Mortal Peril - 5

"What's this? Nothing to say, Potter? No glib comment or sarcastic words to bolster your false bravado?" Snape asked, sneering.

Harry smiled humorlessly. "I'm just saving my lines for the big show. No need to waste them on the warm-up act."

Snape flushed, and Harry was backhanded again by one of the Death Eaters, knocking his glasses askew.

"You were warned to watch your tongue," Snape said silkily. "Fernando, show him how insolence is treated here."

A masked Death Eater turned toward Harry, raised his wand, and hissed, "Crucio."

Harry was struck square in the chest, intense pain spreading from impact out to all his nerve endings. He dropped to the ground, writhing and trying to contain his scream. He bit down on his already torn lip, the salty taste of blood filling his mouth. The pain built, overloading his senses and turning all his bones to liquid fire. The scream that was finally ripped from him felt as if it were tearing out his throat.

When the curse was eventually lifted – after what felt like an eternity to Harry – he lay on the ground, panting and feeling blood trickle from the corners of his mouth. Spitting it out, he raised himself up on shaky arms, staring defiantly at Snape and the Death Eater who had just cursed him so painfully.

The man grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back. The stone he wore tucked inside the rope bracelet that Ginny had given him for Christmas dug painfully into the underside of his wrist.

"I can see that lesson did little to control your arrogance," Snape said, sneering. His eyebrows raised thoughtfully as his head turned imperceptibly toward the door. "Perhaps the Dark Lord will prove a better teacher. He'll at least enjoy breaking your spirit."

Before Harry had the chance to reply, the other Death Eaters got down on their knees, bowing their heads. The temperature in the room plummeted as Voldemort swept into the room, his red eyes instantly zeroing in on Harry. His misshapen white head gleamed, and his eyes glowed hungrily. He slithered rather than walked into the room, and Harry's scar exploded with pain.

His hands were still held tightly behind his back, so he was unable to cradle his head. Instead, he tossed it from side to side as he attempted to shake off the pain. Harry did his best not to let his terror show, but his heart was pounding so fiercely that he thought the others were certain to hear it.

"Welcome, Harry. How nice of you to join us," Voldemort said, his eyes raking over Harry's wounds dispassionately. He slowly raised a finger to adjust Harry's glasses back onto his face. Harry jerked away from his touch.

"Yeah, it's been a real pleasure," he spat. "If you don't mind, I think I'll be going now."

Voldemort smiled lazily. "I think not," he said, fixing him with a stare that caused Harry's blood to chill. "Is the potion ready, Severus?"

"Almost, my Lord," Snape answered, bowing his head.

"Excellent," Voldemort hissed, and then he actually smiled. His skin was too tight to smile properly, so the expression caused his teeth to protrude from his mouth. The smile was so hideous and out of place on Voldemort's snakelike face that Harry thought if evil could be captured, his face was exactly what it would look like.

Harry glanced uneasily at Snape, wondering for the first time exactly what it was that the Potions master was brewing.

"You've been destroying some of my precious possessions," Voldemort said, raising a long, sinewy finger toward the gaping cut on Harry's arm. His fingernails were long and perfectly trimmed, yet they looked rotted and decayed.