Low Man Is Due

Chapter Eight: Sick and tired, I stand alone



Harry was slumped in the centre of the Death Eaters’ circle. He shuddered with terror and flinched at each of the tiny noises the men made as they shifted their weight on the cold stone floor. To add to the vast catalogue of aches and pains in his body, his headache had returned. Voldemort’s closeness to him was making his head pound fit to burst. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to find a way through the pain. He focused on breathing in and out, and tried to ignore the men around him who were eyeing his naked form hungrily.



“The Boy Who Lived,” Voldemort’s cruel voice cut through Harry’s control, and he began trembling. “Return to your owner’s side, or face the attentions of my followers.” His eyes narrowed, knowing that the boy wouldn’t be able to make it back to Snape’s side before he lost patience.



Voldemort drummed his sharp finger nails on the stone arm of the throne, red eyes fixed upon the cowering youngster. His thin lip curled in disgust.



Long moments passed.



Suddenly, a Death Eater stepped forward into the circle, and stopped beside Harry.



“What is this, Severus?” The Dark Lord snapped, anger flaring in his face. The crowd of Death Eaters shifted uneasily.



“My Lord,” Snape bowed low to the ground, not even glancing at the figure shaking beside him, “the boy is not yet ready. The fault is mine. I had hoped to train him to please you, but clearly he is not doing so. His attitude and behaviour are pitiful.” He let his gaze move up, black eyes glittering intensely, “My Lord, allow me to finish my training. A few days wait to defile him will not vastly disarray my colleagues, and they will have far more pleasure using him if he is properly trained to receive their attentions.”



Voldemort scratched his chin before answering, “Very well, Severus, you make your case.” His red eyes narrowed, “Do not think I will allow you to ‘train’ him forever. You will not be able to keep him to yourself. He will be given over to my followers.”



Severus’ chin jutted out determinedly. “My Lord, you know my innermost thoughts, I have no wish to retain the boy for my private use. My greatest desire is to see him thoroughly debauched, too sore to even move, having serviced every one of your loyal followers.”



An evil smile twisted Voldemort’s face. “Then take him and begin now. I look forward to that day with great pleasure.” He looked at the assembled company, Snape dismissed from his mind, “And now, onto other matters…”



Severus dipped his head and grabbed Harry’s black hair. The boy was crying silently but made no other protest as he was dragged out of the hall and back to Snape’s quarters.



The ex-teacher let go of the boy, sneering as Harry slumped to the floor and made no attempt to move. He closed and warded the door and cast a number of complicated spells. Finally he seemed to relax, his eyes going to the huddled figure. With an impersonal gaze, he swept over Harry’s body, noting any minor unhealed injuries, and spotting the evidence of spell damage. He prowled around the body, looking at Harry’s front. Silvery scars criss-crossed the chest. He grit his teeth, Lucius Malfoy had much to answer for.



Calmly he procured the items he needed and set about smoothing lotion over the boy’s back and chest. He frowned as he spotted the freshly grown skin on the inner thigh. That too was covered with salve, before it, and all of Harry’s other wounds, were bandaged.



The physical hurts taken care of, Snape turned to the mental ones. He wasn’t looking forward to invading the boy’s mind and discovering exactly what Malfoy had done to Harry during the five hours he had been in the blond’s care, but he had to know. He couldn’t begin re-building and re-moulding Harry if he didn’t know.



“Legilimens.”



Snape pushed easily into the boy’s fractured mind. He frowned as he slid past the supposed defences, breaching them and working deeply into the brain. He ignored the irrelevant details of his attack on the boy, although he wanted to linger and feel it from Harry’s point of view; instead he moved on, finding the memory of Harry arriving in Lucius’ room. He calmed himself, and then watched as the events unfolded.



Five hours passed. Snape pulled himself free of the lad’s brain, utterly exhausted. On the floor, Harry was whimpering and crying, having been forced to relive those horrific memories without pause.



Snape sneered. “Get up. Stop snivelling like a baby.”



Harry stared at him through bleary green eyes. He hadn’t slept since he had been captured and everything was starting to feel oddly flat, as if he was looking at a picture instead of real life. He felt dislocated from the scene in front of him. Nothing felt real. There was a weird fuzziness in his ears, like they were stuffed with cotton wool. Every little sound was echoing oddly, rattling in his mind and making it hard to focus on what was being said. Colours seemed either washed out or too vibrant. The world seemed to be tilting and spinning, but doing so slowly, and through a fog. Nothing was making sense.



Slowly his mind processed what Snape had said. He squeezed his eyes together, trying to clear the strange feeling from them, and made himself stand up. He wavered a little on his feet, but was surprised when he realised that many of the pains he had been feeling were fading. The end to the relentless agony made him feel light hearted for the briefest of moments.



Then the nausea struck.



He doubled over and retched, shaking as only acid from his stomach dribbled out, burning his throat.



Snape watched dispassionately as Harry dropped to his knees, head pressed against the cool stonework, a fit of shaking making his teeth chatter and his shoulders tremble violently. He turned sharply on his heel and left the main room. He returned less than a minute later holding a glass of water. “Drink.” he commanded.



Harry stared uncomprehendingly at the tumbler.



Snape sighed, the sound filling Harry’s ears like the rushing of water. “here,” he said and extended his hand towards Harry. The boy saw the item and reached out a shaking limb for it. His eyes, still seeing a two dimensional scene, missed the glass. Annoyed, Harry tried again. And again. Finally Snape growled and thrust the glass into the outstretched hand and moved away.



It took Harry a few tentative attempts to get the glass to his mouth. But when he did he drank gratefully, the cool water exactly what his churning stomach needed. He finished the glass and with exaggerated care lowered the container to the floor.



“Now,” Snape said, “we begin your training…”