Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Invictus	By : starcrossedkayla Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 13268 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Freedom at last!

At least freedom from the prison and the brat. For a moment, Severus considered pausing just to breathe in the fresh air, but the frigid wind nipped at his cheeks and mussed his hair, and he’d not cast warming spells on himself, hoping that feeling the temperature would give him some idea of location. It didn’t tell him much. He was some place cold with sheets of billowing snow as far as the range of his Lumos allowed him to see.

“Here we are,” muttered Jugson, his fingers shaking as he cast the revelation spell.

Out of the blinding blankets of white appeared a solid black structure, the edges of which disappeared into the night.

Jugson groped around the wall until a loud click sounded above the wind, and a door swung open. “This way,” he said, leading Severus into a narrow, cramped room the size of the potion’s cupboard back at Hogwarts.

Their host stood in the middle of the empty room, a dark-haired man Severus vaguely recognised, but could not place.

“Gary Stratford,” the man offered along with his hand. “Welcome to my lab.”

Jugson introduced himself, shaking Stratford’s hand. He nodded to Severus. “My assistant.“

“John Stevens.” Severus took the presented hand, his own Polyjuiced hand awkward in Stratford’s. He’d never heard of Stratford before, and the man dressed like an escort with his tight robes, but that didn’t surprise him. The Dark Lord had probably given oversight of the lab to a non-Potions Master in order to confuse the reports of the work. He knew that his Death Eaters posed a greater potential threat than the Order.

Stratford brushed back a section of his long, curly hair and motioned for Jugson and Severus to follow him as he headed for one of the four doors in the room. His flashy, sky-blue trimmed robes flowed around him as he walked. “We’ve not finished ordering supplies, and we’ve only set up ten of our sixteen hearths, but we’ve already begun brewing.” He pulled open a heavy wooden door, leading the two of them into the sort of lab Severus would have expected the Dark Lord to build.

As dark and damp as the dungeons, the wide, high vaulted room served as both brewing quarters and potions cupboard. Shelves covered every inch of the wall - even though only half had been filled - whilst everything else, even the rinsing stations, was positioned in the centre of the room, visible to every eye.

No one could hide anything in this lab.

Four Potions Masters and their assistants were busying themselves around the ten brewing cauldrons. One, preparing doxy hearts on the worktable nearest to them, glanced up upon their entry, but soon returned to his work. The rest ignored them, their pace suggesting that they thought they could solve the potion problem within a short period of time.

As his Polyjuiced face made him appear seventeen, and the Dark Lord had already given him thick scrolls on the Potions Masters he’d hired, Severus focused on observing the set-up of the lab as Jugson made his introductions to the others in the room. Officially, his duty was to record all the materials and the status of the work. No one paid him any mind as he moved around the room, observing the brews as he pretended to count the number of cauldrons, worktables, and hearths. After so long of having his every action observed, it was a welcome relief. At this point, he would even prefer boring accounting work to brewing as long as it meant he wouldn’t have to return to that stifling prison any time soon. To imagine hours, perhaps even days without Potter still seemed too much like a lovely dream.

He copied all of the files and case notes to a few scrolls of parchment, to be examined later, and peered in pretend wonder at a cauldron boiling with what appeared to be Polyjuice mixed with a hair growth potion.

If Stratford found the Dark Lord’s lack of trust in his project disconcerting, he didn’t show it. He entirely ignored Severus. After giving Jugson an overly involved tour, he left the room, returning shortly with a small blond boy, one who couldn’t have been much older than a first year.

“On the table,” he said, not unkindly, as he pulled off the small hospital frock that covered the boy’s frame.

The now-naked child hesitated, his wide hazel eyes drifting around the room, but then he climbed on top of a work bench, his bare back exposed. Three wide, reddened strips of injured flesh ran parallel to each other from the left shoulder blade down to just above the right buttock. The scars were fresh - a week old at the most - and weren’t his only injuries.

