Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.


Chapter Twelve
"Good and Broken"


After a Fortnight...

Severus woke up with a gasp, clutching the steel collar around his neck. He hated how it had started to burn every morning when it was time to get up.

He looked dully at the chains that had fallen off his wrists. Master had spelled them to fall off every morning at six, at the same time his collar started to burn. That meant that it was time to get up.

Wearily, he pulled himself up and blindly began to feel his way through the darkness, to the door. He wished, not for the first time, that Master would leave a torch lit for him, but he did not bother wishing too hard for it. He had given up on not wishing for things roughly two weeks ago as he collapsed on the filthy basement floor, bleeding, hungry, dehydrated, without a wand or hope. Eventually, when one was on a downward trajectory, they reached the bottom. At that point, they could not help but wish for things. As long as he did not wish too hard for the impossible, he would be all right. He would not waste time wishing for the things he would not get, but for the things he knew he might if he behaved.

He opened the basement door and made his way into the kitchen. He blinked. How had he gotten to that point? To the point of hopelessness, of being so stuporous that he just went through motions without actually feeling or thinking? He was not quite sure.

He was also not quite sure that he cared.

Was it only a month ago that he had sat at the head table at Hogwarts, proud and looking down at students with disdain? It seemed like a distant memory; it seemed as it were not even his memory, but someone else's. His life seemed to be separated into parts – pre-Hogwarts, school, Death Eater, spy, now. He could remember that after the Dark Lord was first defeated in 1981, but before he attempted to return in 1992, he was somewhat normal. Somewhat. Not really. He could not even recall much in those ten years, actually. Nothing substantial had happened in them.

Almost automatically, he padded over to the refrigerator and pulled out a few eggs and some sausage. He could not really remember what he had made the day before; he had made porridge for Master at some point. Was that yesterday? The day before? He hadn't made eggs and sausage in some time, so surely Master would not complain over having it too often.

You have lost your mind, he told himself as he turned on the water and splashed some on his face.

No, stop that. Do not think that.He began to submerge himself deep into his mind again. Occluding was what made him so quiet and withdrawn, as well as impaired. If he concentrated long and hard enough on nothing, nothing was what he became. The pain of his beatings diminished, as did the pain of Master's insults. He deserved them – every lash, every insult – but Occluding somehow helped them hurt less.

It was ironic, how in the desperate attempt to spare his sanity and his life, he wound up losing both. However, he could not help it, for if he allowed himself to think, he would start to plot, and if he started to plot... eventually, somewhere in the plot, he would hurt Master. As a result, he would die. He rarely remembered why that was such a bad thing now, as he never allowed himself to think too much before Occluding himself into semi-oblivion.

Things were improving for him. Master had stopped shackling him to the wall. Moreover, he had stopped taking Severus down in the basement in the first place. He trusted Severus to go down and chain himself. If Severus allowed himself to dwell on it, he felt a strange mixture of pride and shame. He rarely did so, however, as he allowed his mind to rest most of the time, free of thoughts, as he went about his daily routine.

Night was no longer Severus' favourite part of the day. He detested it. If he slept, the nightmares came. Even if he Occluded properly, if he slept deep or long enough, the nightmares came. Luckily Master was never there when he had nightmares, or he would get punished for the noise, as he nearly always woke up screaming.

Now, his favourite times of the day came when Master told or allowed him just to sit on the floor, in the corner. He would stare at the wall or out the window... if he was careful and did not allow his mind to wander too far, he would imagine what the people outside did on a regular basis. He wondered what their names were or what they did for a living, but would not allow himself to imagine much beyond that.

If, at any time, he began to think about Hogwarts or anything that reminded him of his past life, he would revert to Occluding. Thinking about his past life as a Death Eater, as a spy, and especially his life before both, made him ill. It made him want to retch or propel his head against the wall. Master would get angry if he saw Severus actually do either of those things, and so he did not do them.

