Invictus

He’d delayed it long enough. If he didn’t perform soon, he wouldn’t have a vision for the Dark Lord. The last place he wanted to go was Potter’s cage, especially after seeing the boy getting sick over the toilet, but he had to.

 

Sucking in a breath, he brushed off his robes and cast a cleaning spell on himself to remove any traces of potion fumes. He didn’t know why he bothered. It wasn’t as if Potter had noticed his attempts to make himself more presentable and, even if he had, Severus would never be the right gender.

 

He sighed and headed to Potter’s cage. As he touched the table he said, “I expect the Dark Lord will arrive in a few more days. We should . . . have intercourse within the next two days.”

 

They needed to perform by the next day, but Potter didn’t know any better, and his perception of time was easy to manipulate.

 

Potter didn’t move.

 

Bloody hell, how would this ever work? Was he just going to have to pour the potion in Potter’s food whenever he needed to rape him? He hoped to be able to give him some sense of control, at least the ability to consent to being drugged if nothing else. Perhaps it was impossible. Perhaps such a thing always had to be entirely forced because how could a boy like Potter ever consent, at all, to having sex with his rapist? That attack on Gringotts better come soon.... 

 

As it didn’t look like Potter would ever look at him, he left the cage. “Do try to eat. I haven’t drugged anything.” Maybe Potter didn’t know he could take the drug again. As he repaired the bars, he offered, “If you’d like, I can give you the drug I used last time to make things easier for you.”

 

Potter kicked off his covers. Jumping to his feet, he spat, “Of course I want the fucking potion! Do you think I’d willingly have sex with a greasy, ugly git like you!?”

 

And he’d tried his best to be nice! This was the thanks he got for being considerate. “Shut up! I have no attraction to runty, underdeveloped, little-”

 

Launching himself at the bars, Potter screamed, “TAKE THAT BACK!” His hands clawed out between the bars. “YOU FUCKING TAKE THAT BACK!”

 

“I have done nothing but try to help you for the-”

 

“YOU FUCKING LIAR!” Potter pounded his fists against the bars, his eyes narrow slits of green. “COME HERE SO I CAN KILL YOU!” He slammed his fists harder and blood spattered on the floor.

 

“Stop, Harry!” he cried, hoping that the use of the boy’s name would calm him, “You’re hurting yourself!

 

“GOOD! I HOPE VOLDEMORT COMES AND CRUCIOS YOUR ARSE! I HOPE YOU FEEL THIS!” Potter smashed his fist into the bar, and blood splashed onto Severus’s robes.

 

It was no use. Potter’s rage was burning him alive. “Petrificus Totalus! Mobilicorpus!” Severus floated him back to the bed and chained him in place. To keep him from hurting himself, Severus fastened Potter’s ankles to the bed with a binding spell. Once he’d secured the boy, he fetched a healing potion mixed with an analgesic and force-fed Potter the concoction.

 

The moment he released Potter from the body bind, Potter savagely pulled on his bound limbs and screamed, “I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” 

 

They’d never survive like this. He turned on his heels and left the room, heading for the potions lab. Unless he did something, and fast, Potter would destroy himself. Severus couldn’t blame him. If he were in Potter’s position, he’d probably be trying to figure out a way to break his hand in order to slide off one of the damned cuffs. Bloody hell. He needed a way to give Potter strength. Hope. 

 

He summoned the Dark Lord as he marched to the lab, giving emphasis to the summoning to let the Dark Lord know he needed to speak to him alone. 

 

He didn’t have to wait long before the Dark Lord appeared.

 

“Forgive me, my Lord.” He bowed low, sinking to his knees. “The child hurt himself. I was unable to stop him in time. I’m afraid that I overestimated his attachment to me before I raped him. I have an idea how to win back his affections, but you may not agree to the plan.”

 

“What is it?” asked the Dark Lord impatiently.

 

“I’d like to pretend to train him, my Lord.” Please let this work. He had no other option.

 

Coolly, the Dark Lord said, “The boy has no magic.”

 

He hadn’t outright rejected it - a good sign. Severus rubbed his sweaty palms and said, “Which is why his training will all be a ruse, my Lord. It will do nothing but make him overconfident.” Thankfully, Potter didn’t actually need to be trained, as there would be no final battle. In the end, the boy just needed to die willingly. 

