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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Severus stormed to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. With angry flicks of his wand he cast tight, protective wards around the room. Yanking Albus's portrait out from his robe, he enlarged it, setting it on the desk. Never one to bother with pleasantries when they weren't required, Severus said, "He tried to escape," as soon as he caught a glimpse of the periwinkle robes. "He made it to my bedroom before I caught him."
"Did he now?" Albus chuckled. "He's always been inventive."
"It's not amusing," insisted Severus, his jaw clenching, his hands stiff as he fixed himself a drink. He kept glancing in the mirror, checking to be sure Potter was still in his cage. "I will be killed if he leaves. The Dark Lord will not be merciful." He would likely receive punishment for the escape attempt. It had happened too quickly for him to remember a good cut-off point, and who knew what sort of hidden triggers remained in the house that kept track of the boy's movements. He'd already sent a note to the Dark Lord explaining what had happened, but the Dark Lord hadn't responded. Presumably he intended to give his reply with his wand.
"He didn’t come close to actually escaping, did he?"
Severus took a generous sip of his scotch. "The alerts I've placed around the house allow me to know when someone enters each section; there are wards over every door, and the windows are sealed, but he could've found the guns in the secret cupboard in my bedroom and shot me or made a hole in the wall."
His eyebrows rising, Albus asked, "The guns are that powerful?"
Severus had no idea. He'd never seen a gun until he'd found the hidden cupboard. They unnerved him. Even an idiot like Potter could kill him with a gun just by pulling the trigger. At least the Killing Curse required finesse and attention. "Either way, he could have killed me."
Albus soothingly said, "You can't blame him, Severus. Even without the threat of violence hanging over his head, he's still being held captive with nothing constructive to occupy his time."
Severus snorted. "Shall I entertain him with song and dance?"
The glare Albus shot him seemed a rather harsh rebuke. "He's frightened and alone. You could at least give him a book or find some other means to divert him. You did quite well at convincing him that you were to be hated and not trusted, but now you need to find a way to give him strength."
Severus nearly choked on his drink. Catching his breath, he replied, "I can't exactly play nice with the child without the Dark Lord growing suspicious of me."
Steadily, Albus gazed at him and retorted, "You will find a way. You are quite clever, Severus, and I have no doubt that you can maintain your charade whilst finding ways to support Harry mentally. Remember, Harry is an orphan, raised by abusive relatives. You know exactly what he needs and how powerful his craving is."
Albus loved to compare Severus and Potter as if they were both offspring of his, and Potter the golden child. Their pre-Hogwarts backgrounds were fairly similar, although Potter's relatives had never given him any scars according to Albus. However, all that ended at Hogwarts. Potter had received affection and praise even before he entered the school, and his and his father's pranks were regarded with amusement, even by the staff. When Gryffindors pulled a prank, it was playful fun. When Slytherins did the same, it was out of viciousness. It was even worse that both Potters were star Quidditch players because, for some reason, one's ability to chase around a ball was more highly prized than intellect or creativity. If Draco had used the Sectumsempra on Potter, there would have been talk of expulsion, rather than disappointment.
Unlike Severus, Potter had always had acceptance, love, and praise at Hogwarts. Sure, there were a few times when the wizarding world at large had turned against him, but his two sidekicks had remained with him for the entirety of his Hogwarts career and even now stayed loyal to him. He'd always had the support of the staff and the Headmaster. If anything, this experience was good for him because it taught him just how dangerous the world was outside of the coddling of Hogwarts.
"Potter needs the Dark Lord defeated, and that's the point on which I will focus." Unwilling to hear more about how he needed to pamper the spoiled child further, Severus shrunk the portrait and shoved it in his robes.
He strode to his lab, cursing Albus for expecting the impossible. The moment he stepped outdoors, Strix screeched at him from a perch in the rafters. She flew down, her talons spread and beak snapping. Ignoring her nips, he worked the letter she was carrying off her leg. "It's not my fault you aren't permitted in the house," he muttered as he tore through the final straps. She flew off with an indignant screech and he had to curl his hand into a fist to prevent himself from retaliating against her. She was just a stupid owl. A stupid, useless owl, like nearly everything else in his life.
As soon as the door to the lab closed behind him, he glanced at the letter, which was only the second private one he'd received by owl since he'd arrived at the prison. The Malfoy crest guarding the seal caught his eye and he paused in the stairwell, his attention fully drawn to the thin bit of paper.
