Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

When Harry returned to consciousness, he found himself shackled to the wall of a damp, dingy cell that smelled terribly musty. He was slumped on the floor; his arms raised high above him and splayed out wide, his back resting against the cold stone of the wall. He squinted his eyes for a few moments, adjusting himself to the dim light. It took him a minute to realize Wormtail was standing in front of him with his wand raised. Harry assumed he had cast an Ennervate spell to revive him.

He shakily stood on his feet, easing some of the pain in his arms. His shoulders were tender from supporting his weight for so long. He jerked forward and yelped in pain when the cuffs binding his wrists suddenly burned into his skin. It stopped when he ceased his struggling. Shaking his head to try to clear it, he took a good look at what was holding him. They appeared to be thick, metal cuffs on a very short chain holding each arm out to one side.

The cuffs were charmed somehow, however. As soon as Harry struggled or tried to move, they instantly burned his wrists. He could see the raw, red marks on his skin protruding from the edges of the cuffs, and they stung painfully.

Even if he managed to get out of them, he had absolutely no idea where he was, or if he was even still in Hogsmeade. Wormtail was still staring quietly; he almost seemed amused by Harry’s struggles. He hadn’t uttered a word since Harry had come regained consciousness.

"Where’s Ron?" Harry demanded.

"I wouldn’t concern yourself with that right now; it’s you who’s in serious trouble."

"Where’s Ron?" He repeated insistently.

"He wasn’t necessary. You know how the Dark Lord feels about spares."

Harry felt an icy tendril of fear wrap itself around his heart. No! No, no, no! Ron had to be okay. They wouldn’t have brought him all the way through the tunnel if they’d just meant to kill him. When Cedric was killed, the plan was to use Harry’s blood to restore Voldemort to his body, then kill Harry, too. This time, Narcissa had mentioned knowing Harry was aware of the prophecy. If Voldemort wanted that information from him, he would know the Imperius wouldn’t work, and he’d need some leverage. Ron would be the leverage. That would keep Ron safe, for now.

Despite his logical reasoning, his heart thumped painfully in his chest. He couldn’t help the slight trembling over the thought of losing Ron, and he fought not to show that weakness to Wormtail. His ribs ached painfully, and he silently cursed Malfoy yet again.

"No, you wouldn’t have killed him yet," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Where is he? Where are we, anyway?"

"So, you’re now presuming to know what the Dark Lord has in mind? You’ve a lot to learn, young Harry. You believe anything you like, if it makes you feel better. My master has been informed of your captivity, and he’ll be here in a few days. In the meantime, you are to enjoy some of our…special hospitality."

His words sent a chill down Harry’s spine. Somehow, he didn’t think hospitality was even remotely the right word for what he was about to endure. Voldemort would want him weakened by the time he arrived, so he’d have an easier time either extracting the information from Harry’s mind, or getting Harry to just tell him what he wanted to know. He made a silent vow that whatever happened, he was going to use this time to practice holding his Occlumency shield. He’d never give in to Voldemort. If he thought he was going to get the information easily, he had another think coming.

He glared at Wormtail as the man gave a mock bow and left him alone in the cell. There were no windows, and the doorway was just a cut-out opening. If he could get these cuffs off, he could at least get out the door. Then, he’d have to find Ron, find a way out of here without being detected, and get back to Hogwarts. He assumed the prison, or house, or wherever it was he was being held would have anti-Apparition wards. It didn’t really matter, anyway, since Ron couldn’t Apparate. Even though he’d turned seventeen, he wasn’t being tested until the summer. Ron – being Ron – hadn’t even begun to study for the exam. Hermione was ready to flay him alive for it. Considering their present predicament, Harry had to agree with her.

He pulled on the chains binding him again and winced as they burned into his flesh. Even if he could tolerate the burning, he wasn’t certain he’d manage to get his hands free, anyway. The bonds were very tight.

He wondered what was happening back at Hogwarts by now. Certainly, Ginny and Hermione would have raised the alarm. Hermione would have realized that when ‘Professor Trent’ disappeared, too, that something was wrong. She was probably feeling horrible over trusting the woman.

Harry’s stomach growled weakly; he hadn’t eaten much for dinner. He’d been too worried about Ginny and what she was going to do about Malfoy’s note. Thank Merlin she hadn’t insisted on coming with him, too. Despite his dire straits, he still felt that warmth in his belly when he thought of Ginny. She really is something.

