Indago:Reborn

Warning: We're getting into some aspects that many of you, harboring an inner fluffer (I haven't killed that off yet???), may not like. New warnings going into place are: Mind tampering (psychological torture) and implied non-con. I'm sorry that I didn't put this warning up immediatly. Just know that I don't hate any of the characters nor my readers. We'll get throught this together. *hugs*

And now... on with the show!

Beated by the super fast deathangelgw. All delays are completely my fault.

Chapter Twenty-nine

He was so happy that he could see outside. The moon was so pretty…and not full.

/Don’t think about it! Just ignore it!/

Harry shook his head to clear the voice from his mind and moved a bit closer to the window. Well, it wasn’t really a window, but even a barred and narrow ventilation chute was a nice allowance. He had worked really hard to get something nice.

The scrape of the door opening had Harry scrambling down from his perch on the chair and falling to the floor. His knees were hurt, but he stayed down on them as light fell over him from the now open doorway. The scent fell over him too and Harry cringed.

“I really wish I could remember how good I was to get that reaction every time I come near,” Jonathon said lightly. “Come on, dinner’s on. You’re being allowed to eat at the table, I heard.”

We’ve been good!

Harry shook his head a little and quickly moved to his feet to follow the werewolf out. Keeping his eyes on the ground, Harry only saw the bare feet and torn shoes of the other pack members he passed on the way down the hall. They all fell in behind him and Harry focused on not thinking about them being right behind him.

/Just tell them to sod off and get the hell away!/

Don’t anger them. Be good! Obey or they will hurt us!

Harry shook his head again and began playing his favourite game: tile counting. There were exactly thirty grey laminate tiles from his doorway to the edge of the table. But that was a straight line. If he counted each one his foot landed on, making sure to count a half tile if his foot landed on two, then he could figure out exactly how many tiles he walked over each time he went to—

“Ah, pet. Do you like your new room?”

Harry’s heart sped up at the voice. Jonathon led him right to the brown patent leather shoes. Harry immediately went down to his knees, hands braced on the floor on either side of those shoes with the four lace holes on each side. “Thank you. I like it very much,” Harry said to the slightly darker brown laces. He winced and hated the voice in his head that had made him not say the right thing and was about to retort when—

A bright light flashed behind Harry’s eyes as a fist hit his temple, the force knocking him to his side. “I’m sorry, pet. I don’t think I heard you properly.”

Swallowing hard, Harry ignored the raspy chuckles coming from all around him and got back into the proper position: on his knees, hands flat to the floor. “Please, forgive me, sir. Thank you, master. I like it very much.”

“Very good! Now I am glad I had you repeat yourself. It makes me happy when I can make you happy. I enjoy spoiling you, pet. Now come, sit and have dinner, will you?”

Harry nodded and climbed to his feet. The hand was gesturing toward an empty chair, which Jonathon was sitting next to. Harry didn’t want to sit in that empty chair that was between Jonathon and … and M…Ma-Muroch.

You have to remember what he wants us to call him! Go to him and do as he wants. He is our Supero. We must obey! He only wants what is best!

/No, he doesn’t! He’s a sick and twisted bastard! He is just getting off on all of this!/

Shaking his head, Harry moved silently to the empty chair and looked away from the smile that was always on Jonathon’s face. There were seven plates on the table. Seven forks with only five spoons. Five spoons but seven glasses.

“Now, isn’t this nice?” Muroch asked as everyone sat down. The table was circular and Harry had a hard time keeping his eyes from seeing any of the wolves. “Now that our Harry has decided on joining us, we shall all have a nice and happy meal. Won’t we, Jonathon?”

“Oh yes, Daniel. I think we just about forgot how nice it was to sit in chairs,” the younger man replied jovially. Laughter from around the table followed his comment before the sound of footsteps entering rang out. Harry could see the mud-stained trainers that had two small holes in them as the “cook” came out. The warm and delicious smells came with the trainers with the two holes in them and Harry couldn’t stop his stomach from growling out loud.

Muroch chuckled. “I see you’re very hungry, pet. I hope that you will be good and behave from now on so that you can eat.”

“Y-yes, master,” Harry whispered. There were three droplets of water that had condensed on the side of his glass and fallen to the table. Three drops and one was sliding down. That would make four drops on the table.