Had Lucius decided to renew their friendship? Intrigued, he rubbed his thumb over the seal. The snakes slithered away, releasing their hold on the folds of paper. Instead of the expected bold script of Lucius, the writing inside had been penned by an individual with a restrained, well-trained quill.
Narcissa. Narcissa approaching him repeatedly could only mean one thing: Lucius no longer wished to associate with him. Was this really how a lifelong friendship was to end? After nearly twenty-seven years, was it all to be thrown away on account of pride? And for what? Control of Potter? Let Lucius have the little snot. Severus sure as hell had no desire to babysit, and, unlike Lucius, he'd done plenty to earn the Dark Lord's esteem on his own merits.
Crumbling the letter in his fist, Severus marched down the steps. How dare he. No, how dare they. If Lucius was unwilling to associate with Severus, he had no business sending his wife to do what his pride would not allow him. It was a despicable move, and Severus would not stand for it. Either Lucius dealt with him, or he would not interact with the Malfoys outside of what the Dark Lord required.
He would ignore the letter and hand it back to Lucius in front of the Dark Lord. Let him deal with it. He savagely threw it on the worktable. He needed allies, not fickle bastards like Lucius.
He needed allies.
Fuck the Malfoys. Fuck that stupid little prat who'd brought all this upon him.

He stared at the letter.
He'd already opened it. It sat there, the corners slightly curled up like a blooming flower bud. If he handed it back now, it would be natural to assume he'd rejected the contents. If he didn't know what he supposedly rejected, they'd have him at a disadvantage.
Slowly, he reached across the table and picked up the letter. He hated letters. It was easy to lie and misdirect on paper. You could never trust written words as much as spoken ones. Inflection, tone, posture, everything mattered, everything that could hide in ink and parchment. No one confessed in a letter.
Sighing to himself, he read.
Dear Severus,

I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of affixing a letter to your owl when I saw her delivering your post to the Apothecary. I obtained her and, as far as I know, the Dark Lord and myself are the only two who recognise her by sight. I understand that her identity is not meant to be widely known, and I do not wish to go against the Dark Lord's wishes, so please do not send a reply to me unless you can be certain that even my husband will not see your owl.
Intrigued, Severus slid onto one of the work stools. It would have been simple for her to arrange a way for him to reply without using Strix if she had been concerned about revealing Severus's owl. Did she genuinely want to hide her dealings from her husband or were the two of them plotting together?
My son tells me that Hogwarts is not the same without you, and I am concerned for his educational future in these troubled times. Who knows how long it will be before the Order is suppressed? Without a proper education, I fear my son will never rise in service to the Dark Lord. I understand that you are extremely busy, and your isolation prevents you from taking on an apprentice even if you were inclined to do so, but if you could be so kind as to spare a moment to suggest a few books I can give to Draco to supplement his learning, or the name of a professional who can keep him focused on his studies, I would be eternally grateful.
Narcissa cared for Draco more than anything in the world, and she would do her best to make sure her son ended up alive and protected, no matter the outcome of the war. She wanted her son to be safely kept away in a world of education, rather than have him sent on dangerous tasks. Did Lucius share her concern? He had to remember how the Dark Lord had been willing to sacrifice his son to punish him. Severus would never have forgiven him for such a thing, but he wasn't Lucius.
I realise that you have already sacrificed much for the sake of my family and I do believe that I owe my son's life to you. Such a debt can never be repaid and I do not turn to you now because you have been so generous with your favours, but because I have no one else to turn to. Thank you for your time and the potions.

Narcissa
Severus refolded the letter and put it in a pocket. She had made no attempts to appeal to his vanity. No declarations of how his loyalty and devotion to the Dark Lord made him one who could be trusted above all others. Lucius was a reluctant arse kisser, but like many Death Eaters, he understood that all favours came with a price, and if a little brown-nosing meant the difference between acceptance and rejection, it was worth it. Perhaps Lucius had written it that way to convince Severus he wasn’t the author, but Severus's instincts told him otherwise. Lucius was far too proud to ever admit such vulnerability. Narcissa could've written the letter with Lucius looking over her shoulder or suggesting what to write, but she had written it.
How far would Narcissa go to protect her son? She'd never taken the Dark Mark, but the Dark Lord had trusted her enough to let her pick out an owl and travel to the prison unescorted. He needed to interact with her to better gauge the situation. Folding up the letter, he slipped it into his pocket as he strode over to examine his potions. With Strix so unreliable, and the distance between Diagon Alley and his present location unknown, he had no idea when she'd sent the letter, other than it had been after he'd given her the potions, which had been three days before. Even if Strix had taken breaks, to know the answer would give him a better idea of range. How far could an owl fly in three days? Species and weather had to be influential. If only he had an excuse to buy a book on owl physiology! Maybe if he pretended to be researching potions ingredients....