“Our werewolf,” said Stratford, as if such a creature had been far more difficult to obtain than allowing Greyback in a room with the child for a few minutes. “We’ve had the most promising results with him. Bring in one of the test subjects.”

An assistant hurried from the room, her black robes billowing behind her as she nearly ran towards the opposite door. After a few minutes’ wait, she returned with an elderly Asian man whose hands had been tied together. The man had been in the prison long enough to not object when handed a vial of the modified Polyjuice potion mixed with a fresh clip of the boy’s hair. As they all watched, the boy with wide-eyed fascination, the man transformed into the boy - albeit with no hair.

Stratford frowned. “I thought we’d figured that problem out.”

The assistant removed the Asian man from the room as the Potions Masters gathered around a cauldron, debating amongst themselves how to fix that particular problem. Severus resisted the urge to call them all idiots, roll back his sleeves, and fix the problem for them. Of course the hair growing solution wouldn’t work. They hadn’t successfully Polyjuiced the man into the werewolf boy, they’d only Polyjuiced him into the boy. The disease changed hair growth, irreparably transforming the follicles. Had none of them ever tried making their own Wolfsbane Potion?

He wrote a scathing report on the scroll he’d deliver straight to the Dark Lord, as well as a list of comments and questions he’d supposedly receive from the Dark Lord after he sent in his report. The Dark Lord had gained his reputation as an extraordinary Potions Master due to Severus’s work, but in moments like these, Severus didn’t care. If the full extent of his own skill had been widely known, he’d have had to deal with added post from these dunderheads as they tried to figure out what they’d done wrong.

They worked well into the night, until Jugson, probably feeling out of sorts and even more gormless than usual, announced that they would leave for the evening to report to the Dark Lord and return the next morning.

In the entry way, Severus grasped the Portkeyed book Jugson offered him, and found himself standing before the Dark Lord in what appeared to be a family’s dining room.

He bowed. “My Lord.”

“Rise.” The Dark Lord motioned for him to stand. “Follow me, Severus.”

He turned and strode away, and Severus quickly followed. Jugson headed off in the opposite direction, his sure step suggesting familiarity with the expensively decorated home.

The Dark Lord led him into a library designed more for making an impression than for functionality judging by the dust covering some of the books. He stood by the fireplace and motioned for Severus to have a seat in one of the plump arm chairs.

I’ve done nothing wrong. At least nothing that he knows about. Severus took the chair and waited.

The Dark Lord asked, “What have they done wrong?”

Severus’s smile was genuine. “Am I so easy to read?”

“I know how critical you are.” The Dark Lord wandered over to a cabinet and waved it open with an easy flick of his long fingers. He removed a decanter filled with a dark red liquid and poured two glasses, floating one over to Severus. “Few meet your standards.”

Severus caught the glass and cast the standard spells of revelation and protection. The Dark Lord did not do the same with his own, but then, Severus had yet to see him imbibe any sort of nourishment since he’d taken his new body. Severus had no idea how to respond to the comment, or if he should even respond, and so he took a sip of the drink. Wine of some sort. When the Dark Lord did not say anything, Severus figured he might as well kiss arse. “You deserve only the best, my Lord.”

The red eyes narrowed slightly and a pit opened in Severus’s stomach. The slight curve of the thin lips did nothing to close it. After a moment, the Dark Lord said, “The boy’s supporters will continue to rebel against me as long as he remains their figure head. If I release news of his capture, they will simply redouble their efforts.”

An explanation for why they were researching the Polyjuice? “With a more permanent form of Polyjuice, no one will ever suspect-”

“No, Severus. You must convince him to join me.”

Rarely had Severus been caught completely off guard. In the past, he’d predicted or at least understood what the Dark Lord asked of him, but ever since that night in the graveyard, the Dark Lord seemed to be playing by a different game. Had the fracturing of his soul damaged his brain? After several moments of undisguised shock and confusion, Severus asked, “You wish him to take the Mark?”