Severus did not look up when Master came in. He simply checked to make sure nothing was going to burn before kneeling and bowing.

"Hello, Master." He said softly. He knew it used to bother him to say that, but he couldn't remember why; it was easy to say, and if he didn't, he would get a beating or worse.

"You may rise. Continue doing whatever it was you were doing." Master breezed through the kitchen and descended into the basement, likely going to check to make sure Severus had slept in the basement last night.

Severus did not know how Master was able to tell if he had slept down there or not, but he did not have to worry about it. He slept down there and chained himself, just like Master instructed. He could not get punished for obeying, could he?

Perhaps he could. There had been that day last week where Master had began punishing Severus and would not stop. Severus still did not know what he did. He suspected that Master had had too much to drink, but generally when someone was that drunk, they did not remember their actions afterwards. However, Master continually acknowledged the incident. Master did like to punish Severus; maybe he had done it for fun? The thought made Severus shudder. It was more than a little frightening to think about that. It was incredible that one could enjoy hurting someone like that, especially someone who could do nothing to defend himself.

You could defend yourself if you had a wand... or you could attack him the Muggle way. His eyes widened when he realised what he just thought and began Occluding. He could not entertain the thought of hurting Master-

Master. When did you start to think of him as 'Master'?Severus was not sure. He had thought of the man as 'Mering' for a fortnight, but after that... oh yes. After that was the night Master had made Severus constantly call him Master, over and over, for hours. If Master's intent was to make Severus call him that and begin to think of him as that, it had worked. Severus had not even been aware he was doing it.

The amount of control Master had on him was frightening, but he tried not to think too hard on it. There was nothing he could do about it, after all.

"Be sure to make plenty of food." Master came up behind him. "We are heading out to Henderson's today, and I am going to need extra food in my stomach if I'm expected to-" he stopped and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Severus. "Remind me to tell you to comb your hair out before we go. I am not going to make as much if my slave is a wreck."

Henderson's. Today was the day. The day everything would change. After Severus was sold, he would never see Master again. The thought cheered Severus up slightly, though he knew it was probably wrong of him. However, the idea of who would buy him? Now, that frightened him.

He tried to remain optimistic on the subject. He had worked as a Potions master at Hogwarts for years, so surely that would raise his price. Severus felt his insides twist as he remembered his years teaching. There were few words to describe how greatly he missed the dungeons, the bubbling of a potion, Minerva's comforting advice, the student's smiles which he would always scowl at...

He blinked furiously. He would not cry. He told himself that the other night was the last. Master had pounded into him and it had hurt more than it usually did; in fact, he still hurt. Master had noticed his tears and had laughed at him, and so Severus recommitted himself to the promise to never cry. Never again.

But with his knowledge of potions, and his experience as a spy... that had to count as something. Perhaps someone wanted to order him to make potions or perhaps do something that required planning, stealth, Occlumency, or something of the like. Perhaps his abilities to defend himself or use the Dark Arts would be useful to them. He was not thrilled with the idea of someone wanting to use his knowledge of Dark Magic, but magic was only Dark if it was truly used for Dark purposes. That was why there were only three Unforgiveables, despite a large number of Dark spells.

He still clung to the idea that he would not be sold for pleasure. Master used him a lot now. He hated it as much as he did the first night with Medusa, but he no longer resisted. That tended to only get Master more aroused and more eager, which never did Severus any good. He was better off doing his best to please Master, as he was often rewarded by getting to go down to the basement early, or receiving more food than usual.

Sometimes, Master took the time to touch Severus' forehead as he used him, which Severus both loved and loathed. The enslavement curse made Master's hand feel like velvet and was a very soothing and wonderful feeling. It was something one would lust after; if it could be bottled, that person would make many Galleons. However, he also loathed the feeling because he could not control it or himself when experiencing it. He could not stop himself from moaning with pleasure or nuzzling against Master's hand... he had tried not to, but it was impossible. The effect it had on him was worse than the book had said.

