WARNING: Violence. Also, this story is basically on pace to be a telenovela, I have no fucks left and absolutely no regrets.

Fanon Die-Hards: There will come a time when you have a chance to do what is fucking expected of you!

Captain Appo: I love those moments! I like to wave at them as they pass by ;D

Chapter 10 - Immortal Asphodel

Since Lucius's visit, Severus had been researching back through the Prince Library, things his mother had stolen from her parents to vex them.

Things he had shared with Lily when she had been a little more adventurous and a little less fool-hearty to believe that James Potter deserved even an inkling of her time.

News of Harry's Aunt and Uncle going to prison after the ward had unexpectedly given him a lead.

Severus was now sitting behind his desk, halfway through a bottle of coffee rum he had mixed into hot chocolate, rereading and rereading the ritual Lily had used and trying to determine what she had tweaked.

And what Albus had unknowingly evoked afterwards.

Knowing Lily had died saving her son, wasn't exactly the same as looking down at the fine print.

The fine print that stated, in no uncertain terms, that it was human sacrifice.

The title of the book as children had been cool, as an adult, more specifically as a teacher who had had to deal with parents and their children, it was less cool, in fact, it was disturbing.

Blood & Legacy: The Secrets of Ensuring the Survival of Lineage.

There were a number of chapters devoted to the exchange of one death for a life, or in some cases, lots of death for the possibility of life.

It was rife with fertility spells that literally included boiling the marrow of your enemies' bones, bathing in their blood, and drinking the cannibal soup.

Severus didn't understand why his mother hadn't burned this book, he understood even less why Lily would even think to use this book for solutions.

Though he had a suspicion it had something to do with the fact that the introduction to the book began with 'thwarting fate.'

Through rereading it, Severus was pretty sure he found the Malfoy curse that relegated the survival of the line, but only ever gave the family a single male heir.

Narcissa had approached Severus on more than one occasion for fertility potions, only for every hopeful occasion to end in a miscarriage.

The ritual Lily had used had been a bit odd. In the book, it required the sire to kill the mother and thus protect the baby against the mother's enemies.

This was different.

Lily had re-engineered it so James didn't need to be the one to kill, but localize the spell against the Dark Lord himself.

Although, as Severus reread it, he wondered if there was a subtext to this ritual that could protect a female child against her sire if the mother sacrificed herself.

For while the rest of the book was pretty specific about using the words son or heir, except for this one.

Either way, the Dark Lord standing in for Harry's sire was disturbing in itself.

He laid his hand over the page and sighed, "Lily, what were you thinking?"

Golden light bloomed beneath his hand and he whipped it back, to find a letter, addressed to him, in a familiar script.

Well, the address was more than his name, it read, To Severus when he realizes I "borrowed" his stuff, again.

In the old days, she used to still his notes and books between classes all of the time. The game had been to see if she could switch it back before he noticed.

Hence, why she called her rampid theft as 'borrowing'. She Really would've made a good Slytherin if it wasn't for her birth status.

Severus' heart thundered, and with shaking hands, he picked up the letter, breaking the closed seal marked by an asphodel lily.

Dear Severus,

So let me begin this letter with saying that Albus Dumbledore did not betray your confidence. I found out you were a spy by spying on you while trying to steal this book from your house, which I succeeded in and you need to work on your wards, Mister, you're getting sloppy.

Or maybe you just don't care about this place anymore, which, I respect. If it was the old days, I would suggest a bonfire and telling Tuni we are worshipping the devil while roasting marshmallows.

Sorry, I'm a bit loopy. I haven't been sleeping well, and… Well, I guess you know how I get when I get an idea stuck in my head. I haven't grown out of it.

Though this is probably the craziest shit ever done, including that time I let Sirius Black convince me to jump off a waterfall (except that was fun despite James nearly skinning his best man alive afterwards).

Severus had to pause and even out his breathing to settle his thoughts. He hadn't spoken to Lily after Hogwarts. Though he had seen her marriage in the paper and heard conversations about her, he hadn't ever expected to be confronted with Lily's words so casually referring to their old lives while mentioning the life she had moved on to.