The Dark Lord wrinkled in disgust what should have been a nose. “He’s not worthy of the Mark. If you can earn his trust, then you can convince him to willingly kneel before me.”

Never. Potter never would. He’d rather die than serve the Dark Lord. For a moment, Severus considered saying just that. However, it would gain him nothing but annoyance. He needed time. He didn’t need a solution, he just needed it to appear as though he were working towards a solution. “I will need time, my Lord. It will take . . . months. At least.”

The Dark Lord’s face closed. “Have you no suitable potions?”

“None that won’t be easily detected. If you wish to fully convince the world, he needs to submit of his own free will. I’ll need-” Threads joined together and then he knew what he would do. “I’ll need you to grant Lucius the privilege of torture.”

“Why?”

Severus lazily sipped as his drink, keeping his face impassive as though he had already considered every angle of the plan, not wanting the Dark Lord to know he was making it up as he went along. “I gather Lucius tortured the boy worse than any of the others and, although the memories remain inaccessible to Potter, they still lurk beneath the surface, affecting his subconscious. Invent an excuse to reward Lucius. I’ll give Potter a monster worse than me, a monster terrifying enough that he will flee to me for protection. After he has become dependent on me, I’ll train him to respect you.” Lucius, believing the reward to be the result of his hard work, would overestimate his standing. He’d never suspect that Severus had given it to him. If Severus could convince the Dark Lord to keep Lucius at a higher level than he actually deserved, Lucius would start to overstep himself again. If Severus played this right, he could earn the Dark Lord’s trust, destroy Lucius, and play nice with Potter enough to earn Albus’s approval.

“What should I allow Lucius to do?”

A piercing scream tore through the room and Potter's body jerked as if yanked by countless invisible strings.

“He ought to be restricted,” said Severus. “Potter will be difficult to heal if we him to do as he pleases. No Dark Magic and nothing that can’t be fixed within three days. If he submits a list of ideas to me, I can approve what can be fixed in time for your next visit.” That should limit Lucius, but also give him plenty of room. So far, the Dark Lord had been remarkably agreeable about allowing Potter time to heal. Severus didn’t want to push his luck too far, and this plan would never work unless he let Lucius actually hurt the boy.

He knew he had the tendency to be greedy, but he couldn’t help but ask, “Perhaps it would be possible for you to do something else to further cement Potter’s view of me as his companion and saviour. I could . . . give Potter some sort of reward. Some privilege. Lucius could ‘catch’ me in the act, and you could publicly deny Potter said privilege.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his red eyes, but the curve of his mouth spoke of amusement rather than dislike. “Such as?”

Shit. He should have thought of something first. “Perhaps I could take him to the potions lab.”

The long fingers tapped against the glass, the eyes unblinking. “You told me it would be dangerous.”

Bloody hell. “To keep him there, yes. Not for a short visit. You would, of course, prevent any other visitors from arriving on that day besides Lucius. I would keep Potter blindfolded while I move him between the buildings, and the exact day that you would send Lucius over will be chosen by you, with note sent to me a few hours before the event is to take place, in order that we can be certain no one else would know of it.”

It was too ambitious, but he needed to try everything he could.

The Dark Lord smiled and raised his glass. “You shall have everything you need.” He sent the glass to the fireplace mantel and swept from the room.

Severus could not believe his luck.

That luck remained with him for the rest of his assignment. Although he was constantly accompanied by other Death Eaters, and suspected he remained under surveillance when they left him alone in Jugson’s guest house, he was at least out of that damn house and free to send post through a variety of methods and individuals. He was even offered a girl, although he declined, as he had too much work to do to allow for distractions. Just the knowledge that he could leave the prison and have a bit of his old life was enough to bolster his spirits to the point that, when Jugson accompanied him back the kitchen felt no longer as claustrophobic as before.