Rather than run to his library as he wished, he kept his attention on stirring the healing potion before him. A sudden change in behaviour might be too difficult to explain.
For several agonising hours, he worked steadily on the potions. When he felt that enough time had passed and the work was sufficient to halt for the moment, he headed to his library. It was only natural that he test out a variety of potions in order to figure out how to remove Potter's soul from his body. As far as he knew, only a Dementor's Kiss could deliberately steal a soul, and only the casting of the Killing Curse could cause it to shatter. His mind entirely preoccupied with the infuriating expanse of his ignorance, he didn't realise he'd forgotten to bring the viewing mirror along with him until he stepped into the library. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd glanced at Potter; his last memory was of chaining him to the bed and feeding him a sleeping potion, hours earlier.
Shoving open the library door, he marched into the hallway to find Potter sitting in the corner of his bed. Severus had forgotten to remove the chains after the escape attempt and dinner had appeared on the table, seemingly to taunt the boy.
"It won't work," declared Potter, his arms crossed tight against his chest.
"What won't work?" asked Severus idly.
In the same petulant tone, Potter said, "Whatever you're trying to do. I'll kill him or die trying, and there's nothing you can do to stop me or convince me otherwise."
Remembering how Albus had always begged him to try to treat the boy with a measure of respect, Severus released him from the chains. "I shall look forward to that day." There. Ambiguity as to what outcome he preferred, although he suspected that Potter was far too dense to pick up on the subtle clue.
Potter's scowl twisted even further. "Gonna take me for another bath, you sick fuck?"
How could he ever find compromise with this? Showing all of his hate and disgust on his face, he sneered, "As if I'd ever defile myself with the likes of you."
Turning around on his heel, he strode to the door, only to hear a loud bang behind him the moment his fingers touched the knob. He spun around, just in time to see the full cup of pumpkin juice sailing at him through the bars and, instinctively, he dodged it as if it were a curse, jumping to the side while he flicked his wand, ready to throw the counter-curse. He somehow managed to stop himself; he didn't dare hurt Potter, but in his distraction, he couldn't avoid the flying cup, and cold pumpkin juice splattered all over the right side of his body.
Blood pounding in his ears, Severus slashed his wand, opening the bars of the cage. Potter grabbed the chair he'd knocked over, throwing it at Severus, but his arms couldn't handle the full weight, and it didn't fly far before Severus caught it with his wand and sent it hurtling into the wall at the other end of the cell. Years of Potter's insults and aggravations flashed before him, and when Potter charged, he had to stop himself from attacking. This wasn't James Potter. He couldn't hurt the boy. Instead, he cast the rope spell, binding Potter in place with thin, cordlike black ropes.
"Coward!" yelled Potter, his face blotched a furious shade of red, "Fight me!"
How he wanted to! The petty little jabs pierced deep. No one could unhinge him like Potter. Even the Dark Lord had never gotten under his skin nearly as much as the brat. "Shut up, you stupid child!" Marching forward, he shoved Potter back onto the bed, pulling him fully onto the mattress, and binding him again with the chaining spell. His fingers shook, and he longed to wrap his hands around that slender neck and squeeze until he could no longer feel a pulse, but he couldn't hurt Potter. Even if Potter deserved it. As calmly as he could manage, he reminded the brat, "I don't need to hurt you to torture you."
"Go ahead, you arsehole! Go ahead!" Potter screamed, his face red. "You killed Dumbledore. He defended you and you killed him!"
I did. For you. Severus grabbed the pillow and stripped it of its pillowcase, stuffing the fabric in Potter's mouth before the next accusation could be heard. Potter let out a muffled scream of rage and tugged at his bonds.
Straightening up, Severus took two calming breaths. He would not hurt him. He would not treat the prat as he deserved. Once Severus felt that he could speak in a measured tone, he said, "Despite what you may think, I have better things to do with my time than torture you. If you treat me with disrespect then I will punish you, but otherwise you will be left alone." He removed the ropes and, knowing he would probably regret it, he pulled the pillowcase out of Potter's mouth.
"I don't care," hissed Potter, twisting against the chains like a cat about to be thrown in the bath. "I don't care what you do to me. I'm not-"
The idiot had a death wish. Severus raised an eyebrow. "You really don't care at all?"
