Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K.Rowling.

Notes: Pure and undiluted Snape angst. Torture, child abuse and insinuated self harm. Thank you for reading, and please don't forget to review!

---

Severus Snape lowered himself to his knees and bowed to the Dark Lord. His hair shielding his eyes while his mind worked furiously to keep the loathing at bay. He tried to quiet his breathing, eyes locked on the blood stained floor in front of Voldemort's seat. How he felt like laughing right in the wizard's face, seeing his red eyes widen in anger and humilliation as the potion he desired danced before his eyes. But he knew he could not, the potion was made and ready, a dangerous weapon. But Dumbledore had told him to deny it once more and see how he reacted, while he thought of some kind of disturbance to distract him or of some substitute for the real potion. Not a very smart plan, considering Voldemort's impatience.

'I will not tolerate one more failure Severus. I expect the potion at the apointed time, or you will suffer my extreme displeasure.'

His voice quieted to a whisper, but Severus knew what to expect. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands in his lap as the Cruciatus curse struck him. A thousand knives seemed to be etching words on his skin, while he burned in a wooden stake and his feet were stuck in frozen iron shoes. It stopped slowly, the pain lingering around him. He gulped and attempted another bow even in his seated position, though his eyes were still pointed at the floor. He heard a faint rustle of robes and a few light steps. A creaking door, silky whispers, creaking door.. cold sharp footsteps aproaching. He raised his head slightly, though it seemed to be weighed down by an indescribable sense of foreboding.

'Crucio.'

He sucked his breath in a hiss, not expecting the sudden assault. Though the pain was less intense he had to hold down his hand to stop it from twitching. He got to his feet, attempting a serene facade even as he felt his hands trembling. A soft blanket of pale golden hair met his eyes as he raised himself to his feet, and his disgust deepened mixed with anger.

'Lucius.' he acknowledged the man before him with a nod and took a step towards the door.

'Crucio.' he bared his teeth in anger even as his legs crumbled under him and he fell to the floor, spasms of leashed pain washing over him. As the first spell ended another one hit him and through the haze of pain he wondered dimly how anyone could think he was friends with the bastard.

'Damn you Severus. Do you never scream?'

Lucius asked quietly as he stared at the bundle of black robes on the floor. He had expected high pitched screams of pain, the shrieks proper of the tortured. His lip pulled back in a sneer as he remembered his friend's past. Yes, he remembered when the slimy git had confessed to his strong older protecter at Hogwarts how he was ill treated at home. He laughed evilly and hit the man lying on the floor with another curse. Perhaps some muggle torture would show him? He conjured a couple of knives and sent them whistling through the air to hit the writhing silent figure on the floor. A gasp escaped him, but nothing more. Even as the blades slit through his arms and chest, occasionaly leaving a thin scratch on his sunken face. Disgruntled, he vanished the knives and stepped foward.

'Damn you again...Well, perhaps you'll learn to scream some other time.'

A final cruciatus curse and Severus heard retreating footsteps as though behind a veil of blood and the creak of the closing door. He quickly got to his feet, swaying as he stood but strided away, not wanting some other Death Eater to take advantage of his weak position and have some fun on his own. He disapparated back to the Hogwarts apparating post and had to lean on the wall to keep himself standing. He wondered if he had any ribs broken for breathing seemed particularly painful. His eyes bored his surroundings in anger, but also a hint of satisfaction even as he limped towards the looming castle. He had not screamed, he had not given the bloody idiot that pleasure. But he should have known, for he had told him about his home once...he had thought he was his friend. He smirked grimly as he reached the cool stone stairs leading to the dungeons. He had been betrayed. He shook his pounding head and muttered the password, his words a hoarse rasp.

Gulping down the firewhisky straight from the bottle he crumbled onto the dark velvet green couch in front of the cold fireplace and closed his eyes in exhaustion. He dropped the bottle from trembling hands and opened his eyes abruptly. He heard the crash and saw the flying pieces of glass and the liquid pouring steadily onto the rug. A few embedded themselves into his leg, piercing through the flimsy robes. His head throbbed painfully as he raised his eyes to the wooden clock sitting on the fireplace, he jumped as he saw the time. Eight thirty, damn, and they had an Order meeting at nine. Sighing he forced himself to stand and made his way to the bathroom. Once there he rinsed his face, blood staining the water that trickled down his face. His darting black eyes took in his sunken cheeks, protruding cheek bones painfully sharp and white agaisnt the black smudges under his eyes. He punched the mirror out of sheer anger, achieving nothing but one more pain to add to his aching body.