A slight crackle startled Harry, and if his hands were free, he would have smacked himself in the head for his own stupidity. Of course! He didn’t need his wand; he could break these cuffs without it. No one knew about his wandless ability, so they shouldn’t have charmed the cuffs to be unbreakable. Concentrating on the cuff holding his left hand, he focused all his energy on unlocking it. It dropped to the ground with a clang. He quickly freed his other hand and sprinted across the room.

His ribs protested the movement, but he ignored them, sending sharp waves of hot agony along his side. He wrapped one arm around his waist to hold them still. There was no one in the dimly lit hallway; he was in a stone dungeon of some sort. He could see a doorway immediately across from his cell, which was the direction Wormtail had departed. He knew he should take the opportunity to escape and go get help, but he also knew Ron would be killed if he got away. He was certain they were keeping Ron alive to use as incentive for Harry to cooperate. If he got away, they’d retaliate by killing Ron. Harry couldn’t leave him here; he had to find where they were holding him. There were more cells in the opposite direction. Again using his wandless magic, he created a light in the palm of his hand and began checking the cells.

When he reached the end of the corridor, the smell of rot and decay was overwhelming, and he nearly retched. Ron was nowhere in sight. They must be keeping him somewhere else, he thought frantically. Ron had to be alive. Harry felt panic rising within him and fought to push it down. He had to keep a clear head, or both of them were lost.

He turned back around and headed for the doorway near his cell. Opening it quietly, he found himself at the bottom of a long, narrow stairway. He climbed cautiously and slowly, both because of the need for silence and also because his ribs wouldn’t allow him to speed up. They ached painfully, and he was only able to take shallow breaths.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he found himself in an elegantly furnished room, the complete opposite of where he’d just been. The windows were draped in heavy, green, velvet curtains, and he cautiously made his way over to one and peered out. It was pitch black, and he couldn’t tell anything about his location.

He was in a manor of some sort; probably the headquarters for Voldemort’s side, much like Grimmauld Place was Headquarters to the Order. Looking at all the symbols of the Dark Arts in the room, Harry was struck by how much like Grimmauld Place it actually looked. There isn’t time to look around now.

The window was sealed shut, and he couldn’t open it. Silently, he made his way across the room. He could hear voices coming from another room further along the hallway. He recognized one as belonging to Wormtail, but couldn’t place the other.

"Potter is confined. The Dark Lord said to inform him when he’s been weakened enough, and he’ll arrive to finish the job. Our other guest is confined comfortably; he’ll be used when it’s time to get the information. I wish we could have snatched the girl."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief; so, Ron was still alive. Now, he just had to find him. He glanced at the front door briefly; escape was tantalizing close. He’d never get back to Ron in time, though. Even if he did get out and Apparate for help, he had no idea where he was or where to come back. Creeping past the door silently and up a grand stairway, he found himself in a hallway lined with a number of doors. Harry tried to use Legilimency to reach out to Ron, but there had to be a lot of people in the house, because the onslaught of malevolent feelings was overwhelming. He had to grab onto the wall for support.

He began listening intently at the doorways and cautiously peering inside each door. This corridor seemed to be a series of bedrooms. If Ron was being held ‘comfortably’, this might be the place. A loud boom from the floor below caused Harry’s heart to pound even harder as it leaped into his throat. He tried to shrink back into the wall as he heard someone bellow, "Potter’s missing!"

The commotion of voices and footsteps was deafening as the Death Eaters began searching for him. He wouldn’t have much time now; they’d be going for Ron if they didn’t find him. He began moving down the corridor and checking the rooms more quickly.

Ron slowly drifted back to awareness. He groggily looked around in confusion. He found himself lying on a single bed in a dimly lit room that he didn’t recognize. There was a nightstand next to the bed, but, other than that, the room was void of furniture. He sat up slowly, trying to piece together what had happened.

The question was, where was he? And where was Harry? Ron was starting to feel the first wave of panic. Merlin, what have they done to Harry? Did they send him to Voldemort already? Ron ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, trying to control his agitation.

Why am I still alive, and what do they want with me, Ron wondered? He had been in some tight scrapes before, but he’d always had Harry with him. Being alone was unsettling. What have they done with Harry? Ron wasn’t stupid; he knew it was Harry they wanted, which meant that he was some kind of bargaining tool. What worried Ron was that he knew Harry would give them whatever they wanted in order to keep Ron safe, and Voldemort would never hold up his end of the bargain.

