The Snake's Den

Chapter 1

"M-my Lord?"

The Death Eater, whose voice had been trembling in fear, suddenly found himself screaming on the floor, writhing in pain.

"Why are you still here, you pathetic berk?" Voldemort hissed angrily, lifting the curse. "You are to be with the other Death Eaters preparing the attack on the Potter home!"

"I-I apologize, my lord, please forgive me!" He said, kneeling quickly before jumping to his feet and taking off.

Voldemort growled. His minions were like pawns, needing to be told where to go and what to do, with no capacity for independent thought in their brains whatsoever. It was rather…infuriating at times, to say the least.

A few minutes later, a robed figure approached, causing Voldemort to look up. Raising a brow, he reached forward and took off the mask of the Death Eater before him.

"Ah, Lucius…what is it?"

Lucius kneeled to kiss the moldy, torn hem of Voldemort's robes, fighting back a look of disgust at the taste. As he rose, he said, "We are ready to leave on your command, my Lord. Will you be accompanying us on our mission?"

"Yes, I believe I will, Lucius. Just to see what Potter's reaction is before I take him as my torture toy." Voldemort said with a half smirk, half sadistic grin. "Shall we go, then?"

"On your command, my Lord." Lucius said as his mask was handed back to him. With a slightly agitated flip of his hair, he deftly placed it back on his face, careful to make sure his whole face was covered.

"Do you know what happens, Lucius, when a mutt looses his home?" Voldemort asked as he stood.

The long haired blond shook his head in confusion. What, exactly, did this have to do with the mission? "No, my Lord…I'm afraid not."

"It runs and tries to hide…and when it is found, it fights back until someone either kills it, or abuses and neglects. Shall we go find out what our little mutt Potter will do?"

Lucius smirked in understanding. "Yes, my Lord. Your will is my command."

In Number Four, Privet Drive, a young boy lay spread-eagled on his bed, hands tucked behind his head of messy black hair. He wore old clothes from his cousin Dudley that were just a tad too big; they were originally much larger, but he was fortunate enough that the hand-me-downs had shrunk in the wash.

The extra fabric from his overlarge gray shirt lay draped over his bed around his torso, defining his lean, well-shaped stature. The lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead seemed to be pink in color, and looked brand new, despite the fact that he'd had it since he was a little boy.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the young man who had defied Voldemort his entire life, was bored. Confined to his room, he was getting his first taste of a summer distinctly lacking in entertainment. At least, this time, he didn't have to fight against his villainous relatives this time, he supposed.

Hearing a car door slam nearby, emerald eyes lazily opened as an expression of confusion contorted his previously serene features.

"Wait…they didn't leave…" Harry muttered. "So who could possibly want to ruin their day by stopping here?"

He dreaded the thought that maybe his aunt and uncle had invited his Aunt Marge over. He desperately hoped not.

He heard the doorbell ring. Moments after hearing the it, his door opened to allow Uncle Vernon's fat, pudgy face into the room

"There's a man at the door, boy. You stay here, and don't leave until I say so." He said, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Tuh, like I would even try and leave in the first place," Harry said blandly, observing Vernon through dangerous, insolently hooded eyes.

Vernon sent a glare at Harry before he shut the door with a click.

Harry was grinning, however, as he pulled out the Extendable Ear from under his pillow. He'd set it up while the Dursley's were sleeping to catch conversations in both the foyer and just outside the front door.

"Who are you?" He heard Vernon's voice ask impolitely as soon as the door was opened.

"Mr. Dursley," said a voice, that was frighteningly familiar to Harry, "I would like to inform you that you have won the contest that you entered into a few weeks ago, and have won…a car!"

"A car?!" Harry heard Petunia cry. He heard her running footsteps retreat from the earpiece before her squeal of excitement echoed in his ears. Grimacing, he continued to listen as Vernon's heavy footsteps followed after Petunia in stunned silence. He could have sworn he heard Dudley's fat jiggle as he ran for the door, too, but upon further consideration decided it had to have been his imagination.

"Do we have to sign any forms or contracts?" He heard Vernon ask, his voice awed. "It's a Mercedes…"

"Yes, just one."

"Which is?" He heard Petunia ask cheekily.

"Oh, just your death contract. Avada Kedavra!"

Harry's heart went stock-still as he heard this, his face blanching and emerald gaze widening in fear. A few more yells of the curse later, there was silence outside.

