Books and Covers

Title: Books and Covers
Author: Downdilly
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: HP/LM, LV/SS, RW/HG, Others Mentioned
Rating: R

Summary: Harrry Potter was born to defeat the Dark Lord. Where does the Prophecy say
it's Voldemort?
Disclaimer: Not mine. After so much fuss I'm not sure Ms. Rowling owns it either, but
that's what the lawyers say.

Note: Thank you all for your kind words. Little action and much talking, but it's
important.

Tea

Voldemort felt a slender vial, no bigger than his smallest finger, slipped into his hand. Without thinking, he thumbed the vial open and swallowed the scant mouthful. Ice burned down his throat, hit his stomach, and exploded outwards. The magic of the potion sought out his own and raced along the trails, its viral-level intelligence seeking out the reason for its creation and freezing what it perceived, in its sub-primitive mind, as heat.

To the Dark Lord, it was simply a flash of gut-numbing cold that sped through him, then arrowed in on the throbbing ache behind his eyes and destroyed it. He exhaled slowly while the pain faded to nothing in a few short seconds.

Replacing the cork, Voldemort gave Snape a lift of his lips in a rueful smile and handed the empty tube back. The Potions Master palmed it with a glare.

“Yes, I know. To quote, ‘Constant—‘ “

“ ‘Vigilance. Moody may be a crackpot, but his paranoia has kept him alive,” Snape said, frowning.

Voldemort waved a white hand carelessly at Snape’s concerns. “And someday, someone will slip me a potion you haven’t made and I’ll drop over dead. Or worse,” he added, “break out in song and do a soft shoe.” He ignored the tactful choking from the other man in the room. “Fortunately I know you far too well for that, Severus.”

“And if I were to ever truly change sides?”

The Dark Lord flashed a tight, nasty grin, all the more hideous for the gleam of viper fangs.

“If that were ever to happen you’d be the second to know. Enough babbling about something we all know will never happen. I’m sure, Severus, you’ve not eaten and you, Vincent, are likely famished by now.”

Voldemort rose and crossed to the door, Snape and Goyle moving out of his way and dropping behind him. A discrete wave and the doors opened as they approached. “I’ll have an elf bring us something, and Vincent can tell us what he’s found.”

A finger snap and several soft pops later the sideboard in the parlor was covered with food and drink, and the trio left to themselves. Vincent piled two plates high and glanced at Voldemort for permission to begin. With a nod from his master, Goyle began to stoke his huge body, alleviating the hunger cramps that had just begun to make themselves known; he'd used a lot of energy up in the scan and evaluation of the Potter boy, and the healing was likely to require twice as much if not more. He was half done with his first plate, careful to keep any from spilling on his robes, before Severus had finished serving Voldemort and then himself. Speech was postponed while the three ate, the musical clink of sterling accompanied by the splashing of wine and water.

Eventually, even the mountain that was Vincent Goyle had enough and house elves were summoned to clear away the debris. Each settled with their choice of drinks around the fire, Snape settling on a footstool next to Voldemort, and waited for the room to clear before they began. House elves were bound to keep their master's secrets, but a freed elf was under no such constraints. Finally, though, the room was clear, and secure enough to reassure even Mad-Eye Moody.

Goyle carefully set his cup aside, admiring the intricate, hand-painted pattern of blue and green that wove around the gold rim, while he considered his words. The other two with him wouldn't wait much longer, and only did so now to allow him to collect his thoughts. He was good at what he did; patient and thorough, but that didn't mean he was unaware of the erratic genius of the two men with him.

"My Lord, if I may first ask a question?" he asked cautiously. He waited for Voldemort's nod before he continued. "Do you know…has the boy ever cast Dark spells? An Unforgivable?"

Snape snorted derisively. "Potter? Cast an Unforgivable? Don't be—"

"Yes," Voldemort cut off his Potions Master, leaving the other to splutter in shock. "In the Department of Mysteries, after Black fell through the Veil. He cast the Cruciatus on Bella LeStrange. It was not a strong casting, but the intent was there. Why?" His hand dropped to rub small circles on Snape's shoulderin an attempt to settle the man.

"Then may I have the honor of being the first, my Lord, to congratulate you on your supremacy over Wizarding Britain?"

Voldemort's hand froze where it sat while the strongest Dark Lord in a millennium frowned at his healer.

"Thank you, Vincent, but would you kindly explain how you came to that conclusion?"

Goyle sighed and looked down at his hands, spreading them out and summoning the tell-tale glow of a healer's magic. "As you know, my Lord, I examined the boy on a number of different levels: physical, mental, emotional and magical." As he listed each scan, the magic changed color to reflect its use: green, pink, blue and white.

"Physically, as I've said, the boy can be healed, back to perhaps 90%--his eyesight is the only thing I'm not sure of, and there will likely be some impact on his mobility due to scarring. While examining his physical injuries, there were some anomalies I found that could impact his recovery."

Goyle paused and looked up, waiting for his Master to wave him on.

"In cases with broken bones, we—wizards--can either use a simple bone-mending potion for small fractures, or if need be immobilize the part, remove the bone and regrow it with Skele-Grow. In either case, the bone is restored to exactly the state it was in before being damaged. Muggle methods are, of course, quite different."

"Yes, yes, get to the point, Goyle," Snape growled. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind that had started when he'd first been summoned and grown more insistent once he'd seen Potter in his current state. That feeling was beginning to grow legs and move about. Soon, it would need its own leash. Snape took a moment to roll up a mental Daily Prophet and smack its figurative nose.

