Invictus

When mother still hadn't emerged from her room by nine, Severus knew she wouldn't be out until late afternoon - if she came out at all. He finished his meal of beans and toast and washed the dishes, standing on a chair to reach the rusting taps. The spells for cleaning dishes weren't in the Standard Book of Spells Grade One, nor in any of mother's other books kept hidden away in the trunk beneath her bed.

Casting another glance at the closed bedroom door, Severus slipped to his room and fetched A Beginner's Guide to Transformation, which he'd secreted out of mother's room the last time she left for the grocer's. Stuffing it up under his smock, he hurried to the door. Not only was studying outdoors the best way to avoid getting caught with the books in his hands, but it was also smart to avoid mother on those days.

With Gordon and his gang roaming the streets and Severus without a wand, it was best to slip away from Spinner's End as quickly and quietly as possible. Even if he had mastered wandless magic, the Muggle-loving Ministry of Magic forbade him from defending himself against bullies.

The playground he'd found last month was perfect for his studies. Gordon's gang never encroached upon it, and it was rare that children from the surrounding neighbourhood visited. There were visitors Severus had seen on a few occasions: two obnoxious girls; an arrogant ginger and a horse-faced blonde who never shut up. But they were the only intruders on his place of solitude, and they never saw him hidden in the thicket of bushes where he read his future school books over and over again.

To his delight, the twits weren't in sight that day and he had the park to himself. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was spying on him, Severus crept into the thicket and pulled out the book from under his smock. He'd read A Beginner's Guide to Transformation cover to cover four times already, but he'd found that books made more sense the more often he read them. Selecting a twig that vaguely resembled a wand, he replicated the actions described in the book as he mouthed the incantations.

He hadn't got far, only to the chapter on turning wood to metal, when an obnoxious shriek rent the air and he peered out between the branches of the bush he'd hidden himself inside to see that the irritating girls had returned. Wishing he knew how to set up privacy wards, Severus glared at them as he whispered every single harmful spell he knew. He wasn't foolish enough to try to attack them, but just imagining how he could hurt them, eventually, was normally enough to make any encounter with a Muggle tolerable.

When the girls didn't pass through the playground but planted themselves on the swings, Severus let out a faint groan and wiggled further into the bushes. He positioned himself in a place where he could watch the girls, yet slip out the back if need be.

Propping his book up so he could keep an eye on them as he read, he returned to the chapter. As with other forms of transfiguration, it is important to keep in mind that the object-

A squeal distracted Severus and, irritated, he glanced up from his book in time to see the ginger fly through the air off her swing and land perfectly, lightly on her feet, her arms raised as if she had won a great victory. He hadn't been paying attention to her swinging, but her landing point was much farther from the swing set than he would've thought possible. The look on her face was a mixture of shock and delight and she turned back to her friend and in a voice breathless with excitement called, "Tuney, did you see that?"

"See what?" Tuney squinted at the ginger. She was swinging slowly, her periwinkle blue dress not the least bit mussed, unlike the ginger's dirt-smeared trousers.

"I flew," said the ginger, eyeing the distance as if she couldn't believe she had travelled that far on her own.

"You didn't," contradicted Tuney, her lips drawing together in a sour pucker. "You know what mummy said about making things up."

If she was perturbed by this accusation of lying, the ginger didn't show it. She returned to the swing and swung higher and higher, both Tuney and Severus watching her, Tuney in growing horror, Severus in curiosity.

The ginger's legs kicked up high, pulling her so far up with each swing, it looked as though she might rise above the metal rod at the top of the swing set at any moment.

"Stop!" shrieked Tuney. "Lily, you mustn't!"

But Lily ignored her and jumped.

Tuney screamed and Lily fell. It wasn't the graceful dismount and soft landing Severus had seen earlier. She crashed into the dirt, tumbling over, her hair flipping in front of her face. Even though he’d never liked girls (they were far too noisy and giggled constantly), Severus's gut still tightened at the sight of her smacking into the earth. For a moment, he held his breath as Tuney slowed her swinging.

But Lily raised her head and her almond-shaped eyes were filled with surprise rather than pain. She picked herself up, brushing off the dirt and the bit of blood that trickled from her left elbow. When she turned back to look at the swing set, she frowned and stood, hands on her hips, studying the swing as if she could determine by looking at it why she had flown the first time but not the next.

