again with the Cruciatus Curse. When he came to, he was lying on the ground, trembling, his face pressed against the ground as the Death Eaters laughed and Voldemort callously nudged his ribs with a booted toe.

"My loyal Death Eaters, I present to you, the Boy Who Lived," Voldemort said in a mocking tone. "Come now, Harry," he jeered, "won't you stand and introduce yourself? Or are you too weak?" He turned to face the Death Eaters. "To think," he spat, "that I, Lord Voldemort, could be defeated by a mere boy...but now, my faithful servants, I will correct that notion once and for all...from this night onward, you will remember Harry Potter not as the Boy Who Lived, but as the boy who died, pleading for mercy from Lord Voldemort like his filthy Mudblood mother....Well then, Harry," he said softly, turning his attention to the boy lying at his feet, "are you ready to die?"

Harry hated the gentleness of that tone, as if Voldemort were speaking not to a human but a dying pet. His eyes spitting fire, he shakily raised himself to a standing position and drew himself up to his full height, stiff and tense as he watched Voldemort raise his wand. Harry desperately felt around in the back pocket of his jeans for his wand or the two-way mirror Dumbledore had given him, only to come up with nothing but empty air. He was completely defenseless...but he was not going to die kneeling or cowering before this madman...he was going to die standing proud and tall, like a hero, a soldier, a martyr...

"Have at it, then," said Harry, his green eyes flashing with hate and anger and courage.

"As you wish," said Voldemort, sounding amused, and he aimed his long wand directly at Harry's chest, a bright green glow already emanating from the tip. "Ava--"

"My Lord."

Voldemort snarled and whirled around as a Death Eater stepped forward from the circle, his head bowed, and prostrated himself before Voldemort unblinkingly.

"My Lord, if I may be so bold..."

"Severus," Voldemort said dangerously, "what is the meaning of this?"

Harry's heart leapt with confusion and fear and the tiniest beginnings of hope. Was Snape going to rescue him?

"My Lord," Snape began, his voice muffled by the ground.

"Rise, Severus," said Voldemort, his voice still simmering with fury, "and speak clearly."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Snape, keeping his head bowed as he slowly lifted his upper body. He continued, "I believe the boy would be of better use to you alive than dead. Alive, he will be a useful bargaining tool, particularly in regard to your recent plans." He stressed the last two words, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Snape continued, "If the boy is dead, however, Dumbledore will certainly have reason to cast his attentions upon you and vilify you to both the Ministry and the Order."

"But Dumbledore does not even know the boy is missing," said Voldemort, smiling lazily as twirled his wand between his fingers, looking down at Snape. "What does it matter if the boy is alive or dead? I cannot say I trust your intentions, Severus," he mused. "You spend so much time with that Muggle-loving old fool...how can I be certain that he has not ordered you to save Harry Potter's life?"

"My Lord, I have only ever been faithful to you," Snape declared adamantly. "I have only ever served you...I have merely tricked the old fool into believing otherwise..."

Voldemort stroked his wand as he considered Snape with a narrowed gaze. "What do you suggest I do with the boy, Severus?"

"My Lord, you may recall that under Dumbledore's orders, I have been teaching Potter Occlumency these past few weeks. I am familiar with his mental landscape, and it is not at all difficult to navigate." Snape sneered. The Death Eaters tittered appreciatively. "I feel certain that with a little persuasion, Potter could easily be trained to become your obedient servant. That would be a far greater blow to the old man, for right now he is certain the boy is loyal to him. And for Potter," he sneered, turning his gaze to the frightened boy, "serving you would indeed be a fate worse than death..."

Harry stared at Snape, his thoughts hopelessly muddled. Snape was not rescuing him...he was turning Harry over to Voldemort...he was a traitor to Dumbledore, to the Order...Harry squinted and focused on the empty patch of air behind Snape, the only opening in the human wall of black robes and silver masks, and wondered desperately if he should make a run for it. He had been prepared to die...he hadn't been prepared to be a prisoner...to suffer a slow and torturous existence as his will taken from him...

Voldemort turned to face Harry, looking him up and down. "Your suggestion has merit, Severus," said Voldemort thoughtfully, still examining Harry.

"Thank you, my Lord." Snape dipped his head.

For a moment, nobody spoke. The Death Eaters seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. Then Voldemort smiled, one long, pale hand snaking out to stroke Harry's face. Harry's eyes burned with the contact. "I look forward to your service, Harry..." He dropped his hand and motioned to two bulky Death Eaters, who stepped forward and grasped Harry's arms on either side. "Take the boy back to his cell," he ordered. "I shall deal with him later..."

