He looked calm and collected, though the madness was still in his eyes. A bundle of rope was in one hand while a candle-lighter was in the other. "No," he whispered, disbelievingly. His mind went to an utter stand-still. He knew his uncle was cruel, enjoyed causing the pain of others. But Harry never thought he would torture, at least not until now. His heart was digging out of his chest, painfully, and his lungs started constricting against it’s orders, causing hyperventilation. He numbly noticed that his wrists were being tied to the arm rests. A piece of rope went from his neck to around the backing of the chair. It got tied and it became slightly harder to breath from the pressure. His feet also got tied to the ground to prevent kicking. Colors were swirling all around him. Fear gripped his heart tightly, afraid to let go. His muddled thoughts realized that he was done and looking at him in distaste. Small stomps echoed in his mind, though they weren’t registered completely. He felt sluggish and he couldn’t attempt to even writhe, let alone try to get free. The stomps came back. If it was even possible, his heart rate sped up. The rational part of his brain knew he was going to knock himself out if he continued.