Tuney had finally slowed her swing enough for a dismount that held no danger whatsoever, and she rushed to her sister's side. "Don't ever do that again!"

"I won't," said Lily in a tone that convinced neither Severus nor, judging by the look on her face, Tuney.

"Let's go home," suggested Tuney and Lily allowed herself to be led away, giving the swing set one last glance before they both left the playground.

Still hidden in the bushes, his heart hammering inside his chest and his book completely forgotten, Severus watched them leave.

She could've swung higher the first time. She could've just gotten lucky. But no matter how he tried to rationalise it, in his gut he knew. He'd known from the moment he saw her land, from the look that spread across her face when she realised that she was different, that she wasn't like the others.

When dusk started to settle and he finally returned home, all he could think about was Lily.

~

After Severus finished gathering his belongings and tying up loose ends, he returned to the Manor.

The Dark Lord was waiting for him. Ever paranoid, he took Severus on a confusing, ridiculous path full of portkeys and side-along Apparition. As far as Severus was concerned, it was a useless measure. He'd find out where the boy was being kept in a few days’ time, if that.

Finally, they arrived in the middle of a kitchen and the Dark Lord released Severus's arm as if burnt by the contact. It was a kitchen in a home: a Muggle one by the look of the appliances; a mostly unused one judging by the stale feel of the air; a rural one judging by the number of tinned goods designed to feed the occupants when trips to the market were few and far between. All the labels of the tins and appliances Severus could see were in English, but that didn't mean much.

The Dark Lord didn't pause long enough for Severus to get a good look around but strode through one of the two doors, out into a hallway carpeted in plush sienna. At the opposite end of the hallway, the Dark Lord opened a door, leading into a den with a wood-burning stove perched against one wall. Mountains, somewhere. Severus sniffed, hoping to be able to tell the type of wood found nearby, but none had been burnt recently.

Potter lay on a wooden table in the centre of the room, surrounded by medical equipment, a Healer fluttering around him while Macnair, tucked into an overly plump armchair, kept watch with a critical eye.

"I want him restored to normal," ordered the Dark Lord, taking both Severus and the Healer in his sharp gaze. "Macnair."

Macnair stood, sweeping by Severus on his way out after the Dark Lord.

The Healer, a heavy-set man with bursts of grey hair curling around the back of his head, avoided Severus's eyes as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"What needs to be fixed?" Severus asked as he strode forward to get a better look at the patient.

The Healer gave a short bark of despair. "What doesn't?"

If Severus hadn't known that it was Potter who was lying on the table, he never would've guessed. The boy's face had been peeled away, the lips entirely destroyed and the ears removed. Teeth bared in a bizarre grin dominated the lower half of his face, topped by the dark cavity and small point of bone that represented the nose. The eyes, eyes Severus had devoted his life to, had been torn out, leaving two empty bowls of white in their place. Thick clumps of the annoying, tangled shock of black hair remained, caked with dried blood where it hadn't been removed enough to reveal the white of the skull. Potter's body faired better in that none of his limbs or extremities were missing, although his right hand narrowly clung to his arm by a single sinew and his legs had been switched with his arms.

While he was observing Potter, Lily filled his thoughts. If you had known what would happen, you would never have married him. He told her that often, but only now did he really mean it. Thankfully, she wasn't alive to see what had happened to her child, to see what would happen to her child. Severus would do his best to protect him, of course, but there was only so much he could do.

"I can't get them right," muttered the Healer when he noticed Severus's gaze on the juncture of Potter's upper arms and his groin.

It wasn't the worst Severus had ever seen, but it was the worst by far where a full recovery was expected. "What are his chances?"

The Healer gave a groan and muttered, "Impossible! I've been using spells to keep him alive. Even with my best potions, there's still damage I can't set right. Too much spell damage."

Although Severus had been a Death Eater long enough to know most of the spells and remove their effects, the boy's body was too far gone for him to repair the damage in a few days. He would have to resort to drastic measures. Removing his outer robe and rolling up his sleeves, he said, "I'll give him the Draught of Living Death to stabilise him while we rebuild him manually. We'll focus on putting everything in its proper place, then we'll heal him."