Harry felt his hands clench into fists as the Death Eaters began to drag him back along a rocky dirt path. Whatever happened, he was not going to go without a fight....He would never give Voldemort the satisfaction of commanding him, of using him to do something against his own will. He would find a way back home, back to the Burrow, back to Hermione... He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to still his racing heart. He recalled the first time he'd truly discovered magic, when Polkiss and his goons had attacked him and Hermione. He'd managed to create a shield simply by wishing hard enough. And later, he'd conjured a shield against the rain without using a wand....There had been a kind of power within him, a warmth that ran through his body and made his right arm tingle - a magic that had kept him dry from the rain - had protected him - if only he could call that up again and escape from these two guards -

Please, please - please -

But no answering warmth rose up to greet him; his insides felt as if they'd been encased in a numbing, icy fear; the Death Eaters were dragging him across the door and down the long, dark hallway from whence he'd come - they took out their wands and whispered something he could not hear, and the door to his cell opened with a loud creak that sent Harry's heart straight down to his toes. With guttural laughs, they threw him into the room roughly, and Harry barely managed to break his fall as the door slammed shut, leaving him in pitch-black darkness.

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Hermione was walking through the dark, empty halls of the Witsford School in London, calling out her friends' names as she searched through abandoned classrooms with overthrown furniture. "Hello?" she whispered. "Daniel? Matthew? Richard?" She stopped in front of the entrance to the dining hall, shivering as she saw the long rows of wooden tables, devoid of any chattering students. A movement to her right caught her eye, and she sighed in relief as she caught sight of Cecilia's familiar long black hair. "Cecilia," she called. "Cecilia, I'm so happy to see you - where is everyone? I was so happy to visit...why won't you turn around? Ceci?" She reached out a hand toward her old friend, jumping in surprise as Cecilia dissolved into mist right before her eyes.

"Strange," Hermione muttered, frowning, and she turned around. She was in a bright, sunlit field; wildflowers bloomed all around her, and a gentle wind blew back her navy blue sundress. A red ribbon flew past her, and Hermione ran after it unthinkingly, stumbling over something on the ground. Hermione looked down, startled; Lina, her new friend from Stonewall, lay in the middle of the grass, twirling a light brown curl around her finger. Beside her lay Katharine, Hermione's first friend in Surrey, and Sara Cheung, another classmate from Stonewall. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Hermione apologized, blinking.

"Come lie down with us," said Sara, smiling. "We're watching the clouds."

"But I -" Hermione looked behind her and saw nothing but withered grass. "My school - my friends -"

"We're your friends," Lina insisted, her brown eyes widening, and she pointed upward. "Oh! Look!"

The sky was red. Hermione shivered, an odd foreboding creeping over her. "We should get inside," she whispered.

"But it's so pretty," Lina protested.

"No...it's dangerous," Hermione replied, and she quickly headed toward the front door of Stonewall, which lay directly ahead of her. She looked back over her shoulder; Katharine, Lina, and Sara were following slowly, brushing grass from their hair.

"Come on," she urged, as the sky grew darker, a blood-red color that Hermione didn't like. "We need to get inside!" she shouted, and she let out a sigh of relief as the other three girls finally crossed the threshold of the door. She quickly shut the door and locked it, and as she whirled around, she came face-to-face with Harry, who was frowning dejectedly, smoothing his fringe over his forehead.

"Harry? What's wrong?" asked Hermione, gently reaching out to pat his shoulder. He looked up, and Hermione stifled a scream; instead of the usual bright green, Harry's eyes were blood-red, the same color as the sky outside. "Harry, your eyes!" she cried in alarm.

"What's wrong with my eyes?" asked Harry. Hermione blinked. Harry was staring at her, and his eyes were now bright green, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," she answered, backing away. She couldn't explain why she felt so unsettled. "I'm going to - to find the girls."

"The girls?" Harry repeated, staring at her. "What girls?"

"Lina, Sara, and Katharine - they just came in," Hermione said in a rush. "Didn't you see them --?"

"We're the only ones here, remember?" said Harry, taking a step toward her. He looked at her warily. "Everyone else is gone..."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "But - they were here -"

"We'll find them," said Harry reassuringly. "We'll write to Ron and Ginny, and the twins, too. They'll know." He took another step closer and grasped her hand, and Hermione's fears dissolved.