 

The Dark Lord’s face twisted, “I want him to join me, not fight me.”

 

“He will, eventually,” Severus promised. “I need him to be reliant on me first. Please, my Lord, allow me to try this. I’ll make him overestimate his abilities. I’ll convince him he can dodge spells at close range-”

 

The Dark Lord snorted.

 

“-and other such foolish nonsense. Dumbledore trained him to be a weapon and he’s lost now, without instruction.” Albus hadn’t trained Potter to do anything but be sacrificial and reckless, but the Dark Lord’s stance shifted slightly and Severus knew he’d opened a crack. Now he just needed to wiggle his way in. “He needs someone to order him through a strict regimen with structured discipline. Once he bows to you, I can train him to be a weapon for you.” 

 

“Very well,” said the Dark Lord. “He has to show improvement in two weeks’ time.”

 

He’d never been given a time restriction before. He’d have to increase Potter’s calming potions intake. “Thank you, my Lord.”

 

“Rise.” The Dark Lord walked over to the wash. “When will the first body be ready?”

 

“Tomorrow, I believe.” He might have to find some way to delay it. “In theory. I imagine I’ll have to tweak the recipe. Have my newest theories on Polyjuice been tested?”

 

The Dark Lord gave a small nod, his eyes on the dark surface of the wash. “House-elves and goblins can be Polyjuiced into each other without complications, as can kappas and grindylows. The targeted Polyjuice Potions should be finished within a month.”

 

Hopefully this would be over before the end of the month. He nodded and grabbed a skin-healing potion off the shelf. Potter had probably twisted himself in all sorts of contortions while screaming out his rage.

 

Swirling around, the Dark Lord marched up the steps. At the top he warned, “Don’t ever let him hurt himself again.” before he vanished.

 

Not even a short Cruciatus? The Dark Lord must have been very, very pleased with the Polyjuice Potion results, which seemed a bit odd, as they weren’t that close to making a permanent body. 

 

He hurried to the kitchen, put some extra calming and sleeping potions in Potter’s food, then returned to the cellar, where Potter tried to kill him with a glare.

 

“Potter,” he said calmly as he poured the potion onto a cloth, “save your anger for when you’ll destroy the Dark Lord. You will kill him, won’t you?”

 

“I-!” The rage melted to confusion. “What?”

 

“The Dark Lord. The reason why you left school after your sixth year was to destroy him. It’s what you most wish to do, correct? Even if it costs you your life....”

 

“Of course I want to kill him, you idiot! I would do it right now if I could!”

 

Severus dabbed the potion over Potter’s wounded knuckles. “I will train you....”

 

“WHAT?!”

 

“...to kill the Dark Lord,” he said, focusing on the wounds. “However, I must insist that you acquiesce to a few demands.”

 

“I . . . what?” Potter stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

 

Summoning a bandage from his robes, Severus wound it around Potter’s hand. “You must agree to follow my rules. The choice is yours. You can stay here and try to get out on your own, or wait for your friends to save you. Perhaps you will find yourself lucky, perhaps not. The Dark Lord will have no use for you eventually and then you will be killed or worse. Or . . . you can become my student again.”

 

Potter stared at him gormlessly and Severus wondered if he’d short-circuited the idiot’s brain. He released Potter’s legs and dabbed the potion into the wounded ankles. If they were to spend more time together, then he needed more respect, otherwise he’d end up choking Potter to death. “I will require several concessions on your part before I teach you, however. First and foremost, the Dark Lord must never get a hint of what I am offering to do. If I even have an inkling that your Occlumency is weak against him or that you will reveal this secret to him in a fit of anger against me, I will not hesitate to completely Obliviate you.” He’d thought about doing it just to make his life easier, but Potter had to willingly sacrifice himself, and no one could predict what sort of values the Obliviated Potter would hold. “Do not doubt me when I say that I will do it in a heartbeat in order to protect myself. I will not have my life destroyed because you got angry with me for doing something that was required of me.”

 

Potter said nothing. Severus released his cuffs and examined his arms. “The second rule is that you must speak to me in a respectful manner.”

