Harry suddenly realized he was not in his room. There were lit candles along the closest wall, shedding only feint light into the room. He was lying on a table, his arms and legs bound and tied to the corners, so he was stretched in four directions. It was as though he were on an alter, about to be sacrificed to a primeval deity. The hard ropes were digging, cutting into his tender skin. He was stretched painfully to the point where only his neck could move. He was still in his pajamas, but was also gagged.
Harry let out a muffled, terrified cry of pain. This caused two dark, cloaked figures to move. Harry had not previously been aware that they were alive, though they were in plain sight of his tear-filled eyes. Harry cried out again, with only soft muffles and whimpers escaping the cloth gag. A male and a female voice laughed from beneath their hoods and masks. One left the room, while the other began to circle Harry.
The figure that remained produced a long, curved blade from their cloak. It held it in front of Harry’s face until pure panic was visible on his face. Then, the person proceeded to stab along the edge of Harry’s body every few inches. There was a thud as the blade hit the table each time, but the blade passed close enough to Harry that he could hear its serrated edge snagging the loose fibers of his pajamas and fell it rub his skin. He screamed each time the fiend struck, sure it would hit him.
Tears clouded Harry’s vision as the cloaked figure continued the torture. When it had passed halfway around his body, Harry became aware he was wetting himself out of fright. The torture was stopped shortly after by the arrival of another figure. This one concealed itself too, but was much taller. Harry had not even heard it enter the room; the floor had creaked loudly as his torturer moved.
It was then that Harry suddenly felt cold. He heard a long, low, rattling sound, and the hurried footsteps of the other leaving. The candles flickered to smoldering darkness. Then, he was in fog, which was slowly turning to blackness. All he heard were the horrible sounds of his traumatic past that the Dementor was forcing him to relive. He had no idea for how long this lasted before everything was silent and dark.
Harry awoke drenched in cold sweat, the ropes still cutting into his wrists and ankles. The room was now brighter; a chandelier had been lit and there was now a fire in the fireplace, but he still shivered violently. Two figures were in the room and they turned as he stirred awake. One was the cloaked and hooded figure with the curved knife, the other was none other than Voldemort. The Dark Lord smiled evilly as he approached the helpless Harry. He removed the gag, which caused momentary pain in Harry’s forehead.
“You need not be afraid Potter,” he said coldly, as Harry shivered in fear. “I’ll not be killing you this night. It would be far too easy.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Harry hissed defiantly. He was in fact so afraid he had just wet himself again.
“You reek of fear Potter!”
“Smells more like urine to me,” whispered a cool, female voice uncaringly. Harry recognized it at once, and as his eyes grew wide, Bellatrix lowered her hood and removed her mask.
“They are one and the same with this boy Bella.” Voldemort then scrapped one of his long white fingernails across Harry’s right cheek, from just below his eye to the corner of his mouth. After another brief moment of pain in his scar, Harry felt the warm blood trickling down his cheek. Voldemort then took the knife from Bellatrix. “Leave us!
“I said you would not die, but you will experience terrible pain tonight.” The Dark Lord’s cold and cruel voice echoed through the empty room. He ran the tip of the blade from the back of Harry’s left hand to the elbow, easily slicing through pajama and skin alike. There was little pain from the sharpened blade, but Harry whimpered as he felt the warm liquid leaving his body and soaking into his pajamas.
Voldemort was dissatisfied with the result of his attack. He raised the blade high and slashed down into Harry’s upper right leg, cutting deep into the muscle, the tip emerging out the other side. The pain was excruciating and Harry screamed as loud as he could. Voldemort had just missed the bone, but was still not satisfied. He twisted the blade, while still in the soft flesh of its young target. Harry’s screams were further prolonged when Voldemort wrenched the knife from his skin.
Voldemort slashed the bloody blade across Harry’s abdomen, making several long, shallow cuts that only made Harry whimper, but spilled large amounts of blood. Again, dissatisfied, Voldemort slowly pressed his knife through Harry’s other leg. He pressed slowly, prolonging the experience and listening to the soft sound of the blade ripping through Harry. Harry screamed himself hoarse as Voldemort removed the blade and cast it aside.