"Let's go home," he suggested, and still holding her hand, he led her toward the form room in which they'd first met. As she opened the door, her heart twisted as she saw the familiar layout of her bedroom from the flat in London, where she'd spent over fourteen years of her life. She ran her fingers over the flowered bedspread and sat down on it, picking up the framed photograph she always kept on the bed stand. In the center of the photograph, she beamed proudly, holding up an award she'd received at school as her parents waved in the background. Hermione looked more closely, her heart jolting with surprise as she realized that her parents were not the ones in the photo; instead, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waved at her excitedly, smiling, as Harry slunk in and out of the frame with a shy smile. "What--?" she whispered, tears filling her eyes, and she looked up at Harry. "Where are my mum and dad?"

Harry stared back at her expressionlessly. His face was blurring at the edges, as if hidden behind a smudged thumbprint on a window pane, and Hermione reached out, trying to hold onto him, but his arm slipped through her fingers like drops of water. He was melting slowly onto the floor, his skin becoming waxy and elongated, like a dripping oil painting...

Hermione woke with a terrified, heaving breath as she shot upward in bed, clutching the blankets close to herself. Remnants of the nightmare played through her head in an endless loop like a repeating video reel, and her body shook involuntarily. Unconsciously, she swung out of bed and placed her feet onto the floor, letting the icy cold seep into her extremities and spread to the rest of the body, slowly calming her pounding heart. With a shiver, she picked up her wand, murmured "Lumos," and shined the light onto a gilt photograph frame, illuminating her beaming twelve-year-old self and the still - not waving - smiles of her own proud parents.

"Just a silly nightmare," she said to herself quietly, pulling on a dressing gown and setting the frame down. She forcefully quashed the urge to go and check on Harry and see that his face wasn't melting; instead, she chose to look at her watch and check the time. It was two-thirty in the morning. "Wonderful," she sighed.

Unwilling to sleep again, Hermione pulled on a jumper and jeans and padded down to the cold, empty living room, lighting the fireplace with a soft "Incendio." (She and Harry hadn't learned that spell yet, but she'd seen Mrs. Weasley doing it earlier). She picked up her Christmas gift, Numerology and Ancient Mathematics, and pulled out the notes she'd written on Arithmancy. Revising maths always soothed her, and she suddenly found herself wishing, oddly enough, for her GCSE maths coursework. Hermione bit her lip. Sometimes she regretted coming to the magical world; she wished she had listened to her parents and taken her GCSE exams before deciding to give up the Muggle way of life...

It's not too late to return, she contemplated. If I went back now and said that I was ill, it wouldn't be difficult to catch up on the coursework...and it'd certainly be a more sensible decision...

Hermione shook her head against the impending storm of thoughts. Every night she debated the merits of returning to the Muggle world or continuing in her magical education, and every night she came to the same conclusion: that she needed to learn magic. She focused her attention once more on the Arithmancy concepts laid out before her. Personality, numerical traits. 4's - solid, hard workers, practical, reliable, "like Hufflepuffs"; 5's - adventurous, energetic risk takers, "like Sirius (once I get to know him better)"; 6's...7's...

As dawn broke, Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly and stood at the window, watching the sun rise over a pale grey sky. Not red... She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, trying to shake the unsettled feeling off her shoulders as Mrs. Weasley greeted her with a smile and began to make breakfast in the kitchen. Hermione went to join her, opening the window to let an owl fly in and drop a newspaper onto the table. Hermione unrolled it, biting her lip anxiously as she scanned the pages for any significant news.

Sleekazy's adds novel new ingredient to Flyaway Hair Potion...Sirius Black spotted in Mongolia...Hermione bit back a laugh as she read a supporting claim that Sirius had recently been seen in Tibet, and paged through the rest of the newspaper. Minister Fudge claims that recent Muggle-baiting cases are isolated incidents...Ministry official and Defense Professor Dolores Umbridge pushes to standardize Hogwarts curriculum...yes, Ron, Ginny, and the twins had mentioned something about that in their letters, claiming that the motion was "utter bollocks"...

"Anything new, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione chewed her lip and shook her head. "No, Mrs. Weasley," she answered. She pushed the newspaper away and stood, heading toward Ginny's room to grab some parchment and quill with which to take notes for the day's lessons. As she entered the hallway, she barely missed colliding with Harry, whose face was screwed up in pain.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, concerned. "Did you have a vision? Or a nightmare?" A shudder came over her as she remembered the image of Harry's blood-red eyes.

