General Warnings: Child abuse, torture/experimentation, fantasy violence/gore, potential and probable slash in later chapters.
Chapter Specific Warnings: Abduction, drugging, torture/experimentation on a minor, fantasy violence, death.
Updates: My updates will be incredibly sporadic, random, and often all over the place. Sorry. I've got terrible block and am currently trying to focus on the piles of schoolwork I have. Apologies. These first chapters have also been shorter than they usually will be. In future, they should be much longer, so greatest apologies for that. Favourites, follows, and reviews are appreciated and will probably spur my updates!
Chapter One: Cut Off One Head
Waking up from being drugged is not a pleasant experience, as Harry was discovering. His head was throbbing terribly and his body felt like it had been ran through a grinder a couple of times. Finding yourself strapped to a table and immobilised is also unpleasant.
Both at once is a truly horrible experience.
Harry strained against the heavy metal bonds holding him back, but found himself quite unable to move beyond tensing and untensing. His eyes darted around, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.
He appeared to be in a very sterile lab, the likes of which Madame Pomfrey and Aunt Petunia would no doubt adore for its cleanliness. He was held on a very uncomfortable stiff table, presumably made of a very strong metal, and had restrains on his arms, legs, abdomen, and neck. The one on his neck felt like a very heavy collar that had been attached to the table rather than an actual restraint on the table as the others did as his neck was a good half an inch off the actual table and trying to move his neck was easier than the rest of his body, as if there were a lesser connection between the table and collar.
It was still impossible, however, for him to actually get free.
A thin needle ran from the inside of his elbow to a bag filling up with blood.
And - good Merlin there was a person!
A person, a supposedly real person in the room with him, thank the heavens. He strained to speak, wanting to demand answers of the person in the white labcoat but his voice wouldn't work.
"The collar, boy, it dampens your mutant powers. Your voice must have an impact on them." Labcoat growled at him, voice distinctly androgynous, slightly muffled by the clinical mask they were wearing. The only thing visible were eyes, a murky grey colour.
Harry's panic raised to Potentially Exploding Somebody level as he tensed again, desperate to be free now, staring at this person in mute horror.
"You're probably wondering why you're here." The person cooed dramatically, taking on the comic villain for dramatic effect.
Harry couldn't nod, but he tried.
"Oh well." Was their response. Anger rose within Harry. He wanted answers. Now.
He wasn't getting them.
He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had seen sunlight. This place was hell like he had never been in before. They kept the collar on him and forced him into thin cotton clothes that didn't combat the cold. They performed surgeries day in and day out, then left him in the cage to writhe against the unimaginable pain. They forced him to scrabble against others in the same position for food and laughed as he lost to larger, stronger, and older beasts.
They stripped him of everything from the outside world.
He didn't have a name anymore. He didn't have a number. He didn't have anything. Because he wasn't anything.
They had just finished another surgery. On his heart. The controller they had installed him with prevented him from falling unconscious as they fiddled with his heart. He wondered anxiously if they would give him more of the Blood. He hated the Blood. It burned his veins and scorched his throat even though they still wouldn't let him speak.
They weren't keeping a close enough eye on the controller. As one stitched him up, his hand shot up to grip the neck of the nearest lab coat, squeezing hard as possible. A crunching sound issued from the throat even as his hand was forced to relax by the controller. The lab coat stopped gurgling and fell back.
Two more of them replaced the lab coat immediately and they strapped his arms down roughly.
He stared up at the ceiling. Their slogan was right. Cut off one head, two more grow back.
He was forced to sleep and woke up in his cage. The mark on his back ached in such a way he had to shift off of it. His forehead smarted where his scar, the only remnant of the outside, was. He rubbed at it furiously, stretching out each limb as far as he could in the cramped space before he came to a realisation.
His collar was gone.
He clawed at his neck in shock, not feeling the cold brush of metal for once, but rather skin that irritated under his long nails. The irritation was only momentary however, as a coolness spread over his throat, soothing it. The coolness continued to spread, his body tingling, delightfully pain free.
It took yet another moment for the connection to be made.
His magic!
Unlike recounts he had heard of magic being too weak to work, his flared like a stallion finally free of its confines and pushed outwards angrily to destroy the cage.
The cage fell open easily and a quiet crow of triumph escaped him, startling him. He hadn't heard his own sound in so long... He padded out of his cage, looking around wildly, eyesight long fixed.
He felt emotions he hadn't felt in what felt like centuries bubble up inside him. Hope. Determination. Elation.
It was short lived as he noticed another figure ahead of him, larger, one of the others. A numbered experiment, he believed. Equally naked and covered in bone like spines.
He padded back, unsure, but the controller buzzed forcefully.
Fight. Kill. Destroy.
It was like Parseltongue, the language he had heard so long ago, spoken in the same tone with the same elongated 's' and the same slimy eagerness.
He had no choice to obey, stumbling forwards, gait awkward and unwilling. Opponent, now mentally dubbed so, had a different walk. Confident, almost swaggering, so familiar he could feel the memory hovering, but it never came into sight. Nothing but facts came into sight anymore. No memories, just learnt facts.
Opponent dropped into a four-legged run and lunged. He brought his hands up defensively, panic setting in, and waiting for the blow to land...
Nothing.
He brought his hands down slowly, looking around fearfully. Opponent was lying on the floor, stiff and still. No breath ghosted the tiled floor, no brightness glinted in the eyes.
Opponent was dead.
He was fed well that night.
Time seemed even more fluid after that. Days were marked only by Opponents. The schedule was simple.
Opponent. Surgery or therapy. Opponent. Food.
The schedule seemed to play out over several days, but he had no clue. After First Opponent, he tried not to hurt too much. Hurting Opponent hurt him. Not becuase of them. In his chest, it hurt to hurt them.
They kept the collar off as long as he behaved but he didn't use his voice as much as they liked. They tried to encourage him to, with shocks and pain during therapy. He was getting better. He formed a sentance a few sessions ago. They were happy with his process and gave him food.
His personality, too, was building, they said. He was brave. He was kind. He was sarcastic. Their praise made him happy.
All was going well.
Until It happened.