 

Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Severus didn’t let him. “Just listen. We don't have to like each other. We can still hate each other all we want . . . but I will not have you flinging insults at me whenever I do something you don't like. While I still dislike you, I promise to be more civil towards you than I was during your school years.”

 

“Don't call me stupid,” sniffed Potter. “Or little.”

 

A reasonable request. Severus took the chair. He needed Potter to believe in this training wholeheartedly. He needed to convince the boy that this was his ticket to freedom and that, without Severus, he was doomed. “I also must insist that you take this duty seriously and train as you have never trained before. I will push you hard, and I do this not to be sadistic, but because I have no idea how much time we have, or how long I will be able to remain here with you. Any day, the Dark Lord could decide that he needs me elsewhere and replace me with another guard.”

 

Potter rubbed his arm, his face turning slightly green.

 

Now to try to counteract his martyrdom. “Finally, you must do your duty and kill him or any other Death Eater who stands in your way. I do not want to spend time training you only to have you die when you hesitate to kill a Death Eater and allow him to cast on you first. Likewise, when I finally bring you before the Dark Lord to destroy him, you will do your absolute best. Right now, he doesn't regard you as a danger, but the minute he views you as a threat, he will destroy you. If you are lucky, he will kill you. If you are not, what is being done to you here will seem like heaven compared to what he has in store.” He leant in close, to meet Potter’s gaze unwaveringly. “Do you understand me?”

 

His green eyes fixed on Severus, Potter nodded.

 

Severus stood and moved to the side. “Come, eat your dinner.”

 

Without any sort of fuss, Potter slid out of bed and took the chair. He ate automatically, but without complaint. 

 

Perfect. Severus headed to his lab. The true test of the matter would be when they would next have to perform, but in the meantime, they could be in the same room together without trying to kill each other.

 

How would he ‘train’ Potter? He needed something that would be destructive to Potter’s fighting ability, yet be absolutely believable to Potter. It shouldn’t be too difficult; Potter was a dunderhead. He grabbed one of the various catalogues of equipment and flipped through it. Perhaps some sort of projectile that could take the place of spells? He could charm them to fly at Potter at a slower speed than spells. Something soft and lightweight, so that, if it struck Potter, it wouldn’t hurt him. Prepared kappa bladders. Used in potions to measure density and to slowly release substances through their thin membranes, they were solid enough to withstand being easily crushed, yet light enough that they wouldn’t hurt Potter unless he spelled them to.

 

He wrote out the order, then pressed his Dark Mark.

 

A Death Eater arrived, one who could easily fit into the Malfoy family with his white blond hair and pointed chin. “Anything else, sir?” he said, as he took the piece of parchment.

 

If Potter could be calmed down after being raped, then Narcissa could certainly be regained as an ally. She valued her son above all else. If Severus proved himself to be an excellent mentor.... “Yes, I want to see the grades of Hogwarts students. I also want you to fetch copies of these-” He grabbed a spare bit of parchment and scribbled down a few titles. “-books and deliver them to Draco Malfoy.”

 

After the boy had left, he turned to the wash and cast, “Mobilicorpus!”

 

Potter’s cloned body rose up out of the wash. Carefully, Severus floated it to the nearest worktable. He’d expected it to need some adjustments, but the body before him was identical to Potter’s. Scarcely believing his eyes, he stepped forward and examined the clone. Visually, it was Potter, albeit without the scars. From the moles that dotted his chest, to his flaccid penis, to the wild shock of hair (although this hair had much room to grow). Severus’s calculations had been correct. Not a hair was out of place. Even the nails fit perfectly, although they were a bit long.

 

He touched the chest in order to start the heart, but his fingers sank slightly into the skin. Damn. The skin hadn’t set right. He dragged his fingers along Potter’s torso and strips of flesh tore away from the muscles, following the path of his fingers. 

 

Still, for the first result of a new spell, it was quite the success. He stepped away from the body and washed his hands in the sink. Once he’d cleaned off all the skin, he destroyed the body and set the next one in the wash along with a few more potions. Soon, he’d have the perfect clone. 