Harry clutched his left forearm and shook his head. He met her gaze, his eyes bright and green, and his face cleared into a smile. "I just hit my arm against the door," he told her. "It's all right now." He brushed past her and went to the kitchen, greeting Mrs. Weasley a bit too enthusiastically for the early hour.

Hermione's feeling of trepidation returned as she watched his retreating back. She debated whether or not she should investigate Harry's strange behavior or mention it to Sirius and Remus, and then she shook her head. She didn't want to worry them, and she was probably thinking too much. Teenage girls would never fully understand teenage boys, especially ones as reserved as Harry.

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Harry did not know how long he sat there in the cell, waiting for the door to open once more. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them up to his chest, wincing as his joints shook and protested the movement. His skin still stung from the cuts he'd received from his bindings, and he was aching all over from the Cruciatus Curse. He gingerly touched his right arm, letting out a hiss of pain as his fingers brushed against a long cut down his forearm. Resting his chin on his knees, Harry focused on breathing in and out as his thoughts ran themselves in circle round his head, like a dog chasing its own tail.

What did Voldemort mean when he said Dumbledore wouldn't know Harry was missing? Surely someone would notice if he were gone...Hermione would definitely know...and Remus and Sirius too...but weren't those two the ones who had taken him here in the first place? The last thing he could remember from the Burrow was drinking the Firewhisky and being led into the garden...but how could Remus and Sirius be Death Eaters? He could scarcely believe it...they'd made it quite clear that they worked for Dumbledore and hated Voldemort...they'd never betray Harry...but there was no other explanation....A cold shiver of fear ran through Harry. If Remus and Sirius were indeed Death Eaters, then Hermione was now alone with them...she wasn't safe...how long had he been here? Had Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned to the Burrow yet? They'd protect her if anything happened...but what if Sirius and Remus turned them over to Voldemort as well...? What if no one knew that they were traitors...?

What was going to happen to him? Voldemort wanted him to become a servant, possibly a Death Eater...Harry could never join his parents' murderer...what had Snape meant by "persuasion"? He had mentioned something about Occlumency...Harry's "mental landscape"...was Voldemort going to use Legilimency somehow? Was he going to twist Harry's thoughts? Harry remembered the shocking pleasure that had run through him as he saw Polkiss cowering at his feet...he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. He wouldn't let Voldemort make him feel that way...he was not a bully, not a sadist...when he faced Voldemort once more, he'd use the Occlumency techniques Snape had taught him to protect his thoughts...

But Snape was also a Death Eater...did Dumbledore and the Order know about his true loyalties too? What use would Snape's lessons be against Voldemort? For all he knew, Snape could have been preparing his mind to be more receptive to Voldemort's manipulations....after all, the man had saved Harry's life only so that Harry could suffer further under Voldemort's hands...he hadn't tried to take Harry back to Dumbledore, back to safety...

Why had he ever agreed to come to the magical world in the first place? If he'd chosen to stay at Stonewall and live with the Dursleys, this would never have happened...right now he'd be sitting in lessons or in his room, dreaming of university and escape, not frantically hoping for survival...

He must have fallen asleep at one point, because the next time Harry opened his eyes, his head was pillowed roughly on his arms, and he was staring directly at the end of a lit wand. Instinctively, he drew a hand across his face, trying to block out the light as he clumsily pulled himself into a sitting position, his joints numb and aching from being pressed against the stone floor.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you." Harry recognized the drawling voice at once; it belonged to the same Death Eater who had taken him to the graveyard. "Get up."

Harry had half a mind to refuse, but he decided that he'd rather not give Voldemort or the Death Eater an unnecessary reason to hurt him. He stood up shakily, his limbs tingling, and winced as the Death Eater used his wand to jab him sharply in between the shoulder blades, forcing him out of the cell and down the hallway. They twisted and turned several times before reaching a long blank wall. Harry wished he had his glasses, feeling the beginnings of a headache near his temple.

The Death Eater tapped a complicated pattern on the wall that Harry could not make out, and part of the wall slide aside to reveal a long, narrow stairwell that presumably led up to Voldemort. Harry's forehead throbbed as the Death Eater forced him up the staircase; he tripped near the top, and the Death Eater caught him by the scruff of the neck, pushing him forward onto a landing that smelled heavily of decay before knocking on an intricately carved wooden door, which swung open slightly.

"Enter," came Voldemort's high, cold voice.