Master only touched his head when he was being pleasured, and as Master also pointed out to Severus often, Severus looked nowhere near his age. While he was only thirty-eight, he was not attractive no matter how old one thought he was. That was usually important when being sold for pleasure. Sometimes people did not care, however, Severus hoped that everyone at the auction didcare. As much as he wanted to get away from Master, he did not want to be at someone's disposal, day and night, for that sole purpose.

That said, if he was bought for that purpose, would his new owner touch his head?

Severus shook the thoughts out of his head by Occluding his mind. He would not think about that.

He arranged the eggs and sausage neatly on a plate and poured Master a mug of coffee. He stepped into the sitting room with his head bowed.

"Master, breakfast is ready," he announced, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He would not forget the time he had failed to make breakfast suitable, even with plenty of ingredients in resource, and Master had punished him by pushing him down the stairs and casting the Cruciatus. He had been lazy; he learned his lesson, though, and vowed to never let it happen again.

After Master sat down, Severus knelt at his side, his eyes to his knobby knees. He really was too thin. He was not certain if he had lost much weight since being at Master's. He hadn't lost a substantial amount, he knew. Master was adamant that Severus not look weak at Henderson's. However, he had always been thin – scarily so. It was not that he did not enjoy food as much as the next person, but he had always been too busy studying or working to eat, and had spent so much time concentrating on a plan, on fooling the Dark Lord, or on his school work, that he burnt off anything he consumed by using his mind.

In an odd way, that made Severus proud, he realised, as he delicately picked up a piece of a sausage Mering had thrown on the floor for him. He was a very smart person. Exceedingly smart, as he had managed to fool one of the darkest, one of the smartest wizards in history, for years. Albus Dumbledore had frequently sought his counsel. And even Potter... he had attempted to teach Potter many things over the past few years. Not that one of them had gone over well, but that had had little to do with his own intelligence.

Odd. He had known and interacted with three very famous Wizards on a regular basis. Three. For being as worthless as he was, he had been rather fortunate. Not that he had actually enjoyed knowing the Dark Lord or Potter, but he had known them, which was more than most could say. It was enough to garner some respect amongst potential buyers, wasn't it?

"Tomorrow is the auction. Today we're just going to get papers signed and other shit." Master explained, tossing more food on the floor. He rarely took the time to feed Severus out of his hand now, which was fine by Severus. Severus wouldn't dare say it out loud, but the floor was much cleaner than Master's grimy fingers.

"Yes, Master." Severus answered, picking up the food and putting it in his mouth before Master could find a reason to deny it to him. Master had done that several times in the past.

Master eyed Severus carefully. "You're to keep your mouth shut and only speak when required of you. No smart-arse answers, either."

Severus nodded, his eyes to his knees again. "Yes, Master." He didn't dare insult anyone at Henderson's. They were his best hope to get bought by good people. He hoped that someone would buy him and treat him relatively well; he no longer dared to hope that Kingsley Shacklebolt or any other member of the Order would come to the rescue, but if someone just fed him two or maybe even three times a day... perhaps gave him a blanket... he would be happy.

He did not want to go to someone like Master, or worse.

Master returned to his food. "It's been a month and we've both survived." He chuckled. "For awhile there, I was convinced you were going to drive me potty."

You're not the only one.Severus did not know how to reply, but he could not ignore Master. That would only warrant a beating. "Yes, Master."

"You were so convinced that you would 'win', that you would never get broken. And now look at you!" Master continued to chuckle as he did whenever he found something amusing. Severus had decided to pass his master's sense of humour twisted at best and no longer considered it.

"But then you realised, thanks to me, of course, that you were much better off shutting up and obeying." He smiled down at Severus. It was not a comforting one, but one that made Severus shrink back in fear. Master always smiled that smile before he used the Cruciatus.

But he did not pull out his wand. Instead, he began petting the top of Severus' head. "You're going to prove to them that you're a good slave, aren't you?" He said in a voice that almost pretended to care.