The Healer shook his head. "The Draught won't work, he's too close to death."

He'd been preparing for this. He shot the Healer a sharp glance. "Fetch a tub."

The Healer paused, then, apparently realising there was no other option, hurried from the room.

Severus had never tried using the Draught on one so close to death before. It was risky, but they couldn't repair the boy the conventional way.

While the Healer was gone, Severus rifled through Potter's discarded clothes, whispering revelation spells to find any hidden pockets. To his surprise and delight, Potter's pouch was intact and could be opened without much fuss. Slipping the mirror shard and the Marauder's Map into his pocket, he returned the other objects to the pouch and put it back inside the ruined clothes. Closing his eyes, he then picked the clothes up once more and re-found the beaded bag. This time, he tucked it into his robes.

Shortly after, the Healer returned, floating a tub into the room.

"Prepare a healing bath," Severus ordered as he prepared to administer his personal Draught of Living Death to Potter. It was simple enough to pour a few drops into Potter's tongueless mouth and wait until the damaged heart slowed to nothing.

As the Healer prepared the bath, Severus cast the spell necessary to restore Potter's arms and legs and floated the boy over to the tub. After gently placing him inside, he felt around the skull to judge the extent of any head injuries. They hadn't broken through the bone, just cracked it, which was a relief. It didn't mean that the brain had escaped undamaged; they could've poured something into his skull through his optic nerve holes, but Severus doubted they'd had the creativity.

Propping Potter's torso up, Severus used a spell to open his skull slightly more where it was cracked and poured his best healing potion inside. If he was correct in his assessment, Potter should be restored once his body had been fixed, provided the spell damage hadn't been too extensive. What would they have cast on him? The Cruciatus, multiple times. Thankfully, Severus had developed a potion for dealing with the after-effects of that. Had the face and the eyes been removed by a spell or an object?

Closing his eyes, Severus placed his hands over the remains of Potter's face and examined the wounds. Magical damage. Heavy magical damage. Not a spell he was familiar with. Maybe not a spell? The edges of the damage were sharp, clumsy, as if an instrument had been used. A knife or some sort of weapon infused with dark magic had cut away the flesh. All that remained of the eyes were the optical nerves, but he could find no specific trace of magic along the edge. From the clumsy way the nerves had been severed, it appeared to have been done by hand. Bellatrix most likely. She probably hadn't kept the eyeballs but had torn them apart with her fingernails. No matter, he would just grow new ones. Due to the Dark Magic that had been involved in removing the tissue, the facial flesh would have to be handled differently. He'd give the boy a temporary face and the time to regrow his flesh on his own.

Calling a chair over to himself, he transfigured it into a table and unpacked the potions he'd brought. He'd anticipated extensive nerve and flesh damage and had plenty of useful remedies, although he'd never re-grown eyes before. However, he was determined not to fail on his first attempt.

"Make sure you cleanse the wound of Dark Magic," he told the Healer, who was examining Potter's right hand.

"Right," said the man, although he probably hadn't considered it.

Mixing his pastes, creams, and liquids, Severus estimated the amount of each he would need, designing them as he would a potion. The eyes and flesh would have to be handled separately, but the spells shouldn't interfere with each other. The concoctions prepared, he returned to Potter's side.

How many times had he dreamt of destroying his face! He'd imagined digging his fingers into the flesh, tearing it away from the bone. He'd fantasized about crushing the skull, tearing out hair, and taking that tongue, that nasty, tainted tongue. There should be some perverse delight in seeing revenge extracted for him, even on the son, but there wasn't. Maybe it was because he needed to repair the damage. Maybe it was because she'd been destroyed in the violence as well. Whatever the reason, all he knew was that the sight of the broken child afforded him no measure of happiness, not even the sick, twisted thrill that sometimes ran through him at times like this.

