When Neville came to, he was lying on the stone floor again. He could feel the hard surface against the bare skin of his back. When he moved his hand he felt a soft fabric under his hand - at least he was wearing trousers, though they weren't his trousers. He moved his other hand, causing the chain to clink. His fingers came in contact with a ceramic edge. He pulled it towards himself, hearing the slosh of the liquid inside it. Feeling too weak to sit or lift the bowl he turned on his side and lapped at it, not caring if it was water or poison. It tasted like the gift of life. He fell back, memories of the previous day seeping slowly to the forefront of his mind.
He groaned. What had he done? What had he allowed...?
No, he told himself. He had had no choice.
Harry wouldn't have done it, said a nasty voice in his head. Harry would have been braver.
Harry's dead, he told the voice, silencing it. He turned to rest his forehead on the cool stone. He was so tired. How long had he slept? He lay for a while, trying to pull his mind into some order.
He came fully awake with a start when the click of heels on the stone steps outside his dungeon room reached his ears. "No..." he croaked to himself. The door creaked open.
"Hello Puppy!" said a delighted voice, and the dark shape of Bellatrix Lestrange swam into veiw. "Oooh, look at you. Let's get some light in here. Lumos." Her wand tip lit up, and he shut his eyes tight to shield them from the sudden blaze. She laughed. "Look at you all washed and dried," she giggled. "Good old Cissa. And your head's all in one piece again." She tugged at his hair - at least that was no longer agonizing. She sat beside him, humming. "I thought we might forego the curse for a while, Puppy," she said thoughtfully. "I don't want you going crazy on me all too soon. Besides, the Master asked me especially to keep you alive and sane for a while."
That was surprising. Neville squinted his eyes open slightly. "Why?" he croaked.
"I don't know," she said with obvious disappointment. "Something to do with you and Potter, I suppose. Poor dead Harry."
Neville felt his hands quiver with anger. "Don't you say his name," he growled. "You've no right -"
Something cold brushed against his cheek and he flinched back. "Now now Puppy, no talkie-backsie," she sing-songed, inching up close to him. He could see her properly now that his eyes were adjusting - the thing in her hand was a long, bright silver knife. "I said we would forego the curse, but that doesn't mean I can't do anything more... phsyical."
He pressed himself as close to the wall as he could, shivering. "What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I wouldn't want to spoil it for you, Puppy," she said with that mad grin, tracing the line of his jaw with the knife edge. She drew it down to his shoulder and pressed slightly - he hissed as the razor-sharp edge broke the skin. "Nice and easy," she whispered, drawing a red line in blood down his side. He bit his lip against the pain. "Just getting started."
She drew back and wiped the blade with her finger, then put her finger to her mouth and hummed with pleasure. Neville thought he might retch. "Mmmm," she sighed. "Pure."
"Hardly," he spat.
She grinned. "Let's go a little deeper, shall we?"
Pain happened. He lost count of how many times he screamed. She seemed to know just where to cut to avoid hitting any major organs, and any really life-threatening wounds she stitched up with a quick spell to stop him bleeding to death. He found himself really wishing she wouldn't. Eventually he passed out again, and when he came to she was washing his face with the rest of the water. "Still with us, Puppy?" she asked, stroking his hair. He grunted. "Good," she said, wiping the encrusted blade of the knife on his shoulder. "That's enough for today. Be a good boy now."