“Charlie, we are very fortunate that you were bitten after you completed culinary school,” Muroch commented with a smile as the mud-stained trainers came to Harry’s side and set a bowl of something that smelled really good down in front of him. There were chuckles and agreements to Muroch’s words while five bowls of soup were placed around the table. Five bowls for five spoons. “You’re missing out, gentlemen,” Muroch sang out and dipped his spoon into his steaming bowl.

“The only thing I drink with a meal is a lot thicker and redder than this,” a low timbered voice answered from three seats down. Another person agreed and there was a discussion about how good the soup was. Harry sat and watched the steam rise from his bowl. Five spoons, but only four were being used. One was ignored and instead the entire bowl was brought to the bearded man’s lips. Harry’s eyes tracked the crockery as it rose up. Green eyes, darker than his, narrowed at him and then the beard split open to reveal a nasty smile. Harry quickly dropped his eyes back down.

The sounds of utensils ringing against porcelain filled the cold grey room. Harry watched the cloud of steam dance in front of him and imagined that it was two people dancing and twirling, laughing and talking.

“Very good, pet…you waited. You have my permission to eat now.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, master,” Harry murmured and lifted the heavy spoon into his hand, slowly dipping it into the broth. It was good, chicken and vegetables. Harry couldn’t control himself as he sipped the still hot liquid. His spoon went into the bowl much faster than any of the others, but Harry couldn’t be bothered to count how many times. His stomach began to get warm and full. He couldn’t help the small moue of disappointment when his spoon found nothing else when he dipped it in.

“You have made a pig of yourself, pet. You will need to wait until the next course.” Muroch smiled as he put his own spoon in his mouth, obviously relishing the taste and rubbing it in Harry’s still hungry face.

Don’t think that. If the master wishes us to wait, we will wait. We should not have eaten that fast.

/If the bastard hadn’t starved us, we wouldn’t have sucked it down!/

With a small shake of his head, Harry ignored the voices and instead carefully laid his spoon in his empty bowl at an angle. That was proper. Draco had spent an entire evening going over the proper rules of etiquette with him so that he would be able to handle all the dinners and balls they were invited to and expected to attend. Draco would also give him surreptitious cues during the formal meals when Harry had forgotten what he was supposed to do with the small fork at the top of his plate or what the little dish to the left was all about. Draco always seemed to know when Harry was starting to feel out of his depth and would easily direct him back to shore.

Draco.

We betrayed him. We have a new Supero now. We must obey and not be abandoned again.

Harry folded his hands in his lap as he shook the voice and the memories away from his head. He waited and soon the rest of dinner was brought in and eaten. The werewolves were talkative but in a strange cyclical way of bursts of noise with quick silences, as if they were still getting used to having friendly conversations. Harry didn’t listen to them, but blocked out their words and instead concentrated on chewing his food. He chewed his duck exactly twenty times per mouthful. His steamed rice was chewed seven times per mouthful.

“Ah, excellent, Charlie, excellent.” Muroch pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. The mud-stained trainers came again and began gathering up the plates. His arm was sinewy and scarred, with curly red hairs all over it as it went past Harry’s shoulder to take his plate away. Harry didn’t mean to, but leaned away and bumped against Jonathan. He pulled back but a strong arm snaked around his shoulders and held him against the younger man’s side. Muffled chuckles were heard around the table as Harry’s entire body became rigid.

“Ah, I knew I’d grow on you, little one,” Jonathon laughed.

“D-don’t… Please, don’t call me that,” Harry murmured. He hated that name. He hated even more that it was true. He was little compared to every other person he had seen in this place. He hated that his voice had trembled and that he had used the word ‘please’.

/Punch him! Punch him hard enough in the mouth and he won’t be able to say anything to you!/

Don’t make him angry! Don’t make him angry!

“What’re you doing, pet? Making friends?” Muroch leaned forward again and put his chin on his hand. “Have you picked Jonathon tonight?”

“No!” Harry swallowed and ignored the laughter at his panicked answer. “No, M-Master. Please, I apologize for falling into him.”

“Then you don’t pick Jonathon? Not nice to tease like that,” Muroch admonished with a ‘tsk’. “So then, will you choose somebody else tonight? Or are we drawing names out of the hat again?”

Closing his eyes, Harry tried very hard not to scream. He hated this. They made him do this every night.

/They want you to participate! Don’t play their sick games!/

Don’t make him angry! Choose our Supero! Don’t let the werewolves touch us!