He started with the brow. It was thin with room to grow, a gentle slope. The nose he could shape by sight or touch, narrow giving way to wide, with a small upturn at the end. The cheekbones were covered in a small amount of flesh, giving the cheeks their thin, narrow look. The lips were full, almost girlish in their plumpness, although there was something decidedly masculine about the set of the lips. The proud jaw and gently pointing chin gave the otherwise boyish features a measure of masculinity that spoke of the future man still growing underneath the skin. It wouldn't do to fill the areas around the eye sockets until the orbs grew back, so he focused on the ears, on their soft folds and sharp protrusions. The earlobes weren't connected - a dominant trait she'd given him - and he filled in their plumpness before carefully carving away excess bits of flesh. Onto his canvas he placed slight imperfections. A tiny scar across his right cheek. A mole that dotted his jawline. The scar that stood for everything he was.

Severus almost didn't fix the voice box and ripped-out tongue. The brat couldn't annoy the piss out of him if he couldn't talk. However, the Dark Lord might want to hear him beg.

He double-checked his work against the pictures from the Prophet that the Healer had dredged up from somewhere, but he didn't need to make any modifications; the boy before him was the same one who existed before. As the flesh needed to set, he turned his attention to the eyes.

Transfiguring a stool, he adjusted the tub so as not to let physical limitations interfere with his magic-casting. This would take some time and he needed to concentrate. The Healer worked around him, reconnecting the nerves in the wrist, strengthening the bones, and restoring flesh.

Two drops - one in each eye socket - started the process. Luckily, the optic nerve wasn't difficult to repair, but he gave the restoration of the orbs far more patience and care than he had any other process so far. Those eyes were the most important part, his entire reason for existing in this hell.

Slowly, patiently, he stimulated their growth, drawing a masterpiece of creation from a tiny little root. When the eyeballs took shape, the irises appeared, first a bluish black, then lightening and brightening until they had changed to green. These weren't the eyes he'd lost. Hers were a pure green - Slytherin to the core. These were flecked with tiny bits of gold around the iris as if Potter's house had felt the need to make itself known. It was such a minor detail that he doubted anyone, including an idiot like Potter, would notice. They were still her colour, her shape, and if he let himself admit it, more exquisite, so he didn't bother attempting to replace them. He could do it later, when Potter was fully healed. Once the eyes were fully formed and functional, he stretched a thin layer of skin over the orbs, and filled in the flesh around the eye sockets. The hair would grow back in time. If it were a little more unruly, no one would ever notice the difference.

Although the hardest part was past him, there was much left to be done.

"Focus on his mind," he told the Healer as he washed his hands in a temporary sink. "That's the most important part." Also the most neglected, but it wasn't as if the boy had ever needed to be anything more than a puppet.

"Yes," gasped the Healer. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his hands were already shaking with the strain of remaining awake for so many hours. How long had it been? His pocket watch said they'd been at work for at least eight hours, although the Healer had probably begun well before that.

Severus transformed a sofa into a bed. "Sleep," he ordered. "You'll not be much use if you aren't rested."

The Healer nodded gratefully and retired to the bed. Severus worked in silence until a charm he'd set up earlier activated, informing him of the arrival of visitors. He placed Potter fully in the tub and, although he was already facing the door and had Albus's wand tucked up his sleeve so that he could cast with it without pulling it out, gripped his own wand with his left hand.

The door opened and the Dark Lord strode into the room, followed closely by Lucius and shortly after by two other Death Eaters, both of whom looked as though they had barely left Hogwarts.

"My Lord." Severus stood, bowed, and made a show of heading towards the sink to cleanse his right hand.

"If you see a house-elf, kill it." The Dark Lord strode over to stare at Potter, who was immersed in a thick brew of healing potions. "Prepare wards against them."

Puzzled as to why the Dark Lord thought a house-elf would attempt to rescue Potter, Severus could only ask, "Against all house-elves or certain ones in particular?"

"Lucius's former house-elf rescued Potter's friends," explained the Dark Lord. "It appeared in Malfoy Manor and Apparated all of them away, except for Potter. Bella managed to hit it with a poisoned knife, but we don't know if she killed it. I will not have him taken from me."

Since when could Potter get Lucius's house-elf to obey his commands? Severus knew vaguely that the house-elf had vanished from Lucius's home, but he had no idea what circumstances had led to its loss. Lucius had been reluctant to speak on the subject. If his house-elf could be called to Potter's aid, then so could Kreacher. When Grimmauld Place was given to Potter, Kreacher had most likely changed owner as well. Severus glanced at Lucius who wore an unreadable expression on his face. Perhaps capturing Potter had not raised him in the Dark Lord's esteem with the loss of the prisoners. As much as Severus hated what he was about to do, he knew he had to do it. Sorry, old friend. Turning to Lucius, he asked, "After your house-elf left, did you reset your wards to prohibit its re-entry?"