Severus stared, stone-faced, down at the floor in front of him. Master. Was. Petting. His. Head. It took every bit of resistance Severus had not to shudder away as the man stroked his fingers through Severus' greasy hair, as if Severus were a common dog. Severus knew that in the eyes of the world now, he was no better than a dog, but he still did not appreciate the sentiment. He knew Master was just trying to taunt him, so he Occluded and tried not to think too hard on what Master was saying.

Master hand-fed him a bit of sausage, which Severus silently choked down. He knew better than to turn down food, as he needed it to keep up his strength, and if he denied it, he could only imagine how Master would react.

"The people at Henderson's are going to look through some papers, and probably ask you a few questions, which you will answer truthfully – understand?" At those words, he gripped Severus' jaw with a firm grip and forced him to look into his steel eyes.

Severus nodded, his throat tightening. "Yes, Master." He croaked.

"At some point, you'll undergo an examination." Master let go of his tight grip and returned to his food. "If they ask about your scars, they are all from sword fights, all right? Every single one of them."

Severus bit his lip. Did that include his most recent ones? He was not overly sure how his back looked, but from what he could see of it, it was mostly torn and scarred one hundred times over from the past month. He knew better than to ask, though; if Master said to say it was from swordplay as a child, they would be from swordplay.

"I've no problem with you conversing with other slaves, should we come across them." Master paused, his fork in mid-air. "But only in private. And there will be no planning to rebel. Quiet conversation, and that is it, you understand? Not in anyone's presence but another slave's. Should I hear different..." He let his voice wane, but Severus knew the threat stood firm.

"In the presence of anyone else, you are to bow your head and stay quiet, unless told otherwise." Master continued, taking a bite of his food. "I realise you have not had the opportunity my other slaves have had to experience many social situations. That is on purpose – I had never trained a Death Eater, and was not about to take on more than I could chew."

My behaviour was hardly one of a Death Eater. If you take on another one, you're in for a surprise. Severus had no doubts that if Master began to train more Death Eaters, he would wind up regretting it. He couldn't say he felt too bad for him.

"Yes, Master. I understand." He leaned forward to gently pry the food from Master's fingers with his teeth, but Master snatched his hand away, food in hand.

"During the auction, you will resist no one." Master put the food in his mouth. Occasionally he pretended to offer the food to Severus to just snatch it away. Severus used to not see the point in that, as it only made Master seem barbaric, eating with his hands, but he was not about to argue with Master's table manners. "It does not matter that I am likely not going to be in sight; the people at Henderson's are above you and you will respect them. You will bow your head, confirm anything that needs confirmed, and allow yourself to be led anywhere. If anything goes amiss, I will hear about it and you will be punished. If not by me, than by the people at Henderson's. And don't think that they will be gentle about it. Compared to them, the way I punish you is nothing."

"Yes, Master." Severus affirmed solemnly, taking the food offered to him, but unable to swallow. He could not forget that curse that made him feel like he was in a pit of sharp, broken glass. He had endured it once and, if he ever had the chance, would dispose of the memory through use of a Penseive or something similar. He would still be able to remember it, of course, but it would be vague.

Master abruptly scooted his chair backwards, running over Severus' fingers. Through the sharp pain, Severus jumped to his feet and bowed his head; he was to be the last one to sit and the first one to stand at all times.

He resisted the urge to tuck his pinched fingers into his mouth, as Master would see that as a sign of weakness and be sure to taunt him with it later on, somehow. He had always hated to show signs of weakness, and though he had been of late-

He would not think about that. It would only make him upset. He forced himself to focus on clearing his mind, on practising Occlumency. He was eternally grateful that the ability came so naturally to him. If he had to endure actually thinking the thoughts he wanted to think, or letting Master's words get to him, he would have found a way to kill himself the first week.

Oh, but he couldn't have. That would have been a weakness. Sometimes he forgot that.

Coming soon in Unwell...
Chapter Thirteen: Preparation