The 25th of December

16 December

Snow wakes Harry.

There is light this time--soft and muted. He can see flakes drifting toward him to land, cold and wet on his face and hair. He tries to turn his head toward the wind, but pain stops him as it shoots through his limbs. It is the only way he knows he still has arms and legs.

"He will not allow you to move...it is a dark spell."

Snape's face comes into view then. He looks like he hasn't slept since before they met Voldemort in the graveyard.

"Open your mouth," Snape commands quietly. Harry's lips part eagerly; his throat is so dry. The spell is whispered and for a brief moment, Harry's thirst is sated. He smacks his lips when the spell ends. Snape is frowning down at him, but for once he doesn't look angry. "They are on their way. You will not be able to speak."

Who? Why? Harry wants to ask, but there is a heavy squeak behind his head--a door is scraping open.

Snape is sneering down at him now. "You will only last another day, Potter. Even you cannot live forever without water."

Snape looks up; his eyes are dark and full of hate now.

"The Dark Lord wishes a report on his condition." The high voice makes Harry's body thrum with violence. He wants to kill her--even after all these months.

"He is growing weaker," Snape reports dispassionately. "It is only a matter of time now."

Something soft caresses Harry's cheek. His eyes travel up her velvet robes so that he can see her face. Bellatrix smiles in that cruel way that he remembers.

"Our only regret is that it took us so long to get you here."

She lowers herself so that her twisted mouth looms close to Harry's face.

Her eyes look feverish before she slaps him.

Harry's head whips around so that he is staring at a gray wall in the next instant. Blood gushes over his tongue, and there is more pain from the dark spell that does not allow him to move without repercussions.

He thinks he cries out, but there is no sound.

"For my Lord," Bellatrix whispers.

Harry does not look at her as coppery liquid trails down his throat.

"Have you had any fun with him yet, Severus?" This voice is unfamiliar.

Harry's eyes flick back to Snape's face. So cold those black eyes.

Snape's lips twist into a gruesome smile.

"He is practically a corpse, Yaxley. He doesn't even scream," Snape says, turning a bit to look toward the door, where Yaxley is presumably standing.

"No fun in it," Yaxley agrees. The words mean nothing to Harry.

He closes his eyes as the soft robes brush once more against his cheek. He wishes he could jump up and finally cast the spell he should have cast all those months ago. He would mean it this time.

Footsteps crunch in the snow.

"Do try not to let yourself become too bored, Severus." That drawling voice is as recognizable as Bellatrix's, but Harry feels nothing but waning hatred as Bellatrix moves out of range.

"He will be dead soon enough, Lucius," Snape says dismissively. Harry hears only boredom in his voice; the layers are gone.

"Not nearly soon enough," Malfoy sniffs disdainfully.

Snape's head dips in agreement, a malicious smile on his face.

"He will pay dearly for making the Dark Lord wait," he promises.

Harry shivers on the frozen floor.

"As well he should."

The door scrapes loudly behind Harry's head. It closes with a dull thud.

"Aguamenti Glacialis."

Harry does not open his mouth this time. He doesn't want Snape's water.

Something soft and cold is pressed against Harry's mouth.

Harry opens his eyes.

Snape's face is there; his eyes are just as black but there is something different about his face.

"They will notice if I heal you."

Harry doesn't nod, but he keeps his lips carefully still as Snape presses the corner of his robe against them.

The icy fabric dulls the pain at the corner of Harry's mouth. He wishes there was a way to make the other aches go away.

Not much longer, he knows.

The weight of Snape's fingers against his chin comforts him. He can feel the pulse under Snape's wrist.

He focuses on the steady thrum.