His New Home***
"Get over here, slave!" Severus hurried to obey and crawled on his knees to his Master. His back, beaten bloody, hurt with every move.
Severus felt like crying. The five and half months since he had gotten here had been like heaven...until last week.
***
He had been given two rooms with a small bathroom attached, and a free hand to make them fit as he wished. The big room, Severus adapted as his laboratory and the second, smaller one, as a storage room and his bedroom in one. Severus had been allowed to order all the equipment he had needed and the various potions ingredients he had listed.
Since then, every time he needed more ingredients, Severus only passed his Master a written supplication via a House-Elf. His Master was generous with his money, and all Severus' requests had been approved so far.
He rarely saw his Master, which was one of the reasons, Severus thought, that he had not been punished yet. Occasionally, the Master came to the lab and ordered Severus to brew a selected potion. Master hadn’t even gotten angry when Severus had had to ask for a new book for brewing some of the requested concoctions. Gradually, Severus started to obtain various second-hand Potions texts, taken probably during the Death-Eater attacks - or so Severus thought.
Severus had never been starved. The House-Elves, generally the only living beings Severus talked to, brought him three square meals a day. After they had found that Severus didn’t liked the hot spicy food his Master evidently preferred, they had started to bring him milder meals that were not unlike the food at Hogwarts. Here, at his new home, however, there were no pranksters to make his food blow up in his face or make it transfigure itself into stinking worms.
Severus had been left alone with his beloved Potions books and had fully devoted his time to his craft. It had been peaceful and comfortable. Sometimes he almost felt lonely, but it required only a second to imagine all the possible interactions with people or other slaves to realise how much he preferred to be in his solitary rooms.
He was deeply grateful to his Master. He had even dared to feel happy.
Then, six days ago, Severus' heaven shattered.
***
Severus was sitting behind his desk, reading a Potions book. He quickly slipped down on his knees, though, when he heard the door opening, and greeted his Master by bowing deeply, with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Severus,” Thomas Riddle addressed his slave as he sat on the chair. “I am in need of a potion. The formula probably does not exist yet, so listen carefully!” The Master paused.
Severus swallowed uneasily. He knew he was gifted in Potions; he had already altered many, improving some of them radically, and he had also invented one new concoction - rather by accident, actually, when he was doing some tests. However, inventing a concrete potion was difficult and time-consuming work, and the time needed was really hard to estimate.
“Look at me!” Severus' Master ordered harshly. When his slave raised two black eyes full of fear to him, he continued severely, “I believe I do not have to warn you of what would happen if you betrayed my trust and revealed a secret.”
The black eyes widened. “N- No, Master,” he hastened to answer.
Thomas Riddle grasped the boy's chin and took a long hard look at his slave. Severus shuddered with dread. Fortunately, his Master evidently found what he was looking for, as he released Severus' chin and continued in a softer voice.
“I intend to create Horcruxes,” he began. “Do you know what Horcruxes are and how they are created?”
Severus closed his eyes, thinking quickly. “They- they keep a part of someone's soul? I am sorry, Master, at Hogwarts—”
“I will leave you some texts to read, then,” his Master cut him off impatiently.
“Thank you, Master.” Severus bowed his head, grateful that he had not been punished for his lack of knowledge. The only other thing he remembered from school was that Horcruxes were considered very dark magic, but he did not feel like mentioning it to his Master's face.
“All the texts - with the exception of one - are on creating one Horcrux, only. I, however, intend to create several. For that I will need a potion mentioned in one of those texts.” Thomas Riddle paused.
Severus' eyes stared at the floor, unseeing, his breathing shallow. How could he explain to his Master that creating such a potion would take many months or, more likely, several years - provided a skilled Potions Master would be inventing it? The task was downright impossible for a freshly graduated Hogwarts student, no matter how talented he was. I am so dead, Severus thought, on the verge of panic. He tried to repress his fear and think.
“Master,” Severus murmured respectfully, “if I may ask... how much does the text describe the formula of the potion or its effects?”
“It doesn't contain any formulas, only some rather vague suggestions.” Severus heard the calm answer, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He was doomed. His new life here had been too good to last long; Severus had always known it deep in his soul.
He swallowed and tried to talk, but his mouth moved soundlessly. His hands were clammy and his forehead suddenly became covered with sweat. He swallowed again. “Master,” Severus fought to force out every word. “I- I am sorry. I- I can't- It- it is above my level,” he finished in despair.
Severus crouched and closed his eyes. He knew he would be punished, but it would only be worse later if he pretended now that he could do it. To invent a potion with loosely described desiderative effects through the use of vague suggestions? It was so absurd! Severus understood for the first time in his life why people burst into hysterical laughter.
Laughter. Severus blinked. His Master was laughing, rather heartily. What did that mean? Severus risked a quick glance at the man.
