A/N. This is a response to a challenge by Nagini. It's challenge number one. Details of the challenge will be posted in the last chapter. I'm currently going through and rewriting the whole thing, so I can finally get this story completed. eyeroll I guess a two year break isn't that bad...ducks

Disclaimer: If you think I own this, you miraculously, are crazier then me. Don't sue, all I own is an enormous fat cat named Muffin, and a piece of paper I call Bob.

Extended Summary: Harry was captured by Voldermort four years ago. Hermione is Draco's toy. Ron, Remus and Sirius are dead. Harry has nearly given up hope of being rescued, when a familiar person is captured and suddenly shows up in Harry's cell….

Rating: Rated R for sex (non-graphic), violence, nudity, excessive, slightly graphic torture, death, and harsh language. Also minor slash.

Chapter 1

Harry's P.O.V

If you've ever read in novels about the… Hero being tortured for valuable information, you've probably thought at some point, 'Oh, I could survive through that'. 'I'd never give in; I'd never betray my friends; I'm strong enough; I'd never.loose.hope'. That's what I used to think as well. But that's only until you do in fact, go through the torture. The pain is…indescribable, not to mention unbearable. They could do… countless, things to you. Ripping off your nails, probably being the mildest form of torture. In my opinion of course. Imagine a hang nail; you all must have had one at one point. Now remember what it feels like, the pain, of when the hang nail catches on something. When they rip off your nails it's like that, only a hundred times worse. The sharp pain as your nail is ripped off your flesh, the skin tears and rips, and as the air touches it, it starts to burn, as if you've submerged your hand into a hot fire and left it there to roast. And the horrible part about this, is they can do it over and over again, with all ten of your finger nails and with your ten toenails.

Now keep in mind I said this was the mildest form of torture. You've also got your whipping, cutting, burning, slow gutting, hanging, the breaking of limbs, the rack, thumbscrews, impaling, being mangled by wild animals, staking, boiled alive, being hung by your ears or hair, and an experienced torturer can think up a hundred or thousand other hellish tortures. Speaking from experience, these can make even the Cruciatus Curse seem mild.

Tell me again if you think you can stand it.

It's been four years since I was captured by He-who-must-not-be-named. Yeah, I've started calling him by that, despite what Dumbledore told me, all those years ago. Oh… wait, that's right, it was only four years ago that he reminded me of that. But calling him by his true name, earns me one of those tortures that I just mentioned.

The war still rages between He and the wizarding world. I know the side of light will win, they just have to. But I don't know how much longer I can go on…

I lay naked on the bed as Voldemort pleasured himself with me. Even as only half a human, (the other part being snake), he still needed to fulfill his desires, and who better to use then me, his old arch-enemy, who stopped him from rising to power eighteen, long years ago. Who better to humiliate…to rape…then me? I learnt a long time ago just to let him do what he wanted; the sooner he did, the sooner it was over, and I could go back to the comforts of my cell.

He stared at me when he was done, gasping hard, and I succeeded in resisting the urge to look away. Nearly. He gave a pleasurable hiss when he realized his stare had succeeded in making me feel even more uncomfortable, then got off me, while motioning to two Deatheaters standing guard by the door. I couldn't see who they were; these two chose to wear their masks and have their hoods up, even though it wasn't required until they were out of the borders of the lair. I could already guess who they were though. McNair, was easy to pick out, being one of the biggest Deatheaters in service to Him. And by big, I mean his robes were ready to burst at the seams. The other was probably Adams, although I was only guessing because he was usually the one on duty the same time as McNair.

They picked me up roughly, ignoring my loud hiss of pain as they grabbed me by my partially healed arm, (it had been broken about two weeks ago, and only half-heartedly mended) and my mind became clouded as they dragged me back to my cell. I lay on the cold, and slightly damp stone floor for what must have been half an hour, as I tried to clear my head, before I picked myself up and half-stumbled half-crawled over to the thick blanket that, when fashioned right, managed to serve as a mattress, pillow and sheet and I quickly fell asleep.

I was watching myself. It felt weird, I watched myself fly on my broom; flying aimlessly around in the sky…wait, no, I was playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, flying higher and towards the sun, not able to see a thing, but where I somehow knew the Snitch was headed. All of a sudden, the sun's face turned into Snape's great greasy head; I couldn't understand... why was something as beautiful as the sun turning into as something as dark and evil as that, that thing?

Then the scene became familiar, and could see it like a three dimensional movie. Where the characters seemed solid…I watched in horror as Snape, I couldn't see his face, but I knew it was him, and several other masked Deatheaters appeared in the kitchen where I was staying at the Weasley's. Then He appeared. I tried to warn them, but they couldn't hear me, it was just a dream… so I tried to attack the Deatheaters, clinging on to the hope that despite what I've been told, you could change the past… but none of my spells worked. I watched myself frozen in place as Snape strode over and binded the me in the dream, killing Ron who darted after him, trying to stop him. I tried to jump in front of the spell, but it went right through me. I watched them kill the others as they resisted, Percy, George, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny… For the first time, I was glad Hermione had decided to go to Bulgaria.