 

~

 

In his life, Severus had seen a great many things, many of which were thought to be impossible. Still, few proved to be as distracting as the memory of Potter, his senses obliterated by the Sex Potion, wantonly cuddling and humping the table. Severus set down his knife and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps it was just his lack of sleep, but even now, hours after the event, he still couldn’t think of it without wanting to burst into laughter.

 

“I liiike the table.” His eyes glazed over, Potter rubbed his cheek against the wood, his mouth open as if he might try snogging it. His hands stroked the wood as his hips undulated. “Nice table.”

 

He shook his head and picked up his knife. He didn’t have the time to deal with distractions.

 

“I wanna touch.” Potter thrust out his chest, the pinkness of his face had spread down his torso, just past his hard nipples.

 

He needed to finish cutting these Blood Orchid roots.

 

“Hurry up,” demanded Potter. He spread his legs and raised his arse, his thick cock full. “I want to come.”

 

Severus’s cock pulsed and he shifted his stance slightly, trying to ease the pressure on it. He’d been worried that he’d have to force himself to be sexually aroused by Potter’s body, and had even considered forcing himself to masturbate whilst he watched and touched the sleeping boy. He hated using aphrodisiacs on himself and had hoped to wean himself off of them, but hadn’t imagined he wouldn’t need them after only a second session of rape with the potion.

 

“I need more!” cried Potter, his hips thrusting desperately against Severus’s fingers. “I’m gonna die unless you touch my cock!”

 

It wasn’t as if he found Potter’s body arousing. When he looked at the scrawny form, he wished for a woman - even an ugly one. He’d glanced over some of the pictures in the gay sex books and, while he could appreciate symmetry and other indicators of beauty in the male form, Potter wouldn’t be considered particularly attractive, even by those who preferred males. Except for his eyes.

 

“No,” gasped Potter as he tried to flip himself over. “I don’t like it this way.”

 

He scraped the clippings into the jar. It wasn’t as if he wanted to rape Potter. If it were up to him, he’d never touch the boy again. Although he lacked a suitable alternative at the moment, he’d never been one of those individuals enslaved by their libido.

 

Potter’s arse tightened around him as he thrust in deeper. “Oh, yeeees. A dragon. A fucking huge dragon.”

 

He measured out two spoonfuls of the fresh clippings and added them to the beaker of Arctic salt water. Even though he knew Potter’s desire arose because of a potion, it was impossible to ignore such hunger. It was addicting to be so wanted, even by a very compromised mind.

 

“Huge,” moaned Potter. “Twice Ginny’s size. Every inch. Full.”

 

Severus stopped. Did he hear that right? Ginny?

 

“Move, damn you! Move!”

 

The entire experience just didn’t feel real, rather like a twisted dream. Who would have thought that Potter could be so cuddly, like an overgrown puppy? Perhaps the fake training sessions he’d given him earlier had helped, but he still found it hard to believe how agreeable Potter became under the potion.

 

“Mmmm....” Potter pressed back against Severus’s body, and released a contented little sigh. “So good.”

 

Selecting his largest stopper, he added a few drops of Komodo dragon bile, then placed a lid over the beaker and shook his latest creation. When the liquid had turned bright blue, he poured it into the wash. He cast the stasis spells and then, holding his breath, used Mobilicorpus to raise the cloned body and float it over to the worktable.

 

Visually, they matched. He pressed a finger into the cold skin on the clone’s arm and the skin held. Closing his eyes, he placed his hands on the clone’s chest and jump-started the heart.

 

Ba-thump. Blood, previously frozen, coursed through the arteries and veins and he mapped its path, checking for any oddities. When nothing seemed out of the ordinary, he started the lungs and the chest rose and fell rhythmically. No gasping or wheezing, no sign of any of the organs malfunctioning.

 

He pushed back his sleeves and summoned the Dark Lord. Earlier, he’d sent a letter, detailing his plans for the day and requesting privacy.

 

Pointing his wand at the clone’s head, he cast, “Imperio!”. It felt the same as any other time he’d cast the curse, albeit without the mind of the cursed fighting back.

 

Open your eyes.

 

Nothing.