“Severus!” the Dark Lord exclaimed amusedly, “of course it is above your level, whelp! I will send my men to capture a Potions Master whom you will assist. I have provided you with many texts by various Potions Masters. Tell me, is there anyone you consider particularly suitable to the task?”
Severus took a deep breath, feeling pathetically grateful to his Master. “Thank you, Master.” He was quite used to getting impossible tasks from Master Malfoy and to being punished severely for not fulfilling them. “I think- I think Lúthen Leonards could be good for it, Master. Or Gönar Gunnar.”
“Why?” Thomas Riddle asked his slave, not unkindly.
“Potions Master Leonards has invented many potions, several of them substitutes to counter-courses against some dark spells,” Severus explained, feeling more confident. “Potions Master Gunnar has dedicated his work to potions that are considered dark by the majority of the Council of Potions Masters. Three of them have been branded illegal, Master.”
“Do they speak English?”
“Potions Master Leonards does; he is half English and half French, Master. I am not sure about Gönar Gunnar as he is from Sweden, Master,” Severus hurried to provide the information.
“Let’s start with Leonards, then.” Thomas Riddle stood and walked to the door. Then he added, “The texts on Horcruxes will be delivered to you momentarily. See that you study them thoroughly. You will be at the Potions Master’s elbow.”
Without waiting for his slave's respectful answer, he was gone.
***
“He wants what?!” Lúthen Leonards shouted angrily. Leonards, a dark-haired, blue-eyed, slim, bespectacled man around fifty, had just been led into Severus' laboratory by three masked Death-Eaters, who had left immediately.
“Master wants you to invent a potion, sir,” Severus repeated respectfully. “If you would – ”
“Merde!” the Potions Master, who was now pacing through the room angrily, cut him off. “I was kidnapped by Death-Eaters to invent a potion for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Sodding hell!” A series of dark-sounding proclivities in French followed.
Severus was standing in the corner, watching the tall man warily, wondering if the Potions Master would turn to physical violence. He hoped that Leonards would accept his situation soon, as Severus had not the smallest wish to see his Master angered. He was scary enough when calm.
“Please, sir,” Severus pleaded with the man, “Sit down, please, I will explain it to you.”
“And just who you are? A Death-Eater novice? Damn you, boy, you are walking the wrong path, I can tell you,” Leonards spat and moved towards Severus, who cowered. “Afraid of me? Maybe you are afraid of the position, hm? Seeing your wrong decision now?”
Severus realised in dismay that the Potions Master was probably going to try to persuade him to escape together. Suddenly, a thought that they might be watched or listened to by a spell crossed his mind. If his Master had the smallest suspicion Severus wanted to run away... Severus took a sharp intake of breath.
“No, sir,” he answered the older wizard quickly, “I am not a novice, nor I can leave. Please, sit down. Please.”
“So, what does the One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named want from me?” Lúthen Leonards finally took a seat, and Severus breathed a sigh of relief.
“Please, call him 'the Dark Lord',” Severus started, in case someone listened in. “You were brought here to invent a new potion that the Dark Lord requires, sir. I have been ordered to help you, sir.”
Severus eyed Leonards warily, expecting another outburst. When nothing came, he continued quickly, “The Dark Lord intends to create several Horcruxes. We have been given several texts covering the topic. One of them mentions a potion that is supposed to enable a wizard to divide his soul into several pieces, seven at maximum. The potion is only suggested, there is no formula mentioned, only several ingredients. You are here to invent it.”
Severus was glad Leonards had let him explain without interrupting. Now the Potions Master seemed to be deep in thought, and Severus could only wonder what was going through the older man's head.
“Where are the texts, boy? What is your name, anyway?”
Severus sighed in relief silently. It was going much better than he expected. He bowed his head lightly, respectfully, “My name is Severus, sir. The texts are prepared here on my table. I was ordered to ask you what kind of table, chair and other equipment should be brought for you.”
The Potions Master only waved him off and took the first of the texts. Severus watched him warily for a moment, unsure of what to do. The older man seemed to become completely engrossed in the studying, and Severus, hoping it was a good sign, relaxed marginally, sitting on his bed as he started reading one of his Potions books.
Hours passed and Severus couldn’t help but glance at Leonards every now and then. The man had been reading for hours, never making any sound or movement. Severus had never seen anyone concentrate so fully.
“Boy! Severus!”
Severus jumped up.
“Go and tell him I will not do it,” The Potions Master announced calmly. Severus stared at him. How could Leonards so calmly, simply and with such a self-confident definiteness defy the Dark Lord? And how could he expect Severus to go to his Master and deliver the answer?
He shook his head slowly, horrified. “N- no,” he stuttered. “I can’t tell Him that.”