The one he had been excluded from.

I am not writing this letter to hurt you, in fact, I'm not really sure why I'm writing this when a part of me has no intention of you ever finding it.

But I figure, if you're looking, it might be because something went wrong with the ritual and Harry needs help.

He might even need your help. Fate is funny like that. And if you're helping my son (not just me because you feel guilty about joining the terrorists who would like nothing more than to burn me at the stake) then you deserve to know a few things.

Like that day in fifth year, when you called me a name and I refused to talk to you afterwards, it wasn't really about the name calling.

I mean, that hurt, you asshole, but not enough to ruin a friendship like ours.

No, I refused to take you back as a friend because you were hanging out with Avery and Rosier. And I know what you're thinking, 'but you married James Potter, the greatest git of them all.' But you know what James nor any of his friends ever said to me or anyone else for that matter? They never told me they would drag me into a dark hallway and 'ruin me' if I dared talk to my Slytherin friend again. So unless you can tell me differently, or that Sirius Black threatened to tear your mum limb from limb and plant her head in your front garden, you can take your arguments and stuff it.

And normally I'm not one to back down but your 'friends' weren't bullies, they were evil, and you choose them. My life and safety matter and the safety of my family means everything to me. We couldn't have remained friends if you couldn't see that.

You spoke of it as if it were normal, as if they didn't know better and were just having a laugh.

It wasn't a game to me.

Knowing now that you changed sides, that you saw the light, I can forgive you. Truthfully, I could even have forgiven you then, because I understand what drove you. I know that you're not an evil person, I know that all you have ever wanted is respect, and I understand how House pressures can be. But forgiveness and trust are different.

I didn't mail this letter to you or step out of the shadows from beneath this wonderful cloak to tell you this in person because second chances or no, Albus's trust or no, this is war and more importantly, this is about my son's future.

I wouldn't jeopardize that for anything. Besides, you and Sirius would probably try killing each other again if invited you over for tea. Nor would I do that to James, this whole thing with the prophecy… it aged him.

'Congratulations, darling, you're a father and this whole civil war thing is going to come down to your infant son and he's going to grow up to kill Wizard-Hitler.'

Good thing James doesn't fully understand the scope of what Hitler did, and as bad as Mister Fleeing-From-Death is, he's not quite at Gellert Grindelwald's level yet. Still, things are dire enough.

Thank God my specialities were in Charms and Potions. If we didn't have magic and were under house arrest like this, I think we would be ankle-deep in tins emptied of white powder at this point.

It helps that Harry is such a happy kid, I mean, I think he knows the world is fucked, he looks up at me sometimes as if he can see how this killing me. Like he knows that every day might be our last. But he never cries.

Which is good considering both his parents are human hose pipes at the moment.

Sorry, I'm babbling, oversharing, whatever. I bloody miss you, Sev. I know I never felt for you what you felt for me but I love you anyway. Despite it all, you're the best friend I ever had, and I don't think I realized just how much I've missed you till now.

Tuni still hates me, Alice is back on the frontlines, to Frank's horror, and I love James's friends, but they don't know me like you did.

And though we will never be a part of each other's lives again, I need you to know I still care about you, that I never stopped wishing the best for you.

Severus had to put the letter down and lean back lest smear the ink.

Merlin, but no one could do what she did. No one could tear him down to the bone and make him regret as she did.

It was another several minutes before he could begin reading again.

Anyway, back to the point of this letter. I meant it when I said I forgive you, for the school stuff, but I don't trust you not to play both sides.

I don't trust you not to take advantage of Albus when he so obviously does trust you.

I swear never has there been a man so clever yet so trusting of the best in people. Sometimes I think Voldemort runs away from Albus because he oozes positivity.

He's very convinced James and I are going to survive this war.

I'm almost of the opinion that optimism that fool hardy should be criminal.

As you probably deduced from the title of this book, positivity has not been my mood of late.

I don't trust Albus to doubt you.

So, my dear old friend, when you use Veritaserum on him, don't ask who our Secret Keeper is, ask who deserved the second chance more in the end, you or Sirius?

