A Promise to Keep

Two

*Sorry for the long wait and short chapter.  Between holidays and covid I've found writing difficult. Hopefully, now that things have slowed down we'll get back to normal.*


It was cold and dark inside the cellar where Harry lay half awake on his lumpy pallet staring vacantly at the ceiling above. Part of him, the conscious part, was thinking about the day that lie before him. Another meaningless morning mopping the floor he had worked so hard on yesterday.  It was pointless really, but it was better than the alternative. 

The first month of his stay had taught him the extreme differences between mental and physical torture. They were both terrible in their own ways and he had found that Voldemort was a master of both. When he wasn't being used as a pin cushion or whipped bloody, he was being forced to stare into the vacant faces of Ron and Hermione or watch as Ginny's neck was split open again and again. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

After a while he stopped eating the food that was brought to him. He had hoped to starve himself, to grow so weak that he was no longer fun to play with; however with magic there is always a remedy. He was force fed potions that provided all the nutrients his body needed to stay alive and with a daily dose of Pick-me-up potion his mind was as sharp as ever. And a sharp mind was more fun to break.

Slowly, he forced himself into a sitting position and awaited the normal nauseating sensation of the blood plummeting into his lower body. He found the headrushes to be less severe if he waited a few minutes before rising to his feet.  After a moment of disorienting teetering,  his vision righted and he was able to stand. He stretched his stiff muscles, relishing the sound of each popping joint as he twisted from one side to the other, before crossing the room to a small copper wash tub.

It had been presented as a gift, a show of mercy from his otherwise ruthless captors; however, like everything else in that god-forsaken place, it had come with a price.  Kneeling to the stone floor, Harry peered into the murky surface of the water and watched his distorted reflection dance in the flickering lantern light. When Lucius Malfoy had conjured it the water had been as clear as glass but after several uses it had become clouded with dirt, sweat and blood.

Tentatively, he dipped his cracked fingers into the icy water and then rubbed them across the back of his neck. He gave an involuntary shiver as the cool liquid rolled beneath the collar of his shirt and down his spine. It was the closest he came to a shower these days. Upon delivering it, Lucius had taken full advantage by giving it an entirely different purpose. He had held Harry by the back of head and plunged him face first into the awaiting darkness. Harry could still remember straining against the edge of the tub, his feet scraping frantically for purchase against the wet stones beneath him. He could remember the deep burning in his lungs as they ached for oxygen. Most of all he could remember Malfoy's body pressing against his own, countering the thrashing with his own weight. It was no wonder he now had to fight back waves of panic whenever he simply splashed water on his face.

Above him, the sound of the clock striking the hour pulled him from his memories. He let out a deep sigh at the thought of having to return to the dinning hall, especially since he now knew Snape would be there again. However, he knew that the humiliation upstairs paled in comparison to the humiliation he had experienced down here. Up there he was merely a servant but down in the cellar he had faced nightmares beyond imagination. 

The clock chimed for the fifth time and Harry forced himself to his numb legs. Lucius would be there anytime to collect him and then…

Another chime cut his thoughts short. His brow furrowed in confusion as he turned to look at the cellar door; surely he had misheard. However, to his horror the sound of a seventh strike echoed down the stairs and through the dim light he could see that the door that led up into the hall was slightly a jar. His heart jumped into his throat as realization sent a numbing tingle through his body. Lucius had already set him up for failure.

With a rising tide of anxiety pulling at his stomach, Harry jogged up the stairs. His legs were aching but he barley noticed as he rushed down the corridor under the distasteful glares of the portraits above. He could have sworn a few of them snickered as he passed. Could they know something he didn't? Was trouble waiting on him just beyond those oak double doors at the end of the hall? He sprinted through the open doors and had to double over as his vision clouded with explosions of black spots.

"You're late, Potter."

The drawing voice of Severus Snape came from the only chair still sitting in the center of the room; all of the others were stacked neatly where Harry had left them yesterday.  Those words, that he had heard so often, seemed to transport him back to Hogwarts and suddenly the worse thing he was facing was detention.

"It would help if…"

His brain quickly caught up with his mouth and he bit back the remainder of the sarcastic sentence, literally. Teeth coming together with a sharp snap, he felt them pierce through the tender flesh of his tongue. He winced and averted his watering eyes to the floor. 