Leonards frowned, but took pity on Severus. “Go and tell him I’ve reached my decision, then.”
Well, that I could survive. Maybe, Severus thought sarcastically. “Please, sir, reconsider. The Dark Lord—”
“Go now!” Leonards ordered. With one last, pleading glance at the Potions Master, Severus headed towards the door.
***
Thomas Riddle watched as his slave approached, on his knees, head bowed, beaten, fearful, radiating hopelessness.
During the few months Severus had spent in Riddle Manor, several times it had crossed Thomas' mind, that Severus – if not born and raised as a slave – might have been a rather worthy ally. Clever and craving knowledge in just the right amounts, Severus would do as a good tactician or politician, Thomas believed.
Severus was a good slave, obedient and eager to please, and Thomas wasn’t happy about having to punish him repeatedly. He had little choice, though.
He thought five days back to when Severus had come timidly to his office, announcing that Leonards had reached his decision. From Severus’ very voice and posture, Thomas had understood that Leonards had decided to refuse to work for him. Well, that had not been unexpected, and there were ways to persuade those unwilling or hesitating. What Thomas had not expected, was Leonards’ poor health.
***
“You can hex and torture me, but the only result you will get is my dead body. My heart is in a poor and incurable state,” Leonards answered to Thomas’ threats.
Thomas looked at the man sharply. He did not seem to have poor health. It would be easy to verify if Leonards was ill. For now, the substitute variant was clear. Thomas smirked, “So, my poor slave will have to be punished instead of you. I believe his heart is healthy enough.”
That evidently took Leonards by surprise. He glanced at Severus, who was kneeling beside the door, and whose face quickly showed a flash of surprise that changed to fear and then resignation.
“Look,” Leonards said pointedly, “I will not create a potion that will require six people to be killed. Torturing this boy will not change my mind. Find someone else. I will probably not be alive long enough to create such a difficult potion, anyway. It will take years!”
“Your reputation speaks volumes,” Thomas answered him. “I am sure you will be able to create it in a few months. Will you invent it?”
“No,” Leonards answered, his lips pursued in a thin, angry line.
“Severus, come here!” Thomas commanded and ordered him to strip off his school shirt. After transfiguring a quill into a whip, he unceremoniously landed twenty lashes on Severus’ back.
Severus kept completely silent. Only his quick and ragged breathing and the angry red marks on his back gave away the pain he felt. Thomas grasped the boy’s chin. He was surprised that his slave’s eyes did not show any reproach or betrayal, only pain and fear.
“Dress!” The Dark Lord let go of Severus and turned to Leonards. “I am giving you two days to reconsider. The next time the punishment will not just be demonstrative.”
***
Two days later, Thomas had to repeat his actions. Leonards showed signs of distress on Severus’ behalf, but had not reconsidered. Clearly he needed a bit more persuasion.
Again, on Thomas’ command, Severus crawled to him obediently. Like a sheep to slaughter, Thomas sneered in contempt. No pleading or begging -- a well trained slave. Pity, Thomas realised, some begging could do wonders with the stubborn Potions Master.
This time, Thomas used his wand. Wordlessly, he cast a whipping spell. After few lashes, Severus’ back started to bleed. The slave could not keep silent and put his hand in his mouth, biting his wrist to stifle his moans. The Dark Lord paused.
“Beg!” he barked.
Severus glanced at him in surprise as slaves were always forbidden to beg. “Please, Master –” he began obediently.
Thomas slapped him across the face, hard. “Not me, fool. Beg Leonards!”
Severus started to turn towards the Potions Master only to be slapped again. “I didn’t allow you to move!”
Severus’ lip started to bleed, and he blinked back the tears that threatened at the corners of his eyes. “Please, sir, change your mind,” he begged with the man.
“I am sorry, lad, but I can’t.”
“You will have to be more persuasive next time, Severus,” Thomas reprimanded and raised his wand again. “Crucio!”
Severus screamed and Thomas lifted the curse nearly immediately. He would kill Severus if it changed Leonards’ mind, but he did not want to hurt the boy uselessly. This should be enough. He did not enjoy punishing his slave for the disobedience of others. Damn Leonards’ bad heart. Thomas was sure the man would be more ready to change his opinion if it was him who was tortured. Unfortunately, his spies had verified the man’s condition.
“Another two days to change your mind, Leonards. I hope you will not need more persuasion,” Thomas said and left.
***
Today again, kept running through Severus’ head over and over again like a dreadful mantra. Today again.
He was lying on a mattress provided by the House-Elves, as his bed had been occupied by Leonards for the last five days. He did not bother to get up and plead with Leonards anymore.
He would be beaten or cursed again, for something he could not influence. The knowledge kept him too nervous to read or study, and too lethargic to do anything else. So Severus kept lying on his side, careful not to hurt his sore back, clad only in his trousers, thinking.
