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Derailed	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 19739 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-I:I
- 2-I:II
- 3-I:III
- 4-I:IV
- 5-I:V
- 6-I:VI
- 7-I:VII
- 8-I:VIII
- 9-I:IX
- 10-II:I
- 11-II:II
- 12-II:III
- 13-II:IV
- 14-II:V
- 15-II:VI
- 16-II:VII
- 17-II:VIII
- 18-II:IX
- 19-III:I
- 20-III:II
- 21-III:III
- 22-III:IV
- 23-III:V
- 24-III:VI
- 25-III:VII
- 26-III:VIII
- 27-III:IX
- 28-Epilogue
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This is a re-working of an old story of mine - Low Man Is Due. Feel free to read them both, as they did become rather more different than I had anticipated. SP

“Bought a ticket for a runaway train, like a madman laughing at the rain...”

Soul Asylum – Runaway Train

PART ONE

Chapter One: This time I have really led myself astray

“Ron?” Harry whispered the word urgently, all too aware of the pounding in his skull where he must have cracked it; and the burn about his wrists from the ropes that cut into the flesh so deeply blood was showing and still trickling sluggishly over his cold mottled arms. His teeth chattered in the frigid air, and he gasped, his breath hurting as it was pulled into his bruised lungs. He bit back a gasp of pain as he breathed, sure his ribs were cracked, if not broken. He was really fed up with ending up in these life or death situations, especially with Voldemort still on the loose and in possession of several portions of his maimed soul.

The red head lay still upon the worn flag stones, unmoving. He was very pale, blood leaking sluggishly from a nasty scrape on his forehead where a flap of skin had peeled back. Through the red gore, Harry was sure he could see the white of bone.

“Ron?” Harry tried again, fear gripping him. He forced his sore body into a half sitting position, then determinedly closed his mouth to hold back the vomit rising in his throat. He scanned the hallway they were slumped in. It was typical dungeon-fare: Lots of slimy black stone walls, flickering sconces, and icy air. A vague sense of something magical clung about the space. It made Harry search for a wand. And not find one. Thoroughly frightened now, he lurched over to Ron and searched him too. No wand.

Harry's vision swam in and out of focus as the waves of nausea assaulted him. He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing the bile burning his throat and looked for a way out. There was a thick wooden door at the end of the passageway, almost in shadow, but Harry could make out the large iron hinges and lock. It looked very secure.

Harry’s torn clothing didn’t help him retain his body heat. In fact, he rubbed his feet together and shuddered at the stiff cold feel of his toes. He nudged his friend with one frozen toe. He didn't expect a response. After all, he'd crawled all over Ron and the other hadn't moved. To his surprise, the red head groaned and started to shift, drawing in his breath sharply as the rope about his own wrists cut in and drew fresh blood. He coughed; the air was so cold it almost contained ice crystals. His eyes opened and stared glassily past Harry to the stonework behind his friend. Slowly, he focused on the other boy.

“Wha happened?” he slurred, trying to rub his throbbing forehead with his bound hands. He hissed as he caught the loose flap of skin and tried to push it back into place. He failed, and let his hands drop, too tired to try any more.

Harry went over in his mind the last few moments of clarity he had had before he had found himself here – they had been in the sodding forest, running from Snatchers, when he had tripped and fallen. Ron had crashed into him, cracking him in the side of the head with a sharp elbow. And Hermione? He thought back, what had happened to Hermione? He hoped he had seen her disapparate when she had seen the crowd of Snatchers surrounding him and Ron; there was nothing to be gained from her being captured too. But how had they got from being caught by Snatchers to being in a dungeon?

Harry wished he knew. He vaguely remembered being in Malfoy Manor, Draco's eyes widening as he recognised Harry. There had been a burning stab of pain as Voldemort had been called and had begun closing in on them and then what?

Harry was prevented from chasing down the last of his memories by the approach of cloaked and masked figures. Even with faces hidden, he could tell they were gloating at his demise. One leant down and closed sharp nailed fingers tightly around his frozen flesh. He was pulled roughly to his knees and dragged slowly over the sharp stones. The painful lumps and bumps dug into his body as he fought to gain his balance. Every time he came close to getting a foot under him, one of the Death Eaters would kick it out and they'd all start laughing. The group around him ignored the blood that soon began to flow from his ripped flesh after his torn trousers were no longer able to protect his goosepimpled skin.

The group of masked figures laughed cruelly at him. Ron had been pushed to one side, left behind as Harry was dragged away, smacking his head nastily against the rough wall. Harry wished the Death Eaters had chosen to focus on Ron rather than him, and then he felt ill at his thoughts.

Harry struggled to get his feet underneath him, even knowing that it was futile, but the bindings about his body stole his ability to balance, and the numbness spreading through his limbs made it equally impossible. He focused instead on surviving whatever was happening: he fought to draw breath into his cracked ribs, forcing himself to stare at the cold slabs beneath him to keep him conscious.

After what felt like miles to Harry’s pain racked body, he was thrown so that he slumped against the cold wooden door. He gasped, head spinning, vision blacking; gorge rising again. He bit back a cry when his support vanished.

The door had opened, and another black robed figure stood there, undoubtedly staring down at him.

Harry couldn’t hold it back any more. He threw up over the black material, and his green eyes rolled back into his head.

When he came back to, he was sitting in a crudely made wooden chair, not bound in place. He was hardly able to hold his body upright, let alone attempt escape. His captor was clearly not threatened by him, as he had his back to the untied boy, and the man seemed engrossed in some intense activity.

He turned, and Harry felt the wind knocked out of him. The figure no longer had his mask on, and even in profile, Harry recognised the beak-like nose, and lank bangs.

“Snape!” Harry hissed, fury eating him and giving him the strength needed to rise. He got his shaking legs under him and had taken one step when suddenly Snape was there, one hand striking Harry across his cheek and sending him crashing to the stone ground. Rolling on the cold floor, Harry came to rest against a sturdy table. He panted for breath and began trying to get his knees under him. He would not, would not, cower before this man.

“Murderer,” he spat, blood flying out as he spoke. He probed his face, feeling a loosened tooth.

Snape raised an eyebrow and looked down at Harry. His expression was emotionless, pitiless, and it made Harry terrified.

Suddenly Snape gave a gasp of pain and clutched his arm where Harry knew the Dark Mark was hidden. He turned around in a swirl of black cloak and left the room quickly. The door slammed shut behind him and Harry was alone.

It took Harry long, painful minutes to get onto his feet, and even that he only managed by clinging onto the table. He waited for the swimming sensation in his head to still, then opened his eyes. Harry blinked, having trouble focusing, and he realised his glasses had been lost somewhere along the way. Still, he could see where he was now: a large stone lined room, decorated with tapestries on the walls. There was a table, two wooden chairs, a large bed, and, horribly, chains and manacles hanging from one wall. Harry swallowed, sucking down a mouthful of blood. He really really hoped he wasn't trapped here with Snape.

Wobbling, he managed three steps before he collapsed. Frustration welled up within him and he felt tears pricking his eyes. He would not cry and he would not submit to whatever foul punishment Snape had planned for him.

Alone in the room, it was easy to feel determined and strong, but when Snape returned, that would be quite another matter.
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