The Dark Lord produced his wand and aimed it toward Harry, who was crying loudly. “Crucio!” The curse caused renewed pain, and amplified the pain Harry felt from his wounds. Like before, the reaction to the curse was to drawl the limbs toward the body. Harry was unable to do this and when Voldemort released the curse, after a full minute, he could only whimper. The ropes binding him had actually begun to draw blood. His body lay limp and motionless and he produced no sounds. Harry could neither speak nor scream, so he just laid still, crying.
“Crucio!” After a few seconds, which felt like minutes, Harry passed out. Everything went dark, and he felt no more. Voldemort released Harry from the curse and left the room. He wore a grim smile of satisfaction.
Harry awoke in the dark feeling cold and wet. He tried to scream, but his throat hurt too badly. In fact, his entire body was in great pain. Unable to even think if it was a dream or not, due to fear and confusion, Harry made the only sounds he could.
“Harry?” Mrs. Weasley woke upon hearing Harry’s crying and whimpering. The smell of urine was strong in the room and she suspected him to be upset over an accident. Thusly, she was not in too great a hurry to turn on the lights. When the room was lit, she let out a shriek that carried through the entire house and rushed to Harry.
“Harry! What’s happened,” she asked hysterically. Harry did not respond. He was lying in the cradle, his thumb in his mouth and eyes closed. His entire body was covered in drying blood and his pajamas were ripped and torn in various places. The entire left sleeve hung off his arm. He was awake, but in shock from the pain and his fear.
Mrs. Weasley lifted Harry from the sopping wet and soiled blankets. He instinctively latched his arms around her, digging his tiny nails into her. She rushed Harry to the bathroom and tried to set him down to clean and treat his wounds.
Harry refused to loosen his grip. He was more aware now and crying loudly. Try as she might, Mrs. Weasley could not pry Harry from her. It was then that Ron, Ginny and Hermione rushed into the bathroom. They had awoken with Molly’s shriek and followed the sound of Harry’s cries.
“Bloody hell! What happened?” Ron had been the only one able to speak. Ginny backed to the wall and sank to the floor, on the verge of crying. Hermione turned pail but tried to help Mrs. Weasley pry Harry off. She succeeded in removing Harry from Mrs. Weasley, but he immediately wrapped himself around her instead. His eyes remained tightly closed and he shivered uncontrollably.
While Hermione held him, Mrs. Weasley managed to remove Harry’s blood-soaked and slashed pajamas. This revealed the extent of his wounds and that his ankles and wrists had been bound. She got a potion vile and uncorked it. A smell much like iodine filled the room as Mrs. Weasley applied the potion to a washcloth. “Now Harry,” she began, unsure if he could even understand her. “This will sting a little, but it will stop the bleeding.” She rubbed the potion on the slash down Harry’s arm first, as it was the most accessible.
A bloodcurdling screech filled the entire house. Ginny buried her face in her hands, hiding her tears. Ron cupped his own hands over his ears and closed his eyes. Hermione could only squint her eyes as she was holding Harry. Mrs. Weasley did nothing but continue applying the potion to Harry’s wounds. The potion killed any bacteria in the wounds and closed them within seconds. By the time Mrs. Weasley finished with every wound, checking Harry over twice, both she and Hermione were covered in Harry’s blood.
Harry still held tight to Hermione but was only whimpering now. Most of the pain had subsided and he relaxed his grip enough for Mrs. Weasley to put him in the bathtub. She removed his leaking, nighttime protection and washed the blood from his body. As it was only three in the morning, Mrs. Weasley sent the others back to bed, needlessly reminding Hermione to clean herself up first.
Once in clean pajamas, Harry was still crying, but drifting back to sleep. The trauma still fresh in his mind, he did not say anything to Mrs. Weasley when she laid him back in bed. Mrs. Weasley too went back to bed.
Mrs. Weasley could not sleep however. Long after his whimpers died out, she laid on her side watching where he slept, perfectly still. She watched all night, waiting for any sign of distress, but Harry’s sleep was peaceful now. As the early light of dawn filtered into the room, Mrs. Weasley had an overwhelming sense of guilt. Not only had she not heard him in his time of need, but she had humiliated him the day before. Harry was having an extremely difficult time and she should be trying to help him.
Harry stirred and she jumped up. He was only rolling over to get more comfortable and slept on. Realizing she would not get anymore sleep this night, Mrs. Weasley dressed and picked up a book. She could not help but check Harry every few minutes. Finally, she put the book down, not having read even a page and woke Harry to go down to breakfast.