"Remembered your place have you," Snape sneered with a glance over the top of his paper. "Good, now get to work."

With a stiff nod, he collected the pail and brush and set to work on the already shinning wood. It was a pointless task, that was made clear by the lack of dirt in the stainless steel bucket. Still, he continued to scrub meticulously, taking care not to leave any streaks as he made his way around the large room.

After the first hour his knees began to ache. By the second his hands were shriveled and numb. On the third hour, he was fighting back swears as his stomach began to let out rumbles of hunger, effectively betraying him to the silent room.

"Hungry, Potter, " Snape asked nonchalantly as he threw the latest issue of the Morning Prophet atop the dinning table. "I heard you were still on a hunger strike."

Not wanting to rise to the bait, Harry feigned deafness as he returned the brush to the bottom of the bucket. He rose cautiously to his feet and was rewarded with a swaying scenery that sent him staggering to his left. Thankfully, he caught the edge of the table and, closing his eyes momentarily,  was able to regain his bearings.

"The reward for stubbornness, " Snape chortled.

Determined to ignore him, Harry began to push against the edge of the immovable table.  He strained, feet planted firmly against a strip of floor he had purposefully left dry but it did him little good.

"By now I would have assumed you knew the price of stubbornness," Snape pushed on, apparently just as determined.

Despite his efforts, Harry's foot slipped from under him and his knee struck the floor with a thud. He held back the stream of vulgarities as a bolt of electricity shot up his leg and into his hip. Instead, he reached for the bucket of water and was about to clamber under the table when Snape's next words stopped him cold.

"Or perhaps its the price everyone else has to pay for your stubbornness."

He wasn't aware that he had moved. One second he was scrubbing at the feet of the table,  the next he was standing upright, an empty bucket clutched tightly in his white knuckled fists. Before him, Snape had lept to his feet, arms spread wide as he stared down at his sodden robes. Water streaked his narrow face that was steadily turning a deep shade of burgundy. 

Harry's rage dissolved quickly into panic as cold realization flooded his veins with ice. This was not Hogwarts and he was facing much worse than cleaning bed pans.  He dropped the bucket and it clattered loudly in the deadly silence.

"I… Please…" His words jumbled together as the Headmaster's cold stare came to rest upon him. Licking his cracked lips, he shook his head and took a retreating step. What had he done? "Please…please don't…"

"Potter," Snape's voice was low as he glowered at him.

"Please, he'll… please d-don't tell," Harry stammered on. 

"Potter," Snape repeated more forcefully but Harry would not allow himself to be drowned out.

"Please, I didn't mean to," he continued, becoming more frantic with each word. He began to ring his already raw hands together, his eyes wide with apparent fear. "If you tell him…"

"Tell me what?"

The high-pitched hiss came from the open double doors at the end of the room. Harry felt his stomach sink as he glimpsed the man sweeping across the gleaming floor to stand beside Snape who had pulled himself to attention. He didn't wait for the order, not this time. He quickly dropped to his knees and bowed his head in submission. 

"Something wrong, Severus," The Dark Lord asked.

"Just a little resurgence of rebellion," Snape answered casually as if Harry had merely given him a bit of cheek.

"Is that so? What do you have to say for yourself boy?"

Harry didn't dare look up. It had been a while since he had faced any real physical punishment, he had been so careful to toe the line; however, he knew there was no escaping it now. The glee in Voldemort's words told him that much.

"I-I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't mean to," Voldemort asked, sarcasm coating his words. "You accidentally dumped an entire bucket on the Headmaster?"

"I just...I-"

"Well," Voldemort said, cutting across Harry's sorry attempt for excuses.  "There is only one way to snuff out rebellion. "

Harry cut his eyes upwards and saw Voldemort staring pointedly at Snape. The Headmaster's wet face had drained to a ashen grey but he smiled nonetheless.

"I would like nothing more than to teach Potter his rightful place," Snape said smoothly. His dark eyes cut to Harry as a sneer spread across his lips. "However,  I must unfortunately decline. I am not one for-"

"Save me your excuses, Severus, " hissed Voldemort with a wave of his hand. "This is not an invitation,  but an order."