 

Of course. He’d been foolish to cast that spell. There was no mind to instruct. He’d have to do this a different way. He slipped out of his outer robes and rolled up his sleeves. With his wand trained firmly on the body, he cast, “Mobilicorpus!” and concentrated on not moving the body at all.

 

The body remained stationary.

 

He focused on the eyes, picturing clearly in his mind all the muscles and flesh surrounding them, and the necessary steps to open them. Open your eyes.

 

The lids snapped open. The irises stared straight ahead. They were perfect.

 

Focusing his attention on Potter’s the clone’s torso, he ordered, Sit up. as he manipulated the muscles. The upper torso rose up off the table, then fell back down. He tried again, but the body wouldn’t move more than a few inches. What was he missing? He lay down on the floor of his lab and then sat up, paying close attention to the muscles used. Then he used magic to force his own body into a sitting position. After a few trials, he stood and cast the necessary movements on the clone.

 

The chest rose, the torso curling in on itself until Severus forced it as straight as possible. The head hung back, the mouth and eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. He shifted his attention to the head, but just releasing the body for a second was enough to cause it to flop forward, the head banging on the legs. Bloody hell, this won’t be easy.

 

Sit up. He pushed too hard and the shoulders jerked up, the head bouncing on the chest. Holding the torso steady, he manipulated the head, forcing it upright and closing the mouth.

 

Although the clone physically matched Potter, when it sat upright, it didn’t resemble Potter at all, but some grotesque version of him. The eyes remained unfocused, fixed solidly in the direction Severus turned them, but not looking at anything, as it couldn’t see. It breathed and its neck pulsed with blood. He knew that with time he could train it to walk, talk, and do anything a human could do, physically, but it didn’t seem alive.

 

Someone arrived on the landing and he returned the clone to a prone position. The Dark Lord strode through the privacy spells just as he closed the eyes.

 

“My Lord.” Severus bowed. “It has mobility.”

 

The Dark Lord swept to the side of the worktable and stared at Potter’s clone with an expression so alien, it took Severus a bit to recognise it: astonishment.

 

He allowed himself a small smirk. Success! After so long, after so many hard sacrifices, he’d finally done something that the Dark Lord himself thought impossible. He needed to be especially careful now. If he proved himself to be ingenious, the Dark Lord might think him too clever....

 

“It is finished?”

 

“Not yet, my Lord.” He moved to the other side of the table and lifted a limp arm. “The body functions well now, but it is newly created. I don’t yet know if it’s sustainable. I’ve already begun the second batch.” He waved to the brewing cauldron with his free hand, then ran a finger along the arm. “The skin feels a bit stiff to me.” Potter’s skin had always been soft and warm, not this cold clay before him. “Once I’m certain that the body can ‘live’ for long periods, I’ll focus my efforts on the spellcraft necessary to place Potter’s soul within this new container.”

 

The Dark Lord’s eyes hadn’t ever wavered from the clone. Without looking at Severus, he ordered, “Leave. I’ll fetch you when I’m ready.”

 

Severus bowed and left. He’d suspected the Dark Lord would want to try manipulating the body just as he had, so he headed to the kitchen to prepare the next couple of meals. He had finished the second round of baking when the Dark Lord stepped into the kitchen.

 

“The body is stiff,” said the Dark Lord. “Weak.”

 

As the Dark Lord focused his attention on Potter in the mirror, Severus continued slicing the mushrooms. “The boy was broken considerably when he was captured. I’ll adjust the muscle potion, but if you wish the clone to be strong, then we’ll either need to strengthen Potter now, or strengthen the clone after it is produced.”

 

The Dark Lord looked at him through narrowed eyes. “The boy doesn’t appear so weak he can hardly walk.”

 

Frowning, Severus set down the knife and washed his hands. “That’s odd.” He focused his attention on the tomatoes he’d set next to the mushrooms rather than the Dark Lord’s face. “Either the healing potions I routinely feed Potter are masking wounds or the muscles aren’t properly built. If you’ll allow it, I will make adjustments to both in the next batch, but I’ll need for Potter to be free of torture long enough for the healing potions to clear his system for a few days.”

 

He turned to fully face the Dark Lord. “With the next wash, I intend to soften the skin slightly. That should help with the stiffness, although it could be a muscle or even a joint complication.”