Maybe his Master would cast the Cruciatus Curse again, and maybe it would damage Severus’ brain as Severus had read in books that it could, and Severus would become a living corpse, unfeeling, unthinking, and useless. Then, his Master would kill him. Maybe then he would be reborn as a wild horse, proud and free.
Severus only hoped that Leonards died too and was reborn as a toad. Severus would stomp on him with his hoof. Or maybe Severus would survive and Leonards would be caught, his dried liver sold to Severus and ground into a potion. Why did the stupid man have to be so stubborn?
For what were his apologies to Severus? What were his repeated explanations of how immoral it would be to invent such a potion? If Severus was not afraid they were listened to, he would advise Leonards to just pretend he was inventing it, if he was so wrapped in his stupid morals. They could fool around with various ingredients and bases for years without inventing anything. Well, at least for months.
Severus sighed sadly and called a House-Elf, asking for a hot tea with nut cookies. If there was no happiness for slaves in the world, they had to know how to enjoy small mercies.
There was one thing worse than punishment, and it was waiting for punishment. Severus knew he would be hurt, but did not know by which method or how badly. He started to wish his Master would come already and be done with it. Master had not hurt him much, yet – he had lifted the Cruciatus quickly, and he had not used a cane or damaging spells or –
Severus finished his tea and decided to read through some of the texts about Horcruxes again. Maybe something useful would come to his mind. Maybe he would get an idea of how to create the potion, or where to start with a base for it. Maybe a miracle would happen, and he would invent the potion by himself, and his Master would pay an apprenticeship for Severus to become a Potions Master. Severus knew this dreaming was pure lunatic fantasy, as the best he could hope for was to lose himself in reading and forget about the upcoming punishment.
All too soon, the door opened, and Severus’ Master stepped in. Severus hurriedly laid the text he was reading aside and got into the proper kneeling position.
“Leonards?”
Severus looked at the Potions Master pleadingly, though he did not really believe it would change the man’s mind.
“There is no point in keeping me here, or in torturing this boy,” Leonards answered and Severus wanted to scream at him.
“Come here, slave,” the command sounded. Crawling to his Master, Severus peaked through his lashes at him. Oh, Gods, he whimpered inwardly, a cane! Severus started trembling. Not a cane, please not a cane, he begged in his head.
“Strip your pants,” the next order came.
His shaking hands struggled with the material. Soon he was in his greyish old underpants.
“Strip them!”
Severus felt a tear of fear rolling down his cheek, but stripped the last piece of clothing off and kneeled.
“Beg!”
Severus hoped he was still supposed to beg with Leonards and not with his Master. “Please, sir, I beg you, change your mind, please.” He hated his broken voice that trembled with fear and hopelessness.
“I am sorry, Severus.” Severus could hear that the Potions Master’s voice was strained too, but he refused to step back from his decision and his stupid morals.
If only-
The cane started to fall in a quick, efficient rhythm, and Severus only concentrated on mastering the pain and not crying out. His resolve soon broke and he began to scream loudly. The pain was unbearable and the beating was endless.
Severus fell off his knees and lay sprawled on the floor. A few more swipes landed on his back and then it stopped. He was crying, whimpering, trembling, and he wished for a death that would be painless and immediate.
“Beg!”
It took a second to catch a breath and to recall how to speak. “Please,” Severus whispered, “please.”
The only answer was silence. Severus shut his eyes. No more, no more beating, he begged inwardly. Aloud he managed only, “Please, sir.”
“Leonards?” the cold voice of Severus’ Master broke the silence.
“No!” The Potions Master shouted. “I will not brew for you -- not this potion and not any other.”
The silence in the room was suffocating.
“Crucio!”
Severus heard screams, and it took him a second to realise that this time it was Leonards who was the receiver of the curse.
The screams stopped soon, followed with loud gasps for breath. Severus heard his Master storm out of the room. He could not find the strength to move, so he just stayed lying on the cold floor, his eyes closed, and listened to Leonards’ ragged breathing. It stopped a few minutes afterward. Severus drifted off.
***
Severus heard voices and felt himself being levitated to his bed. Everything was foggy, and Severus heard a man’s voice curse loudly and bark some orders. He couldn’t make himself care. It was much better to get to sleep again.
***
Severus woke up in his bed. He bolted upright and regretted it instantly. His back hurt! He tried to move experimentally. It did not hurt as bad as it should have, actually – after the cane. Leonards was nowhere to be seen. Severus wondered if the Potions Master was dead. He did not believe his Master would let the man just go.
Finally, he decided that it did not matter. No Leonards meant no beatings. It was all he could hope for. Severus eased himself back under the duvet and drifted off to sleep.
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