Macnair emerged from the den to greet him. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said. “The boy didn’t cause any trouble at all.”

Severus had thought that Potter would react better to Macnair than to himself - they didn’t have a similarly bad history -, but when did Potter avoid trouble? “He didn’t start anything?’

“I kept him in the cupboard,” Macnair boasted. “Fed him dog food. He ate it.”

Primitive, but apparently effective. Severus had no need for Macnair and waved him away as quick as he could.

Perhaps Macnair’s treatment meant that he could start on his plan sooner than anticipated. He prepared a miniature feast and stepped downstairs to ‘rescue’ Potter.

The smell hit him as soon as he opened the door. Potter always had a strong, sort of musky scent that teenaged boys typically carried. Now, he stank of piss and what was probably dog food. He blinked at Severus from the floor of the cupboard, his hair an even more ridiculous mess than before. Something dark spotted his face near his lips. Dog food, perhaps? He squeezed his eyes shut, his thin arms moving as best they could to protect him against the bright light.

“Get up, Potter,” commanded Severus, waving away the chains with his wand.

Potter blinked in Severus’s direction, his vivid eyes bearing little of that constant defiance that they’d carried since the age of eleven. As he pulled himself to his feet on his skinny legs, he looked the orphan he was.

Severus opened the bathroom door and waited.

Potter emerged slowly, like a kitten still learning to walk. In the darkness of the cupboard, the bruises covering his chest had been hidden in shadow, but now they stood out: harsh marks of blue, red, and purple against pale skin.

Had Macnair not given him enough of the healing potion? Potter should’ve been recovered by now.

Severus waited patiently, watching Potter’s unsteady steps until the boy had entered the bathroom. He turned on his heel after casting the viewing spell inside the bathroom and entered Potter’s cage. He always kept an emergency first aid kit in his robes, but there was no need for Potter to see that. He spread it out on the table, plucking the bandages out, and examining what potions he had inside. A muscle repair potion? How deep did the injuries lie? The Dark Lord would not have tolerated Potter to be in pain, but perhaps Macnair had kept the boy drugged with analgesics. It would explain some of his unsteadiness and unnatural calm. Nothing mixed with analgesics then, lest he overdose. Perhaps a healing potion for the muscles, another for the skin, and one that worked internally to help with any injuries that couldn’t be healed by the others. An internal healing potion with a sleeping potion mixed in. He had work to do.

After setting aside the needed items and returning all his potions to his kit, he returned to the bathroom, only to find Potter trying to break into the potions cupboard.

Typical Gryffindor. Rather than point out the stupidity of Potter’s actions, he said, “Your chest needs to be bandaged; follow me.”

To his surprise, Potter did not fuss but followed him out, gripping his towel tightly to himself. A wave of Severus’s fingers had Potter summoned to his side.

Potter stood slightly hunched, his fingers white around the towel he was clutching at his waist. His striking eyes lacked their normal fierce anger, and he stared at Severus’s chest rather than his face.

To avoid touching Potter as much as possible, Severus applied both potions at once. He brushed Potter’s warm skin only as necessary, his hands moving efficiently over the damaged flesh. After a sufficient amount of potion had been applied, he gently bandaged the area, then washed his hands of the remains of the potions. Tucking the vials back in his robes, he summoned food down from the warmers and Potter nearly dove at the table.

Severus poured the mixture of healing and sleeping potions into Potter’s pumpkin juice. If the boy didn’t already suspect he’d been drugged all along, he would soon. Better to own it and pretend as though he was reducing the dosages.

"That will heal any lingering internal injuries," Severus said as he tucked the bottle back into his robes. "Drink before the potion separates or the taste will become too foul for you to finish the juice."

Potter nodded, his attention on his meal.

If leaving Potter with another guard made him this submissive, perhaps it should happen more often. Avery would probably jump at the chance to babysit.

I'd never hire Avery to babysit. Please review!
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Invictus