Severus stared, conflicting emotions overwhelming him.

He had that moment of doubt on the 30th of October, when he had slipped Veritaserum into Albus's drink to learn where the Potters were, to make sure she was safe.

It had been a stupid thing to do, and he had been stupid then, and weak.

Fear and envy ruling him at every turn.

He had never trusted James Potter, and Lily had known that.

Known that Severus, having changed sides, might attempt to play the hero and doom them all.

She hadn't known he was a Master of Occlumency.

But she knew the Dark Lord was a Master Legilimency.

She hadn't mistrusted Albus, she had mistrusted Severus's closeness to the other man. It was a damnation of his character and yet…

His head hurt with the what ifs.

It seemed none of the people who thought themselves so clever, Severus and Lily included, had thought to suspect the rat among.

Severus flipped to the next page.

If you're reading this now, I assume Harry is in danger again. I'm not entirely certain what would or could go wrong but here's hoping that 'the power the Dark Lord knows not' is Harry's insanely enraged mother willing to cut him down at his own beloved Dark Arts.

After all, if the ritual works, Harry will have power equal to the Dark Lord's because he will be a mirror.

The only thing I can guess that might go wrong is if someone enacts a long lasting protection blood ward on him. While I did change the ritual, I think the default will present itself in the old way. And while either Sirius or Alice would provide all the love and home Harry could ever need, call me a radical, but children should not be literally 'owned' by their parents.

Severus gaped, realizing exactly what had happened with Harry and Petunia.

Why even perhaps Albus or Minerva had been unable to check up on him.

Why Sirius had been sent to prison conveniently without trial despite the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange receiving her day in court.

Why years later maybe Remus had been compelled not to take his potion the night of the full moon, resulting in the escape of Pettigrew.

By enacting a blood ward, Albus had inadvertently cursed Harry with the same blood curse generations of Pureblood families had been casting on their heirs for centuries upon centuries, to ensure they never left home until they came of age.

Despite how Severus hated Black, he knew the man had managed to overpower the same curse, just as Harry had seemed to have done.

Severus finished reading the letter.

So if you're helping Harry, thank you, Severus. If you can't believe in my forgiveness, know that nothing in this world —or the next— means more to me than my son.

When you see him, I hope you see not a reflection of a boy who was cruel to you, but see instead the last piece of me. Remember, there is nothing in this world more difficult than kindness and nothing more powerful than love.

Your Old Friend,

Lily

Severus took ahold of the bottle of rum and decided he would be cancelling tomorrow's classes.

After the fifth read of the letter, cursing and drowning in gratitude for Lily's long windedness, reading Hermione Granger's essays was a torture for how much she echoed Lily's style of writing, Severus Snape decided he needed more rum.

And maybe tell inform someone his classes would be cancelled lest someone attempt waking him up from what was bound to be a spectacular hangover that no potion would be able to solve entirely.

But he hadn't finished the first bottle before there was pounding on his door.

Voldemort used a curse to heal James Potter. The man shuddered from the sickly feel of tissue and muscle knitting itself back together.

It hurt as much as the lacerations, but many found it mentally more difficult to handle, both for the invasiveness of it and the knowledge that it was merely a reset to the damage to follow.

After a month of this, without the slightest give on James's part, Harry was tired. He spoke as if he was bored, not murderously frustrated. "Are you ready to behave yet?"

James took a breath and Harry just knew the next words out of his mouth was going to re-ignite his homicidal urges.

He was not disappointed.

"So you're code name, Voldemort, means Flight From Death? How old were you when you came up with, twelve?"

Voldemort's hand twitched as he stayed himself from offing the fool, "Flight of Death, as in Death flees from my presence."

James scoffed, "Should have just called yourself the Jack the Ripper and be done with it. People flee from you because you enjoy killing them. Merlin, knows why anyone ever wanted to work for you."

Voldemort didn't know who Jack the Ripper was, but it pinged a distant bell as if something half-remembered in a dream.

"They follow me," he said aloud. "Because they know, that in the end, I will be victorious."