Harry tried to stop himself from shaking. His eyes watering with pain, he lifted his head high as he stiffly made his way inside the room. Voldemort was sitting regally in a tall armchair as if he were a king sitting in a throne. Nagini coiled at his feet, her scales gleaming in the flickering firelight originating from the hearth behind Voldemort's chair.

"No words for your master, Harry?" asked Voldemort, amused, as Harry's guard bowed deeply with a murmured "Master" and backed out of the room.

"You're not my master," Harry spat, his nails digging into his palms as he met the narrowed scarlet gaze.

"Oh?" Voldemort smiled. "We shall see, Harry...now...are you hungry?"

The question was so unexpected that Harry jerked in surprise. How long had it been since he'd last eaten?

"I asked you if you were hungry, Harry..." Voldemort's his long, pale fingers twitched around his wand. "You would do well to answer me..."

Harry clenched his jaw and glared at Voldemort fiercely. He would not play this game...he would not admit to weakness...he would not ask Voldemort for anything...

"No?" Voldemort tilted his head, regarding Harry with cold amusement. "Perhaps I can convince you to answer...Wormtail," he called sharply, and a short, round Death Eater that Harry had not noticed scurried out from the corner, his fingers twisting nervously. Harry squinted in confusion; it looked like one of the man's hands was made entirely out of silver. He was balding, and had a sharp pointed nose that reminded Harry of a rat...Wormtail...Realization hit like a ton of bricks as Harry realized just who he was staring at: Peter Pettigrew, who had ratted out Harry's parents to Voldemort on the night of their murder....

"Y-yes, Master?" Wormtail squeaked, wheezing, his glance darting nervously from Harry to Nagini.

"Bring the boy some dinner," Voldemort ordered.

"Yes, Master," replied Wormtail, bowing quickly, and he nervously casted another glance at Harry before shuffling through a door to the right. Harry's hands twitched at his sides; he longed to tackle the man, beat him, hurt him for his betrayal...but he felt like he had been hit with a Body-Bind Curse...his feet remained on the floor, and he remained standing, once again straightening his body and lifting his head to meet Voldemort's gaze.

"You recognize him, don't you, Harry?" asked Voldemort quietly.

Harry didn't answer.

"Betrayal is a terrible thing," Voldemort mused, "but trust is for fools...ah, Wormtail, there you are....why don't you introduce yourself to young Harry?"

Wormtail let out a very rat-like squeak and slowly turned to face Harry, holding a tray of steaming food in his shaking hands. "H-hello, H-Harry," said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily.

"Harry looks quite a bit like your old friend James, doesn't he, Wormtail?"

"Y-yes," Wormtail agreed nervously.

"Except for his eyes...Lily Potter's eyes..."

"Y-yes, Master," repeated Wormtail, clearly agitated. He shifted from foot to foot, spilling some of the food onto the sides of the tray.

"Wormtail, Wormtail, why are you so nervous? Set the food down in front of Harry, and come sit at my feet."

Wormtail quickly set the tray of food down onto the floor with a loud clink, avoiding Harry's furious gaze, and he sat down next to Nagini, keeping his head bowed.

Harry's stomach growled as the scent of food wafted in his direction. He tried to suppress it, wrapping his arms around himself tightly, but it only growled more loudly.

"Do not resist it, Harry," said Voldemort, smiling cruelly. "Growing boys like you need to eat...don't you agree? Tell me, Harry, that you want to eat...Imperio!"

Utter bliss flowed over Harry, and he heard a soothing voice fill his consciousness. He felt like he was floating weightlessly in midair...everything was wonderful...

Beg for it, Harry...All he had to do was listen to the voice, and everything would be all right....

No...I won't...Harry's knees buckled slightly, and he struggled to remain standing.

Beg for it, Harry...beg...and why shouldn't he? He needed the food more than he needed his dignity...nothing terrible would happen if he asked Voldemort for this one little thing...

No! Harry gritted as his teeth as his mouth began to open of its own accord. Stop it...I won't...

Beg for it! The voice was no longer soothing, but more insistent. Beg for the food, Harry, beg for it...

No...NO..."NO!"

Harry's chest heaved up and down with the effort of breaking the curse. His whole body was shaking, and he resisted the urge to clutch his pounding head as he glared furiously at Voldemort. Wormtail stared up at Harry in awe, his jaw open, and Nagini lifted her head and hissed menacingly, "Master...he disobeys you...let me bite the boy..."