Straightening his robes over his pale frame his fingers registered a few soaked parts, but his mind was too tired to work it out. Grabbing a handful of floopowder from a black vase he threw it into the fire and flooed himself to Headquarters.

Molly Weasley started as a black figure emerged from the fire, revealing a sallow hooked nosed face as Severus Snape stepped out of the fireplace. She frowned slightly in concern as the man passed without a greeting, and she noticed there seemed to be some maroon patches on his chest. She hurried before him and passed into the meeting room straight to Dumbledore. The man was so old, and so busy, and yet he never seemed to tire. Still she had volunteered to take special notice of anything concerning Professor Snape in case the old wizard missed something, though she doubted that would ever happen. Still she felt rather more helpful as she told him about the young man's strange and worrying appearance. Dumbledore nodded with a slight twitch of his eyebrows and motioned for her to sit down.

'Good evening Severus.'

He stated calmly as the man entered the room. His eyes travelled over the man he considered as a son and it did not pass at unwares the seeping blood on his chest and the way his eyes were darting nervously around the room, though his face was unreadable to those who did not know him. As most people didn't.

Severus walked in without a greeting, nodding slightly to Dumbledore and took a seat. Trying to mask his ragged breathing and mantaining his usual scowl. He heard voices around him as the meeting began, up and down, low and loud... yet he was too exhausted and painful to take them in. He was shaken out of his dazed state as Dumbledore peered at him concernadly over his half moon glasses and Lupin looked at him questioningly. He shook his head ignoring the pounding blood in his ears and frowned angry with himself.

'Excuse me?'

'I was asking what was Voldemort's reaction when you did not present the potion he ordered?'

Snape's frown deepened. Dumbledore had finished filling the rest of the Order in on tonight's mission. Which meant he was probably going to be questioned now. Not that there was much to say, what was he supposed to tell them? That Voldemort and Malfoy had tortured him? Obviously the Headmaster would not let him return after that. Really, the old man was a fool. Everytime he met with the Dark Lord he was subject to at least one Cruciatus spell. A way to prove his servant's loyalty he supposed. And it was certainly not the first time he was tortured. But the old wizard was not to know. Nor anyone at any account.

'He was displeased naturally.'

He replied evasively. Managing to glare at Lupin through his tired eyelids which seemed to have intentions of closing on their own. Lupin shifted in his seat uncomfortably and glanced at Albus as though for permission.

'Well, yes. But what did he do? And say?'

Severus felt his left hand which had been lying on his lap twitch suddenly. The corner of his mouth drooped in a grimace and he incospiciously (he hoped) held it with his other hand. Probably an effect of the torture. Screaming was an outlet for the pain, it postponed the death or loss of mental sanity of the victim. Of course that was if the torture had some objetive other than pain and the simple enjoyment of the torturer, as his had been. Still he had a distinct feeling not allowing himself to scream made the cruciatus curse even more powerful.

'He said he expected the potion at the appointed time, which is next week. As for what he did or said apart from that is irrelevant and none of your business really.'

His voice which had started as silky whisper rather turned into an angry snap. He forced his face to smirk and then resume it's usual calm facade. He wasn't to give himself away. Still he was angered by the man's questions and he only desired to leave to Hogwarts and lock himself in the dungeons with a bottle of firewhisky mixed with dreamless sleep potion to ease the pain and lead him gently to forgetfullness.

Lupin nodded though he wasn't content with the answer. It was obvious Snape was hiding something, though he wasn't going to pursue the subject. Dumbledore had silenced him with a look, his eyes conveying his thoughts. Dumbledore himself was not at all happy with Severus' response and he was worried he had made a mistake in sending the young wizard to Voldemort without the potion. Tom's displeasure surely meant nothing good and seeing as Snape did not seem keen to make clear what the dark wizard had actually done, he deemed it was not pleasant at all.

The meeting continued with plans for the substitution of the potion and ways to thwart the Dark Lord's plans. But Severus was barely listening, he was just starting at the air in front of him. Fighting the spams of pain that crossed him every while and the incontrolable twitching of his hand. He was relieved when the reunion finally started to dissapate and without a goodbye hurried to leave through the fireplace and straight to his private quarters. He felt as though he was being lashed in the kidneys, as though his lungs were being continuously pierced by a paper hole puncher, his heart squeezed by frozen iron hands and his head beaten by a huge hammer.

His body collapsed near the chair, not managing to even grasp the couch. He crumbled on the floor, and lay, waves of pain washing over him. It seemed hours before he could force himself to crawl onto the chair. Once there he rested his head on his knees and without noticing sleep crept over like a dark blanket of evil memories.