The Dark Lord shot a sharp look at Lucius who raised his shoulders defensively. "I changed my wards, of course, I change them often. There is nothing in the literature to describe how to protect one's domicile from a house-elf, and Bella told me that the Black house-elf appeared in her house despite years of changes to the wards. When he wakes," he motioned to Potter, "have him call it and kill it, if it isn't already dead."

Hoping to take some of the pressure off Lucius, Severus said, "The Black house-elf is now under Potter's control as well. Lucius's house-elf is most likely dead, but Kreacher, the Black house-elf, still needs to be removed. I can brew a poison which can be administered to Grimmauld Place without anybody having to enter the house. We'll test the effect of the poison when Potter wakes. We can have him call both Kreacher and the former Malfoy house-elf. House-elves are bound to serve their masters and only death would prevent either of them from responding to Potter's appeal. We can set up a trap to prevent rescue should the house-elves appear before he wakes. I assume your Lordship would want them both killed, not captured and interrogated to gain more information on the Order?"

The Dark Lord gave a dismissive flick of his head. "I have no questions for a house-elf. Kill them. Immediately."

"Of course, my Lord."

"Once the lab is complete, bring the boy there."

"Ah, my Lord," said Severus, biting down his natural impulse to insult ignorance, "in his weakened state, I worry the fumes in the lab would harm him, much less the containment spells I would need to cast upon him. I feel that I would be of most service to your Lordship if I focused on my brewing while the Healer works on Potter. If the wards of the lab are kept separate from the brat, different concealment spells can be cast on each building, which would allow me to receive visitors-" Severus pretended that he didn't notice the flicker in the Dark Lord's eyes. "And, more importantly, fresh supplies which are essential if I am to brew here for longer than . . ." He pretended to calculate. "Twelve days. Some of the necessary ingredients I can fetch myself, others will need to be brought."

Although he knew himself to be imprisoned just as much as Potter, Severus pretended otherwise, but only enough so that the Dark Lord could see through the deception.
"The wards on the lab will be built separately," said the Dark Lord as though the idea was his own and had already been under implementation. "You will find a way to maintain constant supervision of the boy. If you cannot do that, the boy will be sent to your lab."

"I believe I have a way, my Lord. Once the protection and concealment wards are in place, I'll test my method." He was certain it would work, but he'd learnt long ago to pretend that he was less skilled at magic than he actually was. The Dark Lord still asked for much - more from him than any of his other Death Eaters as far as Severus knew. Severus wasn't sure if the deception had been uncovered, if the Dark Lord enjoyed assigning difficult tasks, or if the other Death Eaters were just incredibly incompetent compared to him. As much as his ego preferred to think the latter, the other explanations were far more likely. To take attention off himself and give the Dark Lord a greater feeling of control, he asked, "Would you like us to focus on his mind or his body first?"

The Dark Lord gazed at Severus with his reptilian red eyes and asked, "What would you focus on?"

In the beginning, such questions had filled Severus with pride as he saw them as genuine calls for advice. Now, he knew what they were: sometimes a refusal to admit ignorance, but overall, a test of priorities, convictions and loyalties. With a silently cast spell, Severus cut the Healer and the two junior Death Eaters off from their conversation before quickly glancing between Lucius and the Dark Lord to see if Lucius should be cut off as well.

Not even glancing in Lucius's direction, the Dark Lord said, "Lucius, that will be all for now."

Severus didn't miss the dark glare Lucius shot him. He knew he'd need to make it up to him somehow. Once the door was shut, he said, "It is my understanding that the boy could function well as a body for possession." They both knew perfectly well this was a lie. "Should his soul be removed, your shared blood will make him ripe for possession." As far as he knew, such a thing could be true, which was the most frustrating part of it all! If only the Dark Lord and Albus didn't keep their secrets so close to their chests, he was certain he could find a way to solve the Horcrux problem without Potter having to die. As sick as it was, he suspected the Dark Lord would figure out a way to keep Potter alive before Albus thought of something. "Obviously, his body is not fit for possession while so mangled and worthless, but any attempts to possess him with his soul intact could be dangerous. Therefore, I believe the repair of his body and removal of his soul to be the top priorities."

