Chapter I. Traiter

It was just another day at the Dursley household, Petunia fussing at the neighbors and their "wasteful" sprinklers, though it was almost a hundred outside again, and humid. But the sweltering, oven-like heat was not what made Harry Potter miserable. Sirius, his Godfather, was an empty, sore void in his heart. It had only been a week, but all the same, Harry still longed for it to end. He could hardly mind that antics of the stupid Muggles, couldn't bring himself to care, much less pay attention, when he had such dismal, heavy things on the brain.

He had a lot to ponder- the conversation with Dumbledore, the prophecy- that kept, in the day, thoughts of the Department of Mysteries from him. While he slept, however, he had no guard, and the nightmares came freely. He was grateful for the chores that kept him occupied, but usually he worked so steadily that he was done by afternoon. The physical labor felt good. The latter half of the day he wandered around, safe as long as he beat Dudley home, depressed by everything around him. The sun was blazing down, but he was far away in another place, somewhere damp and dark inside his soul.

He was so lost that as he turned on to Magnolia Crescent, walking just to walk, that the presence of another grim figure eluded him. The stranger was cloaked in black, very lean and tall, his face hidden by that telltale ivory mask. Harry was not paying attention, and was completely caught unawares as the cry of "Expelliarmus!" seemed to come from nowhere; he was wandless now, defenseless, as the Death Eater forced himself on him. Harry had no control. Something was forced to his hands for him to touch, and he was so busy struggling that he didn't notice. He scar burned and it felt like searing fire as the Portkey whisked him away, and suddenly everything went black.

It was some time later before he woke from that state of semi-consciousness, only to discover that he was suspended in midair, restrained… he tried to yell, scream, but nothing came. Then he heard it- that high, cold, monstrous laugh, and suddenly eyes red as hellfire bore into him. Lord Voldemort seemed to find the whole thing terribly amusing. "You won't be able to move, Potter," he informed Harry, as he was still twisting and turning, trying to get away.

When Riddle sneered the white flesh around his mouth screwed up, disgusting.

"I have a little gift for you, before we're done, boy." And finally he turned away. "Severus! Oh, Severus!" Inwardly Harry groaned, though he was too worn down to care anymore. "You have brought the potion?" "Of course," came the silky reply, and there was something in his voice unfamiliar- it wasn't commanding or icy, though it still had an edge to it, and Harry realized that it was something akin to submissiveness.

"This," said Voldemort, waving a vial, will reveal to me why my last attempt to kill you was thwarted. But only after giving you a little dose of what you deserve." Harry instinctively imagined the effects of the Cruciatis Curse, and he didn't know why, but he met ebony eyes in pleading only to find there disquieting laughter. He looked smug- of course, it would be his immense pleasure to see him suffer and writhe in pain. Why couldn't it be over now, a quick death like his parents had had? Like Cedric and Sirius had had? Why must he be tortured, when he had nothing to live for? He wanted it to be over in a single flash of green, but now Voldemort was speaking again.

"That way, you will be gone for good." Harry barred his teeth, bracing himself, and found to his own shock that he had locked eyes with Snape once more, but there was not pleading in his gaze. It was a look of pure venom he gave the greasy git, hatred and loathing down to the very core. How Dumbledore trusted you so, it seemed to say, and the thought of Dumbledore made his heart wrench. He had let him down, let them all down. The monster laughed again, menacingly. "Oh, don't look so betrayed," he said. "He's been on my side from the beginning, you fool!" "I always told you he was dim-witted, Master," said Snape evenly, cooly, and it made Harry's blood boil but he tried to get it under control. He had nothing left to lose, everything was gone… but even as he thought it something tugged at his brain, telling him he was wrong.

"When you drink this," Voldemort went on, as if the previous exchange had not happened, "There will be nothing to stop you from falling to my feet where you belong, like a squirmy tadpole. No one left to save you, Harry Potter." He turned to his servant- was that- was Snape- smiling? Harry inwardly shook himself. He wanted to puke. "You do the honors, Severus. I fear, should I come too close, that the temptation of strangling him would prove too much." He returned the vial to him, and Harry had to lower his gaze. His scar was pounding out of his skull. "I shall do my best to resist, my Lord," Snape said smoothly, and suddenly Harry was flung to the ground, which he hit with a loud smack. It gave his body a shock; at least he was turned away from his captors. He still could not move, though it didn't matter, he tried to tell himself between breaths, nothing mattered anymore.

But then there was another voice inside his head screaming, You were supposed to save them all! Stop his deadly, evil crusade! His heart began to throb and pound as he felt Snape's wrap his arms around him; he wanted to throw him off but couldn't-

And then the blue liquid was all over his shirt. It had not been forced down his throat, and before Harry realized what was happening they were spinning away, a shrill screech reaching them even there: "Traitor!"