He menacingly levelled his wand at Potter's face. "I can do whatever I like and you won't care?"
Potter didn't even flinch, his eyes narrowing. "I won't give up. I won't stop until he's dead and you've paid for what you've done." He tugged viciously at the chains binding his wrists. "Fight me, you coward."
Dryly, Severus retorted, "So I can thrash you again?"
"Fuck you." Potter flailed a leg which did nothing but muss up his blankets. "You're a pathetic coward who betrayed a man who trusted you."
Breathe. He's only doing this because he has no other weapon and he saw how much 'coward' unhinged you last time. He wouldn't give the prat an inch. Slipping his wand back into his sleeve, he said, with a pointed look at Potter, "Albus certainly wasn't very good at choosing those who could most effectively reach his goals."
If Potter registered the insult, he didn't show it. "You bastard! He didn't care about efficiency, he cared about trust and love, two things you know nothing about!"
Severus snorted, simply because he knew it would enrage the boy and Potter reacted accordingly, snarling through his teeth and kicking out his legs as if the skinny, flailing limbs could somehow be terrifying.
It was so easy to provoke Potter. Amusing, too. "What you know nothing about could fill the halls of Hogwarts."
Potter bared his teeth, his thin legs flying all over again. "At least I'm not a half-blood slave to Pureblood bullshit. YourMaster isn't even a Pureblood, but-"
Severus really wasn't supposed to know that. This brat would be the death of him. He whipped out his wand, pointed it at Potter's face and hissed, "How dare you-"
"Voldemort-"
"Do not say his name!"
An obstinate look passed over Potter's face, then he shrieked, "VOLDEMORT! COME FIGHT ME, VOLDEMORT!"
No more. Severus slashed his wand. "Angustus pulmonarius!"
Potter's eyes went wide, his chest rising as he gasped for the breath that the lung-constricting spell wouldn't allow him to take. The curse wouldn't hurt him as long as Severus let it up before he actually asphyxiated. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Severus calmly watched as Potter clawed at the chains, the jerking of his legs growing ever more frantic as his face purpled. If the brat insisted on provoking him, then how could he not react?
He needs you more than you can possibly imagine.
Curse you, Albus. You've never seen what a whiney, arrogant little shit he is.
He let it go to fifteen before he released Potter and watched as the boy sucked in huge gulps of air. When he felt Potter could speak, he said, "If you behave, then you may eat. Otherwise-"
Deep, ragged gulps of air rattled Potter's chest. "Fuck you," he finally spat out.
"Angustus pulmonarius!"
Screwing his eyes shut, Potter pressed his face into his shoulder.
...Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Tension thrummed through Potter's body like a wire held tight, his fingers curled into fists. It wouldn't work. The bastard was going to wait it out. Severus let it go to ten, just out of spite, then released the spell. He'd have to try something else. Maybe it was time for the specially prepared cupboard.
With a flick of his wand, he cleared the table of food. "Fine then. You won't eat."
Potter pulled himself as far upright as the chains would allow. Scornfully he said, "I'm not eating any of your shitty food."
Oh, what he would do if he was allowed to cause even the slightest amount of pain to that insufferable child! If only the Dark Lord hadn't commanded that he restrict his magic use around Potter! He was in danger as it was to use magic on the boy, although he couldn't let the Dark Lord see Potter's insolence go unpunished. Calm. You can deal with this.Through gritted teeth, he said, "I don't cook. I have better things to do with my time."
Potter made a noise halfway between a scoff and a choke. "Like kissing Voldemort's arse?"
"Angustus pulmonarius!" He needed to leave before he did something rash. Turning on his heel, he marched out of the cell, closing the bars behind him. He didn't let up on the choking spell until he reached the kitchen door.
Bloody prick. If some sadistic deity should try to think of the perfect irritant, they would be hard-pressed to beat Potter. It didn't seem possible that one small child could be a greater thorn in his side than the Dark Lord himself, but somehow, he was.
Severus had just left the house when the tug of wards alerted him to someone's arrival in his lab. Ah yes, someone to come punish him for allowing the little shit to speak the Dark Lord's name multiple times. The name said once could be the murmur of a half-conscious boy, but not multiple times in a row. Maybe even the Dark Lord himself had come to inflict the punishment. He threw open the door to find a young, acne-covered Death Eater standing on the landing.
How did these brats have access to come and go as they pleased when he, nearly the Dark Lord's right-hand man, did not?