"Yes, well," Vincent cleared his throat, swallowing his laugh at the dyspeptic look on Snape's face. "For muggles, when a bone is broken, they realign and immobilize it, until it can knit itself back together, a process taking an average of four to six weeks. The muggle way, however, leaves a sort of—scar—on the bone; an area where the bone reads on a scan as being denser."

The healer drew a deep breath and kept his eyes focused solely on his Lord's face. "There is evidence…in the scans…of repeated breakage and healing of most of Potter's bones; I'd even go so far as to say there's not a bone in the lad's body that hasn't been broken, and most of them more than once." He paused for a moment, distracted by the inarticulate sounds coming from Snape.

"There is a similar pattern of scarring on his liver, spleen and stomach, although not as extensive.

"Evenso, his bones scan as fairly fragile, and he shows evidence of muscle loss, both signs of long term malnutrition; his bones did not follow the regular path of a treated break. If he recovers from his injuries, which is likely, I doubt he'll grow more than an inch or two beyond his current height, will be highly susceptible to illness and will be more—breakable."

Goyle's voice broke on the last word, and he hid behind his tea before he continued. He was a Death Eater, yes, and loyal to the Cause and his Lord, but he was also a healer and a father, and those parts raged. Whomever was responsible for the damage to the boy—irregardless of his name—needed a fair dose of Crucio. Wizards had a lifespan of well over a century, and Potter would be lucky to see that mark at all.

When he looked up again, cradling the fragile china between his huge hands for warmth, Snape's mask was once again nearly perfect. Only the faintest trace of wildness around his eyes gave away any sign of distress. Voldemort hadn't moved, waiting with the implacable patience of the serpent for Goyle to continue.

"Emotionally, the boy is unexpectedly well balanced," Vincent said, "and as far as I can tell his mind is also intact, and I am unable to detect any trauma that would prevent recovery. Neither of these areas are my strength, so I'd appreciate it, Severus, if you could take a look at the boy. I'd hate to heal him only to lose him to mental trauma I can't detect."

Both of the Death Eaters looked to Voldemort, for the extent of Potter's care while in their hands would be entirely determined by the Dark Lord, the boy's erstwhile mortal enemy.

"Whatever is needed; the boy must recover completely, made as whole as possible," Voldemort decreed, and the two men bowed their heads in submission. "You still have not explained your congratulatory comment."

The implied command was not missed by the healer, and he quickly launched into the next phase of explanation of Potter's condition.

"His magic, my Lord. Someone has twisted it, forced it into artificially created channels. I hear from my sons that Potter has difficulty with some spells, taking several tries to master even the simplest?" He paused, turning to look at Snape for confirmation. A sharp nod of the dark head was his only reply.

"He has such difficulties, because his magic is being forced to run contrary to its natural inclination. The boy is, like myself, a natural healer, and thus will never be able to use more than the mildest offensive spells. The very nature of his magic will rebel against any use that causes pain or injury."

"At the moment, his reserves are low. I believe it to be the result of his magic attempting to heal him. I suspect it wouldn't be the first time his magic has had to heal him from near fatal wounds. Some of the older damage would require medical intervention, and there's no sign that a physician has ever touched the older wounds. This would also explain his fragility; if his magic was forced to heal internal damage, or forced to heal him for an extended time, it's possible that his magic was neither strong enough nor available enough to do so fully.

"It's likely," Goyle added, "that his magic would have acted to place him in some sort of stasis even without your spell, my Lord, until it could heal him."

"Can the damage to his channels be reversed? Repaired?" Voldemort questioned. There was a tightness to the Dark Lord's voice that boded ill for someone. "How strong a healer is he likely to become?"

Goyle nodded, and refilled his tea with a quiet word before answering. "Yes, simply a matter of going in and removing the shunts blocking the proper channels and then eliminating the artificial ones. If I do that first, it'll likely speed his healing along as well."

Goyle shook his head. "With all the power Potter has to potentially draw on, he's likely the strongest healer since Asclepius. I wouldn't put it beyond his reach to revive the newly deceased."

Silence reigned while the three considered the situation. Finally, Voldemort rose from the depths of his chair, the midnight of his robes being pulled free from the velvet of the chair. Snape and Goyle rose with him, awaiting his word.

"He will need a Protector," Voldemort's voice was smooth and nearly emotionless, only his Inner Circle could have detected the delight under it, and it made the two who were present uneasy. When Vincent nodded, Voldemort turned to the exit from his rooms. "I shall have Lucius summon all the children of my loyal ones, and see if there isn't a match there."

"You can't—" Vincent started to blurt out his thought and stopped himself, clenching his jaw tight while trying to relax for the punishment to follow his incautious words.

"Can't what?" A hairless eyebrow rose in inquiry. "Force a bonding? Yes, I know. But there's just as much chance Mr. Potter will find a compatible personality among the Dark as among the Light, is there not?"

"Of course, my Lord."

Voldemort turned back to the door, adjusting the hood on his robes to shroud himself in darkness. The light of the outer halls was still too much for his skin and eyes, even after almost two years, and too long exposure to its brightness burned. Perhaps, if things went well, he could convince Potter to do something about it.

He paused with one long-fingered hand on the door. "Summon your Protector, Vincent, and heal the boy. Severus, render him all due aid and examine his mind then bring me a full report."

The two bowed as the Dark Lord turned away. Orders given, Lord Voldemort glided out of the room in search of his right hand.