"Go inside - find the boy! Nothing can protect him now!" Harry heard that voice yell. In that brief spark of familiarity he recognized it. Lucius Malfoy. His stomach roiling in a burning fury the likes of which he'd not felt since Sirius had fallen through the veil, Harry pulled his wand off of his bedside table and ran for the hallway, bounding down the stairs upon reaching them.

Remembering what had happened the last time he'd barged his way into a confrontation, Harry made a conscious decision not to act on his rage. His chest heaving from panic and the effort required to restrain himself, he tried to apparate. Desperation clawed at him when nothing happened and realization hit…he'd forgotten that the Order had just recently placed anti-apparation wards around the Dursley's home.

Damn.

In his attempt to apparate, Harry had paused at the bottom of the stairs – which turned out to be the worst mistake he could've made in such a situation.

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy! "

As he fell to the ground, he heard a laugh of blissful entertainment.

"You're too naïve for your own good, Harry Potter," the voice of Voldemort whispered in a sadistic hiss. Darkness enveloped Harry's world as the curse began to run its course, and he knew no more.

Walking through the halls of the dank, dark manor of his Lord, he sneered. His crooked nose was wrinkled as he kept in his forward momentum, eyes smoldering in a deep sense of either hate or disdain; it was hard to tell.

Severus Snape was trapped in Voldemort's Manor, after being ordered to stay there by Dumbledore. He loathed being stuck in a manor that smelled so strongly of rotting wood and mold. It was worse than his dungeon at Hogwarts.

He had also been ordered by Voldemort to watch over their new captive. Severus was currently on his way to discover who, exactly, it was.

Maybe it was that ridiculous wand maker, he considered with a smirk. Or, perhaps, it could be the 'traitor' Draco Malfoy. Oh, how that boy had made his life a living hell…

Upon his arrival in the damp, cold dungeons, he halted dead in his tracks.

Laying on the cold stone floor of the cell was none other than Harry Potter. The boy looked unharmed, however. For the moment.

Severus' pale skin – the result of not getting much sun – appeared to starch. How had Voldemort gotten Harry Potter?

Questions raced through Severus' mind. Though he didn't like Harry Potter in the least, he certainly didn't want him lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Or tortured by Voldemort, for that matter. Dumbledore himself would demand his head if he allowed such an action to occur. Voldemort torturing Harry was just…out of the question.

As he wordlessly gazed upon the motionless boy, Severus gulped down his fears about the current situation. He would have to formulate a plan.

Keeping both Voldemort and Dumbledore's orders stored in the cache of his mind, he watched The-Boy-Who-Lived as he lay on the freezing stone of the cell. Severus prayed to Merlin that someway – somehow – he would be able to make everything work...

Somewhere in the back of his mind, unfortunately, he doubted it.

Something was dripping.

The first thing to click in Harry's mind was that it was wet where he was. Wait…wet?

He sat up with a groan, hearing a sharp intake of breath above him. Blinking his eyes open, he looked out through the dirty lenses of his glasses.

"Snape," he growled a moment later. The Potions Master was looking down at him with hooded eyes, his face void of emotion.

"Potter."

Harry stared up at Snape, a shiver running up and down his spine as the professor's monotonous tone registered in his mind.

"Where am I?" Harry asked.

Snape was staring at him as though studying him, sizing him up. The look of scrutiny on the blanched face showed that he was trying to decide if Harry was even worthy of receiving an answer.

"The Dark Lord's Manor," Snape replied after long moments of unreasonable consideration.

Harry's face didn't change. He'd pretty much figured that out already, and was only trying to confirm it as a fact.

"I thought you were above this." Harry's tone was cold, his gaze sharp as an ice-pick.

He pinned Snape's ebony eyes with his own, determined that their eyes stay locked in place.

"I didn't think you would be so naïve and idiotic to be captured, Potter," Snape said right back, his voice deathly calm and droning, as before.

Though, somewhere deep in Snape's tone, Harry could sense fear. Or was it pain? It could even be indecision. Harry wouldn't be able to tell without further contemplation on the matter.

"What does Voldemort want with me?" Harry inquired, arcing an eyebrow up at him.

Snape sneered, which caused Harry to snort.

"Give up the bloody act around me," Harry snarled, and was satisfied to see a look of alarm come onto Snape's face. Snape's emotionless mask was soon replaced, and Harry continued to look up at him with a calculating stare.

"You are obviously attempting to exercise your own poor and sorely lacking definition of cunning. Why?" Snape asked the younger male a few moments later.

Harry smirked. "I just wanted to find something out."

"Well…?" Snape asked with a glare after Harry hadn't said anything else.

"I already figured it out." Harry shot back at him with a pointed look, and Snape continued in his glare. "Where's my wand?"