Harry’s ear brushed Jonathon’s arm as he gave his head a shake to clear it. He didn’t want to choose, but he didn’t want to go with any of the wolves. He didn’t want—

He swallowed again and opened his eyes. “Please, Master, I… I’ve tried to be good and obey. You said I could have my room--”

“Harry,” Muroch chided softly. “You know that that is only during the day when I can keep an eye on you. I can’t sleep well if I’m not sure you’re safe. I care about you too much. You see? I only spoil you, even when I want you to be near me alone. I let you choose your companion for the evening.” The man’s smile was nothing if not concerned and benevolent. Harry knew that the smile, just like the gentle tone, was a lie. He had seen Muroch angry.

Don’t think about it! We deserve whatever our Supero wishes.

“Now, come on. Pick one of these fine fellows as your evening companion,” Muroch said brightly. He swept his arm out to encompass the other occupants of the room. Harry didn’t look, though. He kept his head down and shook his head. “No? You’re not going to?” Muroch asked in surprise. “I know in the beginning it was hard because they are all quite a catch. But you’ve been with them all now. You must have a favourite by now, don’t you?”

/Shut up! You know we don’t! They are all just as sick and twisted as you!/

Stop! Choose our Supero! He is who we are supposed to be with! Don’t let the werewolves touch you!

“D-don’t you think it would be better just to lock me up until Lustrum?” Harry asked heatedly.

“Hey, hey! Don’t get nasty with me,” Muroch answered in a hard voice. “I am being very nice here. Now pick or it will be done for you.”

Choose our Supero!

/Don’t let them do this!/

“No?” Muroch said at Harry’s headshake. “Alright, Virgil, bring out the hat.”

The scrape of a chair was heard as someone walked into another room. He came back a moment later and handed Muroch a beaten up cap. Plunging his hand in, Muroch pulled out a scrap of parchment. “Oh, look, pet. You get to spend the evening with Gordon.”

No! No, not him! Harry stiffened in Jonathon’s arms and his eyes involuntarily shot to the man who had stood up at his name being called. Gordon was a big man. Not taller than Draco, but his brutish personality made up for that. He had ratty long black hair and disconcertingly light brown eyes. Gordon didn’t speak much. He was the one who didn’t have the soup. Gordon had lost his brother in the fight with Draco and Snape. Gordon hated Harry. Gordon hurt Harry.

“Remember that bit I told you about concentrating on survival?” Jonathon whispered into Harry’s ear. “I’d start working on that.” Gordon glared as he walked around the table and stopped at Jonathon’s chair. “All yours, mate,” Jonathon said jovially. “Just remember not to be so… rough with him, yeah? We didn’t get to play with him for a whole day after you had him last.” The others griped and chuckled as Jonathon shifted Harry towards Gordon. Meaty hands grabbed Harry’s arms and lifted him bodily out of his seat and over the back of it.

“Guess we’ll be turnin’ in, then,” Gordon announced and began dragging Harry away.

No! Don’t

/Don’t let this happen!/

“No!” Harry pulled his arm free with just sheer surprise as his advantage. Gordon grunted and grabbed at him but Harry ducked and backed away. He kept his eyes on the big werewolf and quickly moved back toward his seat. But he stopped when he reached Muroch’s side.

“Harry,” the other man said in a disappointed tone. “Do we have to do this again?” He sighed deeply and motioned for the others. Harry heard them start to rise from their chairs as Gordon moved up behind him.

“No, wait, please,” Harry whispered urgently as he fell to his knees in front of Muroch. The man’s face showed his surprise, but the gleam in his eye seemed satisfied. Harry blocked everything out and lowered his head. “Please, Master. I- I don’t want to go anywhere else. Please… let me stay w-with… you.”

“Ah, pet. You make me smile,” Muroch answered and lifted Harry’s head up by the chin. “I’m so happy to hear that.” Harry nodded and scooted a bit closer on his knees. Ignoring the screaming voice that was telling him to jump up and run, Harry laid his head on the older man’s thigh, exposing his neck and showing his submission. “So sweet, really,” Muroch murmured and Harry nearly sighed in relief as he felt those fingers comb through his head. He had chosen…he would be with his kind. Muroch was psychotic and a liar and cruel, but at least he wasn’t Gordon…or Jonathon. No, Harry would be able to concentrate on only one person. Perhaps he could find a way to get the other man to take him outside. Maybe, if he really tried hard, he could get Muroch to really care for him and not hurt him. Harry didn’t want to be hurt anymore.