I was finally seeing how it all happened. I was watching how I got captured. In the memory, I was already unconscious, so how could I be watching what I never saw in the first place?

The scene changed again, and this time I watched myself crumble as I was given the news that all the light-side werewolves had been killed. I was forced to watch with my own eyes, as they tied Remus Lupin down, and then, he was…impaled. Over and over again, the Deatheaters stabbed him with blunt wooden stakes. Not where it would kill him of course. No, they had something better for him. They made him swallow some molten silver. I couldn't even begin to imagine the pain let alone describe it…I knew that silver had to be heated to incredible temperatures to melt, and then the fact that werewolves are allergic to it in the first place…

I again watched his face contort and twist in unbearable pain, his lips melting as they touched the hot beaker in which the silver was held. The Harry in the memory, tears pouring down his…my, face as I watched Remus struggled weakly against his bonds to move his hands to try and rub away the pain as the liquid silver went down his throat, melting his esophagus, then his stomach. And then I heard his retching as he tried to spit it back up.

I watched again in utter disgust as he choked on the foul stuff, and then, as it filled and melted his lungs, I watched as the agony over took him, he gave up the fight, and slowly, he died…

The scene changed again, and I watched as Hermione was dragged passed my cell. My sixteen year old, past self was calling out to her, until Lucius Malfoy, my 'keeper' hit me in the face with a brick. I winced as I remembered the crack as my nose broke, and the sharp pain shooting to my brain. It didn't really matter, I was becoming use to things like that happening, and Hermione didn't hear me anyway. Her once curly hair was now board straight, but you couldn't really tell that at the time. It fell across, hiding her face, and was matted with something that I now realized was blood. I didn't notice it at the time though, I had a cut above my eye and blood was streaming into it, impairing my vision as I gazed at Hermione.

She was dropped into the cell next to mine, but I remember nothing I said made her wake up. That memory faded, and everything was white. I looked around, wondering what I was going to see next, and then the memory that rivals Remus's death appeared. Draco entered her cell, Hermione herself only beginning to stir, and I watched in horror as he ripped her clothes off, but still managing to make a huge production out of it to torment me, and then, began to rape her. I turned away to spare Hermione what little pride she had left.

But nothing, I remembered grimly to myself, blocked out her screaming as she awoke.

Draco took her when he left, and I have only seen her once since, being made to fulfill her role as Malfoy's whore. I nearly didn't recognize her; her hair had been cut off so it was short, bruises decorated her face, and everything that made her Hermione, her passion for learning, her pride, and confidenceall of it!was gone. And this new Hermione… I just don't want to remember her, anymore, I thought to myself.

The scene changed yet again, and I jerked awake up to the same memory I always do. The memory of being told Sirius was dead. I was just glad, that for once, they couldn't make me witness it, for Sirius had not been killed by Deatheaters, but by Minister Fudge, just before he in turn was killed.

I lay there shivering, even under my warm blanket, and I tried to forget the all too familiar nightmare that has plagued me every single night since I was captured, until I heard the familiar jangle of keys and the thud of boots on the cobblestone floor.

Lucius Malfoy came striding down the hallway, a small tin bowl in his hand. I struggled briefly with the blanket as I tried to sit up; if I didn't, I wouldn't be allowed dinner that evening.

Lucius Malfoy was my…keeper. That's what You-know-who called him. Since Lucius failed to capture me that night of the Tri-Wizard tournament, he was demoted from He-who-must-not-be-named's inner circle, to the role of the jailkeeper and two years later, when his son came of age, he was promoted to take his place. Lucius took out all his humiliation; his hatred... from which he still hadn't recovered from, out on me whenever he pleased. I was just thankful You-Know-Who didn't allow him to use any implements.

Lucius fumbled with the lock on the door briefly, the spell slurring as he spoke the words, then entered my cell He set the bowl on the iron table in the corner, then threw me a relatively clean set of clothes.

"You hurry and eat that Potter," he spat, his eyes flashing, "the Dark Lord isn't finished with you yet. He has commanded your presence for seven tonight." He pulled a large silver pocketwatch, on a long fine chain out of his pocket. "You have ten minutes."

I nodded quickly, my eyes averted to the floor as I was taught to do around my superiors, and I cringed as he aimed a kick my way. Only when I heard the clang of my cell door, and the sound of retreating footsteps, did I dare to look up. I quickly pulled on the robes and trousers, thankful for the little warmth the thin material of the articles provided, and then hopped up to sit on top of the table, which was the only furniture in the small cell besides my 'bed'. I gulped down the broth as quickly as I could; it was still slightly warm as well, and I was thankful for that, for now it was winter, I was having a harder and harder time trying to keep from freezing. The only time I'd recieve an extra blanket was when there was snow on the ground. I felt sorry for the other prisoners; the only reason I do get luxury items like this is, to put it simple, because I am you-know-who's whore.

Well, there you have it, the edited first chapter. Hope you like it. Any advice, speculations comments or complaints will be greatly appreciated, just leave a review.