He slid off the bed and made his way over to the door. It was locked. He peered out the window, but it looked too high to jump without injuring himself. He tried the latch on the window and found it wouldn’t open, anyway. He began pacing. What would Harry do? What would Hermione do?

Hermione! Damn! His last words to her had been in anger over some stupid fight. He really wished he could take all that back right now. Her large, luminous brown eyes swam in his head, making him feel so ashamed for leaving things angry between them. Life was too unpredictable for that these days, as was all too painfully obvious. He hoped he’d have the chance to tell her he was sorry.

As far as he knew, Professor Trent still had his wand. How else could he get out of here? He wished he had paid more attention when Fred and George were learning how to pick a lock the Muggle way.

A loud noise from below caught his attention. He could hear a flurry of movement and several voices yelling at once, although they were too muffled to hear what they were saying. Something was going on, and Ron would bet his life it had something to do with Harry. Give ‘em hell, Harry, he thought viciously.

He strained his ear against the door for several more minutes, before realizing with a start that the doorknob was slowly turning. He backed away from it warily, glancing around the room in a futile effort to find a place to hide. The room offered nothing. He held his breath and waited helplessly as the door opened.

He was stunned to see Harry peer inside the room. That certainly isn’t what I was expecting. His friend was extremely pale and walking slowly, as if each step was causing him pain. He had one arm wrapped around his midsection and was breathing heavily. Ron also could make out what looked like burns around both wrists.

"Harry!" he exclaimed loudly, without thinking.

"Shhhhh," Harry whispered, frowning and waving and pushing his hand in a downward motion. "Do you want to get us both caught? Keep your voice down."

"Sorry," Ron replied, chagrinned. "Where are we?"

"Dunno," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. "We’ve got to get out of here quickly, though. Wormtail said Voldemort wouldn’t be coming for a few days. They were supposed to wear me down first."

"Trent is a traitor. I told Hermione we couldn’t trust her."

"That wasn’t Trent. Diana Trent is dead; that was Narcissa Malfoy. She’s a Metamorphmagus like Tonks."

"Blimey!"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, wishing he’d paid more attention to Ron’s warnings.

"Are you all right?"

"I think I’ve got some broken ribs, thanks to Malfoy." Harry spat the name as if there was a foul taste in his mouth.

"Malfoy! When I get my hands on that–"

"Later. There’s no time now. They know I’m missing from my cell, and they’ll be up here for you quickly. We’ve got to move."

"Let’s go then."

"Not so fast," a sneering voice said from the hallway behind Harry.

Both boys turned with a start to see the smirking face of Draco Malfoy blocking the door. Peter Pettigrew, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange followed him into the room. Damn!

Harry didn’t respond, his face remaining impassive.

"How did you get loose from those bonds? I have your wand," Narcissa demanded.

"Obviously you didn’t latch them right," Harry replied, looking at Wormtail.

"You idiot!" Narcissa screamed. "Can’t you do anything right?"

"He’s lying." Wormtail looked panicked as he whined meekly, "He’s just trying to cause trouble. Those bonds were latched, and you said you had his wand."

"I do. It’s still tucked safely away," she hissed, patting the pocket of her robes.

"Stop it, both of you," Bellatrix snarled. "This isn’t solving anything. It’s time we bring the baby back to his cell and demonstrate our annoyance with his wanderings. He’s going to have to learn to be a better houseguest." With an insane gleam in her eye, she raised her wand at Harry, smiled with glee, and snarled, "Crucio."

Harry immediately dropped to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain. His face looked like he was in total agony.

"Stop it!" Ron cried, rushing forward towards Lestrange. It was unbearable to watch Harry suffer like this.

Wormtail blocked his path. Ron was bigger and stronger than Wormtail physically, forcing the smaller man to use magic to get the upper hand. He conjured ropes and bound Ron to the foot of the bed. Ron struggled and pulled, but he couldn’t break free. "Careful, Mr. Weasley. Your sole purpose here is to ensure Mr. Potter’s cooperation. Don’t overestimate your necessity."

Bellatrix had taken the curse off Harry by this point. Wormtail turned back to the boy lying panting on the floor and seemed to puff himself up with self-importance. "The Dark Lord values obedience. This is how we deal with guests who refuse to stay where they are told. Crucio!"