"The lady doth protest too much," James quipped.

"You are an imbecile," Harry informed him cooly.

"What misery to be afraid of death. What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven." James smiled, "Truly, Mary Oliver as a poem for every occasion."

Voldemort curses tore into the man as he rattled in his chains. He didn't bother to look at the clock.

Again, he healed him, then hosed him down so that he would have a fresh canvas.

James caught as much of the water in his mouth as he could.

Well, the spell lifted, and the man had the gall to say, "Thanks, I was parched."

Voldemort gritted his teeth, and hissed, "If I didn't know better, I swear it would seem you are enjoying this."

James looked up at Harry, his hazel eyes dull behind his glasses, his dark hair matted to his head, and he was so pale he looked as if he had the flu.

His mockery was a mask of spite, kneejerk, but the true fight was gone from him. His next words confirmed as much, "My son is dead, my wife is dead, I failed everyone who has ever loved me. I deserve everything you do to me now."

Harry felt such a kinship to that statement his heart ached.

Voldemort paused as if hearing something but he ignored it, crossing the space to take hold of James by the jaw, "So noble. I really hadn't intended to wake you up so soon. I feel like you won't trust my promises. But needs must."

"Get on with it then, your voice is grating."

Harry sighed, curling his fingers upward into wet tangles and wrenching his head back.

James gasped, but did not struggle against their hold.

Harry clicked his tongue in disappointment before crooning, "How would you feel if I told you your son was alive?"

James stiffened, before his shoulders slumped, "You're a liar."

" This is true, but you see something unforeseeable happened that night. Something wholly unique. Harry and I have a special relationship."

This time James did struggle, and Harry let him fall to the ground. Triumphant.

You couldn't break a hopeless man, for hope was the sustainer and breaker of souls. Hope that there was still something worth living for, hope that the pain would end if you just gave the right answers.

"Harry Potter, my s—"

"Keep his name out of your damned mouth!" James roared.

Harry laughed at finally getting a reaction, "His name? I've been inside of your son's mind."

"Go to hell!"

Stepping around the man chained to the wall, Harry poured himself a cup of tea. "He's quite special, your boy. Or shall I call him ours? He entered a Triwizard Tournament at fourteen, and won."

James snorted slumping in his chains, "Oh, you almost had me, good one. But A. there hasn't been a Tournament in decades, and B. Minerva would never have let anyone age risk their neck for something other than Quidditch."

"The other champions were of age, as it happens, but I found it easy enough to get around the age limit."

"So instead of killing my baby son, you waited until he was in school, and then entered him into a death game? Are you always that convoluted or do you enjoy losing?"

Harry ignored him, "It was an entertaining round, I'll admit. Stealing eggs from Hungarian Horntails, drowned in the lake by the mers, answer riddles with sphinxes, a regular Scamander, our boy."

"Here's an idea," James said spiritedly. "How about you shut the fuck up, and we go back to the torture, huh? You get points for creativity but your storytelling is, how do I put this, lacklustre."

Harry gritted his teeth for a moment, this is why he had never considered taking the time to torture James or Black.

They were annoying, possessing an unproportional pain tolerance in comparison to their minimal intelligence.

Harry flicked his wand, slamming James against the wall, smashing his cuffed hands behind him.

James grunted.

Harry placed his teacup down on the side table beside the knives and stalked up to the man. He asked with false concern, "I'm sorry, did that hurt? I thought this is what you wanted."

James just glared at him.

"I like you this way, humbled. I like to know I'm being listened to when I talk."

James said nothing.

Harry trailed his fingers over the side of the man's torso to his lower stomach, "The Horntail's fire, from the First Task, scared him here."

Harry flicked his wand, and James's arm snapped out to the side, and as his wrists were cuffed together, it pulled his other arm out of its socket.

Voldemort —unperturbed by the man's sweating— traced a hand lightly over the arm pinned to the wall, "And this is where he has the scars from the Basilisk bite."

"Basilisk bites are fatal, you wanker," James said between panting breaths.

Harry hummed, flicking his Yew wand and jamming James's arm back into place.

