A/N: Takes place on a ship and is totally AU. No magic

The cold stale air was interrupted by a thunderous clap as the door was flung open to hit the wall of little more than a cage. The occupant attempted to shield his eyes from the light, but he wasn't quick enough to completely block out the rays. The person who burst through the door grabbed his arm.Harry writhed in the cold man's grip.

"Please, I-" the child began but was cut off.

"Stop your talking. I am not one to enjoy it," he stated as the rich blue clothing billowed around his large round figure. The man didn't want to continue to lead the child into such abuses, but if not, then he would be in that same position. With that last thought the man dragged the boy to the abuser.

Master Voldemort was one not to be trifled with. All knew that he and not Captain Malfoy, was in control of this ship. No one doubted it, not even the captain himself. Long gold rope hung from each of his broad square shoulders, accenting the deep rich green of his silken robes. Many claimed that he was the forerunner of high fashion, but the child knew that his insides were blacker then the very bottom of the sea.

Harry had learned quickly to never look into this man's cold red eyes. Like an animal, Master would see this as a challenge, one that must be conquered quickly through beating. It was why he was really here; he knew this with all certainty. This man could take out all of his unrighteous anger on him. He had only been given a precious few days to heal from the last time. They were becoming more frequent now. I will never speak again. This was his last thought as his punishment was dealt to him again.

1 year later

Harry lay in the darkness wondering how he had gotten back to his place. By no means was it large, just a small closet in the hull. It seemed that Master was having a bad day. Usually he stopped before Harry lost consciousness. The child touched his already swelling eye, the other wasn't far behind. He wouldn't be able to keep this one open much sooner. He felt his ribs ache in time with his heart beat. If he was lucky they were just bruised. He hadn't been able to take deep breaths for a while now. He guessed that it would have been a problem if he spoke, but he hadn't done that in a long time. How long, he never knew. The darkness and the harsh light made it hard to keep track. It flowed like the water just under the thick boards of his feet. It never touched him.

Harry's days, weeks, or months had gone on like this for some time. The details of his past life, the one of happiness with his loving, but sick father slowly escaped. They would never come back. Harry never tried to stop them. Somewhere inside he knew that if he never remembered the happiness then the pain would not be so powerful. It would be all he knew. It was his decision that the darkness was where he belonged. He had no possession to offer the people who basked in the light. Master had always said through whippings and beatings that Harry could not get through anything that the "real world" threw at him; saying he should be grateful for the little food and shelter over his head. It was for Harry's own good that he be punished, to purge him of his sins. It did not take long for Harry to believe him.

He was roused from his semi-conscious state by the muffled yells from above, on the deck. It seemed only moments later when he heard the click of boots on well used floor boards just outside of his place. They never yelled. They preferred the quiet, better to stew in their own thoughts. He became aware of himself shaking, and it steadily got worse as fear over took him more powerful then what he lived with every moment. Harry had backed himself into a corner. When his shoulders were stopped by the rough planks, and he knew that he could go no further, he brought his knees to his chest to try to protect himself. Fear made him slide his eyes shut and rock back and forth. Maybe they would leave. His hopes were lost when the knob started to turn.

It took his entire life to open. The door creaked with age then he felt warmth of a lamp as its light fell across the room. He didn't see it. Harry refused to open his eyes, refused to find more pain.

In a corner of his mind, he registered a man calling for the captain. 'The captain doesn't matter, it is Master, he matters.' The calls became more hurried. 'Why does the captain matter?' His thoughts fell away when he heard another set of boots join the first. Harry felt cold as a shadow crippled the light. He refused to look up as a hand came to rest on his still shaking knee. It made Master mad, so how could this Captain be any different. He shook his head violently as the man tried to pull him to his feet. Harry tried to pull free of the manacle-like grip that this man now had on his wrist, but failed again. 'No, no, no' he thought as he continually shook his head. After months of abuse and no exercise, the small expenditure left him weak, but he was not going to give up this time.

The man squatted beside the small boy; it was all he could do in the cramped space that was no more than a broom closet, and watched as the boy tried with the last of his strength to get free. His struggles were quickly becoming nonexistent. When the little boy finally lost consciousness, he picked the child up. Captain Severus Snape of the Rogue had seen many things over his years at sea, but this was far from one of them. The child even in sleep was still shaking his head and shivering. Though other then barely audible whimpers, he had spoken not a word. What had the people aboard done? Angry raised welts were visible beneath the many tares of what was once a decent shirt. His skin was like a drum in the way it stretched over too sharp cheek bones. His eyes were almost to the point of being swollen shut. There was no reason to do this to a child. It seemed that this treatment had gone on for quite a long time as well. As soon as the Captain got the boy off this ship and onto his own, those bastards would pay.

After a quick check to see if his new charge had lice, the Captain deposited Harry in his own bed. After what the kid had been through, he deserved two things. Comfort and Revenge. Both he was happy to oblige.