Harry was again hit with the curse, and Ron pleaded with them to stop over Harry’s screams. The ropes binding him cut into his wrists painfully from his desperate struggle to break free. When Wormtail pulled his wand up, Narcissa took his place.

"And I owe you some payback for Lucius," she sneered as she cursed Harry yet again. "You’ve been a thorn in all of our sides much too long, Potter. We’ve all received entirely too much of the Dark Lord’s wrath because of you."

Draco Malfoy had been watching the whole thing with a smug expression that made Ron want to give him another black eye. He didn’t know how the Slytherin got the shiner, but it looked painful, and he hoped Harry had done it.

"Oh, yeah, you’re all so powerful," Ron screamed at them. "Four against one, and he doesn’t even have a wand; you should feel real proud."

"Shut up, Weasel," Malfoy hissed as he conjured a gag and roughly tied it around Ron’s mouth. "I’ve heard more than I ever want to hear from a traitorous Mudblood-lover like yourself."

Ron issued a few choice phrases of his own, but the words were undecipherable through the cloth stuffed into his mouth.

"Draco, you’ve learned the use of the Unforgivables; it’s time you had some first-hand practice."

Malfoy smiled as if he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. Rolling up the sleeves of his robes, he revealed the Dark Mark burned into his forearm with obvious pride. He sneered down at Harry, who was panting shakily on the floor, and responded, "Your girlfriend must be feeling pretty bad by now, huh, Potter? I’m certain she feels like it’s her fault you got caught. Serves her right for not showing. I had some amusing plans for her while she was here; now they’ll have to wait a while. Crucio!"

Malfoy kept the curse on Harry for a long time before Narcissa finally intervened. "Enough, Draco. The Dark Lord wants information from him and the pleasure of killing him personally. He won’t be pleased if you turn his brain to mush. Wormtail, put him back in his cell and guard him this time. I’ll arrange to have a Dementor sent down to act as a permanent guard shortly."

Malfoy smirked. "Potter will be thrilled. You get on so well with the Dementors, don’t you, Potty?"

Harry was barely conscious, and only his eyes registered Malfoy’s words. Still, Ron could see the first trace of real fear in them. Harry still had such a hard time dealing with the Dementors…and he didn’t even have a wand. Pettigrew hauled Harry roughly to his feet, but he couldn’t stand, and his knees buckled. His lip bled profusely from where he’d bitten through it. Ron watched with a sick feeling of dread as Harry was brutally dragged from the room. They can’t put a Dementor in with him. He’ll never last.

The two women followed them out the door. Malfoy turned and glared at Ron. "Doesn’t seem fair that Scarhead should get to have all the fun. Maybe you’d like a taste of what he’s in for while he’s here?"

Ron stared defiantly back at Malfoy; the gag muffled a string of curses his mother would berate him for using.

Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it at Ron. "Crucio."

Ron had never experienced anything so painful in his entire life. Pain more intense than he’d ever imagined ripped through his body. He wished he would just die to make it stop, anything to make it stop. After what seemed like an eternity, but was actually only a brief moment, Malfoy lifted the curse and left the room without another word.

After the door clicked shut, Ron struggled to control his shaking limbs. He couldn’t even swipe at the tears that filled his eyes. The only things supporting him were the ropes binding him to the bed. He began furiously working on the ropes that bound his wrists to the bedpost. They’d already come slightly loose from his struggles while they were torturing Harry. Ron was determined to get untied and find a way out of here. It was his turn to save Harry.

Harry didn’t know how long he’d been there. The days had blended together, and time had no meaning. The presence of a Dementor outside his cell meant he’d spent the majority of time unconscious, trapped in the torturous hell of his past. He’d tried to use his wandless magic to summon a Patronus, but was unable to make the spell work. He didn’t know if it was simply impossible, or that he was just too drained from the Dementor to make it work.

The Death Eaters holding him seemed to take enormous pleasure in inflicting pain, as if Harry were somehow responsible for all their trouble. They appeared to be competing to see who could inflict the most pain without killing him. That pleasure was reserved for Voldemort himself. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been under the Cruciatus. When they got bored of that, they’d resorted to their fists, or any other number of painful curses that occurred to them. He tried to pay attention to who entered the cell and keep track of names, but after a while it all blended together in his mind. To ensure there would be no chance of his escaping again, someone had aimed a Reducto curse at his knees. He was certain they were broken, for he could no longer stand up and walking would be impossible.