The fingers stopped carding his hair and again used his chin to pull Harry’s head up. “I hope tomorrow you’ll choose me. Gordon, you can have him.”

Harry’s eyes opened in shock and he instinctively reached and grabbed Muroch’s leg, clutching it tightly as a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder. “No, please! I chose you! You! Not him!”

“Yes, I know,” Muroch answered calmly as he looked down at Harry with sad eyes. “You didn’t choose anyone, the hat did. It wouldn’t be playing fair if we switched now. And I really want to make things fair in our burgeoning community. Go with Gordon tonight and tomorrow we’ll see, alright?”

Harry couldn’t understand. He had chosen! He had finally given in and chosen to stay with the other Indago.

No, we didn’t! Our Supero knows that we didn’t really want him! We have to prove ourselves tomorrow! We have to show him that we want him above all others!

Hands dug into his shoulders, clawing into the muscle and bone until, with a cry, Harry released his hold on Muroch’s leg. But, he did want to stay with Muroch! He didn’t want to be with the wolves! They hurt him! Muroch hadn’t hurt him like the wolves had! “Please, Master! Please don’t send me away! Please, I want to be with you!”

“Tomorrow, pet. If you still want me in the morning, I will have you by my side all the time. I promise.”

The hands grabbed him by the arms again and dragged him, still on his knees, away from Muroch. Harry couldn’t stop the tears that filled his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks.

/Stop! Don’t show weakness! That’s what they want us to do!/

But Harry couldn’t help it. He knew that when the door shut him inside Gordon’s room, he would be doing much worse things than crying.

Screaming and begging were the best he could hope for.

*-*-*

Snape shut the door behind him carefully. He was impeccably groomed as usual, not a hair or button askew. Draco though could see the extra line that creased the older man’s brow. “Did he tell you where Harry is?” he asked directly. He felt the other man’s… pain? But he wouldn’t pussyfoot around when Harry was missing.

“Not here,” Snape replied quietly and, with a quick nod, Draco and he Apparated home. The house was quiet when they appeared in the main hall. His guests had all left, which Draco could only be happy about.

“Did you find anything?” Hermione appeared at the top of the stairs, her face worried and apprehensive.

“Possibly. I’ll need more time to truly understand what we might have,” Snape answered and then was quiet. Hermione tightened her lips at the cryptic answer but nodded and came down the stairs. Apparently The Mouth could understand subtleties at times, too.

“Maia woke up twice, but went back to sleep with a cuddle or two,” she said as she wrapped her cloak about her. “She was a bit fussy, but that doesn’t mean much coming from such an angel.”

“Thank you for watching her,” Draco said politely. Hermione smiled sadly.

“Just make sure to tell me…us…if you find anything, alright?” she asked quietly. Draco nodded curtly and politely opened the door for her. With a slight pat on Draco’s forearm, she was gone.

Without a word, both men headed upstairs to the sanctuary of Snape’s room. The older man sat down heavily at his desk.

“Logan was approached just before Maia was born,” he began. “Luckily for him, he didn’t sell the information. He exchanged it for the promise that Harry would never see me again.” Snape looked up at Draco. “Me. Not you.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Draco replied sharply. “He is still a rotten little bastard!”

Snape sighed deeply and gazed down at the parchment rolls scattered about his desk. “I am not one to defend anyone’s actions, as you know. But I will need to shoulder more of the blame than for just the poor judgement of the people who I allow access to my home.” He looked again at Draco. “I was unknowingly treating Logan as my own subicio, using possessiveness, violence, and control,” he explained quietly. “Unfortunately, Logan is only a human and could not take the …intensity of my personality and actions as a true Indago sub would: with self-confidence and understanding. Instead, he became trapped in its force and caught up in its influence. And without being a true Indago, he was susceptible to the thought processes of jealousy. Logan didn’t want to hurt Harry. He only wanted my sole attention. I, most likely not wishing to see it, was blind to his dependence upon me. I was treating him as I always had, as part of a trio, as a diversion with no thought to the restrictions and demands I had placed upon him.” Snape sighed again. “I treated him blithely and without care and it has come back to haunt us.”

Draco sat down on the footstool, straddling it, and looked at Severus. “Whom did he give the information to? Who approached him?”

Black eyes bored into silver. “Daniel Muroch.”