Unleashing his fury in a snarl, he asked, "What do you want?"
The boy gulped audibly, his eyes darting around as if looking for a quick exit. "Uh, your post, sir." He held up a small bundle.
Severus ripped it from his hand. "Get the fuck out."
Swallowing again, the boy stammered, "Your . . . potions . . . order?"
His blood pounding so hard in his head he could barely think, Severus whipped out his wand. "Don't . . . make me repeat myself."
"Yessir!" The boy ran, nearly tripping on the hem of his robes.
Severus stomped down the steps, wishing he had another door to slam. His father had once slammed the door so hard, the foundation had cracked. Inside his lab, he glanced at the mirror, finding Potter pouting on his bed. You stupid child.He needed a drink. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and resisted the urge to smash something. He was too tightly wound to brew properly, so he grabbed the mirror and resized it, stuffing it into his pocket before he stomped his way back to the library and set the mirror up on the fireplace mantle.
With the task of finding a way to acquire more information about owls occupying his mind, it was easy to put his anger to the side, especially when he found that owl feathers were sometimes used in potions designed to heal the cerebral cortex. It wasn't entirely what he wanted -- souls existed outside Muggle science --, but he was sure he could cobble together an explanation that would convince the Dark Lord his interest in the potion, and therefore owl anatomy, was legitimate.
The rare boon was such an unexpected find that when he glanced in the mirror to check on Potter after reading a promising chapter and found the boy awkwardly positioned on the bed, peeing off the side, the familiar shot of anger never arose. He had been remiss to keep the boy chained in place for such a long time. That whole situation had been a mistake. The Dark Lord had never even responded to the use of his name, and it had been four hours since the event. He'd also never said anything about the other times when his name had escaped Potter's lips.
Why?
It was odd, wasn't it? Why would the Dark Lord allow himself to be so disrespected by Potter? Could he not tell? Were the wards so powerful that no one was alerted to the use of the name? Was Potter now effectively a Muggle and therefore the curse didn't respond to him? Was Potter somehow a non-person? None of the explanations made sense. It was possible the Dark Lord just didn't care, but Severus refused to believe that. The Dark Lord was very particular about certain things.
Time to perform a little experiment and do a bit of what needed to be done. He shouldn't know the Dark Lord's secret anyway, and Potter's hatred of him would only increase after what had happened earlier. Turning back to his book, he calmly perused the page, then set the book to the side. Placing his hand upon the bookshelf, his fingers resting againstOne Thousand and One New Uses for Magical Plants, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he pulled out Dumbledore's portrait and, when he saw the man, said, "I'll be needing you shortly." After sticking the portrait back in his robes, he headed straight for the cell, Summoning a flannel from the bathroom to himself when he stepped through the door.
"Fucking arsehole," muttered Potter, who started writhing frantically against the sheets, trying to get his penis back in his bottoms.
Severus removed the chains, poured water from his wand on the flannel and threw it at Potter. "Clean yourself."
Turning away, Potter dabbed at himself with the cloth while he muttered obscenities under his breath.
Severus took a deep breath. Since Potter would never remember what was about to transpire, there was no sense in hesitating to try out different techniques of dealing with the boy.
In a calm, steady voice, he said, "The house-elves have destroyed your uneaten food, but they can certainly make you something better if you'll behave yourself. If you'll stay calm, I'll take you to the kitchen."
Potter shot towards the edge of the bed like an eager puppy about to be taken for a walk. "You have house-elves here?"
What an idiot. "Of course there are house-elves. Most of the Dark Lord's followersare Purebloods, and more than a few have given elves to his Lordship in their wills. How thick are you?"
Potter rolled his eyes and Severus continued in the same, slightly mocking tone before he could interrupt. "As you can imagine, I don't care if you eat or not, but the Dark Lord has decreed you are to be in good health before he . . . deals with you." There, give the boy a scare, reaffirm antagonism lest he grow suspicious, and suggest a reason you'd be stupid enough to drag him out of his cell. "Believe me, Potter, I'd rather let you rot, but we mustn't disobey the Dark Lord's orders. Place your hands behind your back."
Potter stared at Severus through narrowed eyes and, for a moment, Severus thought that he had the sense to recognise a trap. Instead, he tossed the flannel onto the puddle of piss and climbed off the bed, turning around and placing his hands together behind his back. With an arrogant toss of his messy hair, he stated, "If you'd rather I rot, then I'd rather eat."
All too easy.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Invictus