"Patience, Nagini," Voldemort hissed, and he rose from the armchair, blocking all of the light as he rose from his armchair and towered over Harry. "I tire of your insolence, boy...perhaps you need a punishment before we continue our lessons...Crucio!"

Harry couldn't brace himself against the pain. He heard a sizzling sound for a split-second before he dropped to the floor, screaming, his limbs convulsing relentlessly and overturning the tray of food that still lay in front of him. When the curse was lifted, he lay on the ground, coughing hoarsely; his throat felt as if it had been scraped raw with large amounts of sandpaper, and some kind of warm sauce stained the bottom of his jeans. The world tilted in and out of focus as he slowly stood, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

"Let's try this again, Harry..." Harry couldn't help but flinch as Voldemort raised his wand once more. "Imperio!"

The aches and nausea disappeared, and Harry was now floating on a cloud...he wanted to stay like this forever...Kneel, Harry...his legs were starting to bend by themselves...Kneel...

No, said Harry, fighting to retain control of his mind and body, fighting to keep exhaustion from overwhelming him, no, stop...he jerked his leg straight and gave the tiniest shake of his head. No, I won't...no...

Kneel...

He couldn't help it...he was so tired...he didn't want to be in pain anymore...he slowly bent down on one knee before Voldemort in a grotesque parody of a marriage proposal...

No, no! he screamed inside his mind. Stop! STOP! His nails dug into his palms, and the sharp, sudden pain brought him back to reality. He took a deep breath and jerked upward in one rapid motion, gulping in a great, desperate breath as if he'd just emerged from underwater. Harry stumbled backward a few steps, shaking with nausea as a burning pain shot through his forehead.

"Wormtail," commanded Voldemort coldly, "take the boy back to his cell."

Harry felt a rush of relief. It was over for now...

"We will continue, Harry," Voldemort said quietly, bending down so that his face was inches away from Harry's; even without his glasses, Harry could make out the pale, unearthly skin and the slitted nostrils on the snake-like face. "I have enough time...it will be very satisfying to see you willingly kneeling at my feet, especially with Dumbledore's precious Order watching...if you are obedient enough, I may even spare the life of your Mudblood girl, Hermione..."

Harry felt his heart seize with horror. The Order? Hermione? How did Voldemort know...? Harry had to escape, he had to warn them....

Numbly, Harry let Wormtail drag him away from Voldemort and down the hidden stairwell, his brain trying to work frantically past the dizziness that threatened to undo him. He squinted, focusing on Wormtail's silver hand which also carried his wand and illuminated the long maze of corridors. Left...right...right...left... Harry tried to memorize the directions, suppressing the urge to vomit and keeping his mind focused on his goal. Left...left...right...

When they had reached the hallway to Harry's cell, he launched himself at Wormtail, knocking the balding man down by force of sheer surprise. Wormtail let out a startled squeak, his lit wand dropping out of his hand and rolling toward the wall. Harry scrambled toward it as quickly as he could, kicking Wormtail in the shins, his arm outstretched for the wand...but Wormtail threw Harry off of him and lunged for the wand, barely missing it by a few inches. Harry, winded, flailed about blindly as he lay on his stomach, throwing his elbows and legs out; he heard Wormtail let out another squeak, wheezing heavily, and Harry kicked out again, his fingers curling around the wooden stick. Using the wall for support, he stood, pointing the wand in Wormtail's general direction, and desperately shouted, "Stupefy!"

A red jet of light hit Wormtail straight in the chest. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Wormtail slumped to the floor; it was the first time he'd ever performed the spell...he was lucky he hadn't messed it up. He wondered how long it would be before Voldemort began searching for his servant. He didn't know how long Stunning Spells lasted...He needed to get out as soon as he could, before Wormtail woke up...

But where could he go? He didn't want to go upstairs, where Voldemort and Nagini still lurked. There had to be another way out of the house...a way from this floor...hadn't the drawling Death Eater dragged him outside the graveyard by way of a door? He needed to find that...it had been straight ahead from his cell...

Fighting back nausea and exhaustion, Harry slowly made his way down the hallway from whence he'd come, feeling along the wall for any door. When he reached the corner, his hands brushed against a metal clasp; he stopped and felt it more closely, his heart lifting as he gripped the handle of a door. He pushed it outward, immediately assaulted by a blast of icy wind, and suppressed the urge to shout in joy as he stepped onto a dirt path. He was free...

In the darkness, he did not see the misshapen shadow approaching behind him; he could not hear the clunking footsteps over the howling wind...something hit him hard in the back of his head, and then everything turned black.

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