“That bastard!” Draco snarled, showing his teeth. He abruptly stood and kicked the footstool. It hit a bedpost with a smack. “I knew he wanted Harry! I knew it!” He turned and glared at Snape. “That fucker wanted to breed off of him!” His silver eyes began to slit and silver streaks slashed across his cheekbones. “If he has touched him, hurt him, I will skin the bastard and keep him alive and in pain for the rest of his unnaturally long life!”

“You’ve been reading your great-grandfather’s journal,” Snape murmured. He stood up and faced the enraged blond. “Logan reported that he was approached at a party. At first, he turned him down and was going to tell me until Muroch enticed him with the prize of getting Harry out of the picture. Logan copied my journal and stole a few drops of my samples. Muroch must have then been able to reconstruct the liquid pheromone from that.”

“Where is he?” Draco seethed, his breathing deep and hurried as he tried to control his anger.

Snape shook his head. “Logan does not know.” Draco opened his mouth to speak but Snape cut him off. “I assure you, Draco,” he stated with serious intent in his dark eyes. “If Logan had known, he would have told me.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and nodded, accepting that whatever methods the other man had used to extract the information had been thorough. “Then where do we look? Was that little rat able to give you anything?”

“No. But we do know that Muroch must have access to at least some sort of lab and equipment.”

“Then we search the apothecaries and materials shops,” Draco deducted. “The American accent should help.”

“If he didn’t disguise it. There is also the possibility he used owl-order or even an accomplice to get the materials he needed,” Snape pointed out. He quickly moved to the bed and shuffled the parchment rolls aside until he pulled up a small bound book. “This is a listing of all shops that carry anything that relates to potions or lab work of any kind. We can start here and see what we find.” He looked up at Draco. “There is something else you should know, Draco. In the notes that Logan gave away, there was the beginnings of my research on Lustrum. Or more accurately, how to induce Lustrum.”

Draco stared for a moment and then snarled. “Why the fuck would you be doing anything like that?!” he snapped, his hands balling into fists.

Looking away and taking the book to the desk, it almost appeared as if the older man were trying to hide his face. “Having Harry pregnant during the school year was …inconvenient. I believed that if I could move the time period to another part of the year, you would indulge me, if the time should ever come, in having any other children during the summer holidays.”

“Well, I am very sorry that our child bearing was inconvenient for you, Sev. Our apologies, of course!” Draco sneered. “We’re not interrupting any important student-teacher time with our small little crisis are we? We wouldn’t want to be a bother!”

“Your snide vitriol will not help, Draco,” Snape said calmly. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll allow you to vent your spleen on me.”

“You’ll do whatever the hell I want!” Draco shouted and charged. Snape saw him coming and spun just in time to meet him. Draco’s hands came out to grab at the older man’s throat and were blocked. Snape slid to the side, moving away from Draco’s fury but never made it more than two steps before he was pushed the opposite way, a foot catching him off guard. He toppled into the chair, which skidded away, but didn’t stop him as he fell to the floor. Not a blink of an eye later, an enraged blond was sitting atop his chest and hands were clawed about his throat. But they didn’t squeeze…yet.

“Draco, this is not helping Harry!” Severus hissed, his own eyes slitting, though more in defensive anger than in any real attempt to kill the other Supero.

“It’s you who hasn’t helped Harry,” the blond growled and flexed his fingers. “Because of you and your incessant need to distance yourself from your nature, you have put him in danger! Did dissecting and studying us under a microscope help you feel less like an animal, Severus? Did it help you believe that it was controllable as long as you kept it in a bottle?” The fingers tightened just enough to make Snape lose a breath before being released. The older man did not gasp for air, nor did Draco expect him to. “Did secluding yourself away from us most of the time make you feel as if you were secluding your beast? Because it didn’t, Sev! It’s there, just as it’s always been there! It had free reign once, but you chalked it up to your dark dealings as a Death Eater. It came out in your handling of your lover. It came out when it was time for the next generation to be born. When will you stop hiding, hmm, Snape? Or will you keep endangering us in your pathetic attempts to pretend at being a human? You are nothing but pathetic and weak and the very idea that I ever gave you my throat is disgusting! You never deserved it!”

The two men stared and growled at the other for a series of panted breaths until Severus drew a deep breath in and, with the exhalation, closed his eyes. His entire body relaxed and his hands unclenched from their hold on Draco’s forearms and dropped to the floor. But then…his head fell to the side, exposing his throat through the laced fingers about it.

In every way he could in that position, Severus Snape offered his apologies…and his submission.