The sneer returned to Snape's lips. "The Dark Lord has it in his possession at the current moment."

Harry kept his calm, collected look as he gazed up at Snape. Inside, however, he was screaming.

"No he doesn't," Harry said. He could clearly see Snape swallow. "You have it."

Snape looked intently at Harry, as if to try and figure out how this boy was working all of this information out. Harry's eyes were boring deep into his charcoal gaze, and his eyes were still trapped by the emerald orbs.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked as he looked up at Snape, who seemed to be trying to ignore him now. Why hadn't Snape tried to look into his mind by now? Harry knew that Snape would fail in any attempt to see into his mind – as he had been practicing in his mind barriers to make them stronger – but why hadn't he tried yet? It was as if he didn't want to harm him at all by dredging up painful memories, or harm him through legilimens...

"I've been ordered to watch over you, Potter. Make sure you don't get too…out of hand," Snape replied as his sneer seemed to become darker to Harry's eyes.

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Harry said, and a look of confusion slipped past Snape's tight guard. "What are you doing here?"

Leaving Snape to sort out his thoughts and realize just what his real answer was, Harry stood. Crossing to the far corner of the cell from Snape, he sat back down and curled up. All the while, his eyes never left Snape's confused, muddled face.

Sitting on his throne, in all his glory, Voldemort looked around at the minions that surrounded him.

They had just arrived, at his call. They were there to serve him, but today, they were merely onlookers. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I have captured Harry Potter."

A round of whispering, and laughter, resounded throughout the dank room. They were soon silence, however, when Voldemort lifted a hand.

"I have called you here today, not to have a meeting…but to watch as I torture the boy who has made my life a living hell," Voldemort told them all with a smirk. Oh, how he couldn't wait for them to bring the boy in. The image of Potter being dragged into his throne room was something he would have to store away and return to in a Pensieve, just to see how pathetic the boy looked. That was something he would treasure all this life.

"Bring him in," he said, and the door was opened with a loud, ear-splitting creak. He smirked, and began to laugh as Snape walked in first, with an unconscious Potter being dragged in behind him using a spell.

Snape moved to go to his place, but Voldemort held a hand up. Snape turned to look at him, his face expressionless.

"Severus, please," he said with a smirk, "come. You have done such a wonderful job in helping to plan this event. Take this seat." He pointed his wand at the velvet footstool that was beside his throne, and transfigured it into another throne. It was smaller than his, but it was a throne nonetheless.

Snape gave a deep bow. "It would an honor, my lord," he said. Taking his seat, Snape watched with emotionless eyes as Voldemort pointed his wand at Potter.

"Ennervate."

Potter awoke with a gasp, and turned to look around at them all as he stood, before his eyes settled on Voldemort. He swallowed, his lips set together in a tight line.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Voldemort said, his tone cold.

Over in a corner, water dripped in the tense, dead silence around them. The sound echoed off the walls and ceiling, seeming to highlight the complete lack of motion in the chamber.

"Come now, Potter. Is that really the way you should be looking at the man that saved you from your 'muggle hell?' I think not," Voldemort smirked, lifting his wand as a sadistic, evil cajoled emerged finally on his snake-like lips. "You'll have to be punished for that. Crucio!"

Potter clenched his teeth, his face twisting in a mixture of pain and strength. Sweat trickled down the side of his cheek, but he did nothing other than that.

Voldemort glared menacingly at Potter as he lifted the curse, angered that he hadn't gotten a stronger response out of him. "Don't you feel pain? You must, I know," Voldemort said. "Crucio!"

Potter began to shake this time, an eyebrow twitching.

"Scream, Potter! I know you want to," Voldemort snarled, pouring more energy into the curse. As he did so, he finally received what he so desired.

Harry let out a cry of pain, falling to his knees.

Voldemort was delighted that he had gotten a reaction out of the boy. He still hadn't said anything, but it was a start. A cry if pain meant that more would come, and in order to lure out those cries…all he had to do was shoot curse after curse at the boy.

"There we go," Voldemort said as he lifted the curse. "It's not so bad, is it? Crucio!"

Potter finally seemed to crack as the intensity of the third curse hit him, and he screamed, falling to the ground completely. The other Death Eaters watched on in silence, knowing they weren't allowed to do anything unless they wanted to be on the floor with Potter.

The only sounds in the throne room were that of Potter's screams and Voldemort's laughs of blissful, cruel entertainment.

Well, that's it, for this chapter. Please tell me what you think! Thank you!

...And NO, this is not a slash fanfiction.

Please review! Thank you!