 

The tension fell out of the Dark Lord’s shoulders and Severus slowly released the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. He waited for the Dark Lord’s attention to turn back to Potter before he returned to his vegetables, grabbing a tomato and setting it on the chopping block.  

 

His back to Severus, the Dark Lord said, “How did the training go?”

 

“Very well, my Lord.” He focused his attention on the tomato, trying to pretend that the Dark Lord’s presence didn’t unnerve him. “I suspect that soon I’ll be able to open his cage door, leave his view, and he won’t try to run away. Is there any particular plan you want to . . . divulge to him?”

 

“Say whatever you want.”

 

Which means you’re curious what I’ll say. He set the sliced tomatoes on a plate.

 

The Dark Lord made a noise of contempt. “Why don’t you use magic to cook?”

 

Of all the subjects on which the Dark Lord could have criticised him, he’d never suspected cooking would be amongst their number. “It allows me to think.” He took another tomato and slid the knife through it. “Magic requires skill and concentration whilst Muggle chores allow the mind to wander. At Hogwarts I’d patrol the halls or the Forbidden Forest.”

 

If this made any impression on the Dark Lord, he didn’t show it. “Increase the boy’s food intake,” he ordered. “I want the clone in perfect health.”

 

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

“Show me the training.”

 

Damn, he’d hoped that it wouldn’t happen until later. He set down the knife and swept to the Dark Lord’s side, subtly calming himself and focusing his memories.

 

The Dark Lord grabbed his face with his cold hands and this time, as before, when he threw the memories of raping Potter to the forefront of his mind, it was enough to distract the Dark Lord, making it easier to conceal what needed to be hidden. It worked so well that when the Dark Lord released him, he didn’t feel sick at all. As much as he hated to admit it, if showing the Dark Lord rape distracted him this much, then continually raping Potter was the best idea he’d had. He couldn’t keep Obliviating the boy, especially after the conversation they’d had the day before.

 

“Wait a minute...” called Potter. “You cook? What about your house-elves?”

 

How could he remember that lie? Was he remembering that? It had to be something else. “I told you, Potter,” Severus said, trying to put as much conviction into the words as he possibly could, “I don’t have house-elves.”

 

“What? But you said-” His brow furrowing, Potter cast his eyes to the side like one trying to recall a vaguely held memory.

 

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d removed those memories entirely! “I certainly never said that I did.”

 

The Dark Lord said, “You’ll be granted the pleasure of torturing him next. Be certain to do something that can be fully healed before the next day.”

 

Perfect. Severus smiled. “I will, my Lord. Thank you.”

 

The Dark Lord vanished.

 

Severus counted to ten, then hurried to his lab. The clone had been dumped on the table like a discarded piece of clothing. The wide-opened eyes stared at the boiling cauldrons while the feet, blackened with debris from the floor, pointed in different directions. Carefully, Severus closed the eyes, then used magic to transport the body to a specially prepared box. Although this clone would probably have to be destroyed, he could still use it to check for further problems that would only reveal themselves with time.

 

Since the project had been such a success, after he’d finished his chores for the day, he ordered the most expensive food and wine he could, and retired to the library to read for pleasure. As he ran his fingers over the titles, searching for the perfect book, he ran across one he hadn’t thought of for quite some time: Frankenstein.

 

This version matched the one Lily had given him for his fourteenth birthday. Although the original had been destroyed during one of mother’s fits, he’d read the inscription and the book so many times that when he opened the new book, he could picture her inscription clearly in his mind, as if it had been written on this version as well.

 

She’d always sensed - and feared - the darkness inside of him. If she could see him now, what would she think of him? Would she see him as the scientist, so focused on what he could do, he never thought about what he ought to do? Arrogant, daring, and completely blind to how his actions destroyed everyone around him. Or as the poor creature, naturally intelligent and kind, but driven to monstrosity through rejection and intolerance. Either way, she’d be utterly repulsed by his latest project. He’d have to sabotage the development of the clones to be certain that, no matter what happened, no one other than he could ever use them.

 

He dimmed the lights to a comfortable level, lit a magical fire, and sat down to read.