"Quite right," said the Dark Lord, the rare words of praise no longer filling Severus with anything more than annoyance. "I shall send Lucius by to take requests for potions ingredients."

So now Lucius was a mere errand boy? That wouldn't last long. Lucius wouldn't stand for it. All the better for Severus if he could only convince Lucius they were better off helping each other.

"I shall send you a list of everything I intend to brew as well as the ingredients," promised Severus. Reaching into his robe pockets, he produced the bag. "This is the only item of value I found amongst the boy's possessions."

The Dark Lord peered inside. "Which item would you most like to keep for yourself?"

"The photo album." It was a rare moment of complete honesty. When glancing at it earlier, he’d seen pictures of Lily and he couldn't stand the idea of Death Eater hands pawing at pictures of her. If he had thought he could get away with it, he would’ve kept the album.

Smirking, the Dark Lord reached into the bag, retrieved the item, and tossed it to Severus, who tucked it into his robes, not believing his luck. Time to push it a bit. "Will you be taking his wand for yourself?"

The Dark Lord's smirk melted to calculation. "It will be a reward to be given later." He glanced at the sleeping Healer and at Potter in the tub. "When will the boy wake?"

Severus hated such vague questions that could only have imprecise answers. Removing the wards, he strode to the tub and lifted the boy's body out of the healing potions. "We are focused on holding his body together. He was quite damaged before you brought the . . . amusement to a halt. At the moment, healing simply maintains his current injuries, because the Dark Magic coursing through him counteracts the healing potions. It will take at least twelve hours to remove every trace of Dark Magic in him - maybe more. Once the Dark Magic is cleared from his system, we'll reassess his injuries and have a more accurate time frame for how long it will take him to heal." Better to set standards low and reach them easily than make them too high. Severus lowered Potter carefully back into the tub. "With diligent work and excellent supplies, we should have him conscious enough for questioning within a week, and fully healed within a month."

"A month," said the Dark Lord, looking critically at the young Death Eaters who stood silently and nervously waiting for command. "What will hasten the process?"

"High quality supplies," answered Severus quickly. "A full team of Healers to focus their attentions on his body while I focus on my brewing. I'm not trained as Healer. I know about applying and removing Dark Magic, and some anatomy, but I will be less efficient once our focus turns more to healing. I can be of far more use to you with my brewing. If I had a brewing assistant-"

"An assistant?" The Dark Lord snorted, an action unnervingly unhuman with his slitted nostrils. "You never required such a thing at Hogwarts."

Steadily looking at the Dark Lord and opening his mind to memories of the past conversation they had just had about possessing Potter, Severus said, "There is much more that I can do now to be of service to you than I could before. If I am to solve our . . . problem, I'll need plenty of aid."

"Very well," said the Dark Lord, letting his displeasure show. "Have the list ready for Lucius when he arrives. I'll tell the workmen to make sure you have every ingredient and item that was contained in Hogwarts."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Severus, giving a slight bow. If he was to brew, then he would be sure to gain every advantage he could. What he really needed was to find a way out of his duty as prison guard as soon as possible. Making sure Potter's friends were safe, coordinating the hunt for the Horcrux with incompetent and ineffective Order members, and creating strife amongst the Death Eaters would be difficult enough while he was imprisoned, much less finding a way to convince the Dark Lord to eventually kill the boy. And how to get that extra portrait of Albus..? One thing at a time. "I'll need hair, blood, and skin samples from a house-elf if I am to take care of that particular problem. Any house-elf, either sex, will do; I want to be sure the poison I develop will work on them. As long as there aren't any genetic complications, I should have the poison ready within twenty-four hours. I can spread it on the property after that. I visited the home after I took care of Dumbledore," He pushed those memories to the front of his mind, "and left an opening for myself should I ever need to return. I can't enter the property, but I don’t need to."

What he really needed was access to Potter's memories.

Unfortunately for Severus, Potter didn't wake for another three days.

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