Pain was nothing new to Harry; he’d dealt with it many times before. He just tried to focus his mind on something else. He had noticed his body seemed to heal at a remarkably quick rate. Still, there were so many injuries now, he’d lost track of when and how he’d received them all. His throat was raw from screaming, and the tattered remains of his clothing were splattered with dried blood. Sometimes, he would lie on his back and count the smearings of blood all over the walls and floor of his cell.

He supposed he’d been here a week, with no food and only brief sips of water. He wasn’t allowed to sleep unless unconscious. Harry found himself hoping Voldemort would hurry up and arrive, because he didn’t know how much more he could take. He hadn’t seen or heard anything about Ron since the day he’d tried to escape. He just prayed they hadn’t punished Ron for his flight.

He was in trouble, and he knew it. He was so weak and physically exhausted, he wasn’t certain how he’d hold any kind of Occlumency shield when he needed it. He was currently huddled on the floor, shivering. The cell was freezing, even without the Dementor, and there was no rug or blanket on which to lie. His thoughts kept alternating between grim determination and bitter despair. Sometimes, he’d come close to just giving up, then fight back with a fierce intensity that surprised even himself.

Every bone in his body ached, and he’d begun to cough up some blood. He wasn’t certain what that meant, but knew it couldn’t be good. He was worried about Ginny, too. Malfoy was right; she must be frantic by now, and he hated to think of her being upset. He used the image of her face to calm himself down when he began to panic, and it really did help.

He was so happy they didn’t get their hands on her. He wished he could feel her fingers running through his hair right now. He always loved when she did that. There was something so gentle and calming about it. She was his safe spot; she’d become his safety net. When he took that trip to the ocean, he was going to bring Ginny with him, he laughed deliriously. He’d protect her, so help him; she’d never be touched by any of this again. Harry clung to these thoughts in his brief moments of lucidity. Whenever the Dementor was far enough away to give him a reprieve, he thought of Ginny. He remembered wondering over Christmas break what love was and how to know if you really loved someone.

If being trapped here had served any purpose at all, it had made one thing crystal clear in his mind. He loved Ginny Weasley with all his heart, and, so help him, he wasn’t going to die without telling her. She’d been his rock through grieving for Sirius, through his anxiety about Moony’s health, through his worries over the prophecy, even while he attempted to figure out his own raging hormones and what it all meant. She was always there, calm and strong and supportive. And she loved him. He knew that now.

He’d never been any good at expressing his emotions; he just didn’t know how. With Ginny, there was never a need to tell her how he was feeling; she always just knew. There was a connection between them that was more than words could ever say. She’d done that for him, and, now, she deserved to actually hear it from him. So help him, he was going to get the chance to tell her.

For the first time in his life, he was certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that someone loved him and was worrying about him. For the first time, he had wants of his own. He wanted to grow old. He wanted to get married and maybe finally have that family he’d always longed for and been denied. He wanted a life with Ginny, and Voldemort was not going to take that away from him again. He wanted to live. He wanted to give her everything she so richly deserved.

No matter what happened here, no matter how it turned out, he wasn’t going to give up. She would know that if he went down, he went down fighting. He had something worth living for, someone he wanted to live for, and he’d never give up…

He was so lost in thoughts of Ginny, he was unaware at first of the coldness seeping into his veins. His body began to shiver uncontrollably as his mother’s voice filled his head…

As the image of Sirius faded, Harry felt himself slowly drifting back to consciousness. His cell came into view, and he realized there was another Death Eater standing in the door. He steeled himself for what he knew was coming; they were always so predictable. After a few moments of silence, he opened his eyes and looked again.

Standing in the doorway was his dreaded Potions Master, wearing full Death Eater garb minus the mask. The familiar sneer was on his face, and his black eyes glittered dangerously as they locked with Harry’s green for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. He continued to stare at Harry in silence before raising his wand and uttering loudly, "Crucio."

A/N: Hi everyone. Just relax. Update will be soon. I had a few reviewers asking about the Marauder’s Map so I just thought I’d remind you that Harry doesn’t have it. Remember, the twins asked to borrow it because they were working on creating something similar. When Harry last had it, Diana Trent was identified as Diana Trent; the switch took place after the twins borrowed the map. With all that happened to them over Christmas, their project just got delayed. I did try and cover my bases.

Much thanks to both Mistral and ChaoticK for all their help. We’re almost there, now!