He screamed.

Harry smiled, "For a boy so eager to die, he is absurdly inept at staying dead. He must have taken after you."

James shook his head, "You're lying, you would have never let him live."

Harry's rage burned, but he managed to keep his voice pleasant as he reached out to trace a line on James's forehead, "And this is where I marked him. He is my creature, he serves me."

James spat in his face, "Liar."

Harry wiped the offending saliva off his cheek, as he transfigured the chains holding Potter into ropes and ropes of writing snakes.

James squirmed against the wiggling bodies and the brush of tongues and fangs.

"He's a parselmouth, sorted into Slytherin. He hates muggles and muggleborns as much as I do, you can thank your wife for that."

"Lily and I loved our son—"

"Yes, but look at who, or rather, what you left him with. I could not have asked for anything easier. You served him up to me on a silver platter, a pawn for the taking."

"What we left him with?" James asked, enraged. "Even if you weren't lying, which you are, Harry would have been loved. Even if Sirius died in the war, our son would have been loved."

Harry cackled, "Is that would you believe? On no, Potter, no, no. Your poor son got left on the doorstep of muggle family like trash, and has been treated as such ever since."

"My son is not trash!"

"Your wife and her accursed family is, less than. They taught your son what it means to hate, what the rightful order of this world is. Wizards at the top, the pigs for the slaughter. Why, he was nearly expelled from Hogwarts and thrown into Azkaban for blowing up his muggle aunt."

"You mean the Dursleys?" James asked, horror crossing his expression.

"They kept him in a hole beneath the stairs, worked him like a house-elf his entire life. You were a fool, James Potter, to dirty your blood with theirs."

Harry watched with glee as the doubt flooded James's expression. Scouring the boy's mind before summoning his Death Eaters was proving incredibly useful now.

After all, there was little reason for Lord Voldemort to remember the details of a mudblood family when he had killed so many.

But he wanted to know the life the boy had led while he, the Dark Lord, hopped from one dying creature to the next. Drinking unicorn blood just to keep from decaying. The boy's pitiful life was nothing remarkable, but it was useful now. The best lies, after all, were spun from the truth.

He put a finger beneath James's chin, "Are you ready to believe me, Potter?"

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

Voldemort wanted Harry Potter dead, he wanted to draw him out of his little hidey-holes and dissect him like a bug. The connection between them was a weakness, but also something he needed to solve, lest he kill the boy and end up harming himself; again.

He needed to know if James had those answers, or if his life was connected to his son in some way.

But we needed to draw the boy out, to him, was through his godfather, which fortunately enough, James could help him with, or at least, could be used as bait if he grew overzealous and broke his mind.

What would the world think if James Potter appeared beside the Longbottoms in St. Mungo's?

Regardless, if one wanted Sirius Black, you needed only James Potter, and vice-versa. Honestly, had Pettigrew not already belonged to him, they would have been right to not choose Black.

But they would make further mistakes. He just needed James to falter or break, it would not do to give Dumbledore back one of his favourite pieces.

Harry leaned in to breathe into James's ear, "I want your pain, Mr. Potter."

Harry woke up in his own body, in his own bed, shaking. His scar burning, he could not determine who he was.

Was he Voldemort? Furious and scared.

Was he James Potter? Defiant and broken.

Harry knew he was Harry, but he knew what it felt like to have long pale fingers. He knew the intoxicating feel of the Dark Arts through his Yew wand, he knew what it was, to believe, absolutely, that he had been born to dominate the world.

But Harry also knew what it was like beneath that wand point. Knew what it felt like to be tortured and toyed with. Taunted and humiliated and to snap back with desperation and the hope that when death came, it would be swift.

Despite what Voldemort believed, death was not the same thing as losing.

Harry curled in on himself as he waited out the pain in his scar and the nauseating sensation of his magic turning over inside like a storm against the sea.

Eventually, he could open his eyes and see past the pain.

He didn't believe James Potter was alive, but whatever Voldemort was doing, if it continued like this, there might come a day when Harry couldn't overcome the pain in his head.

In his spirit.

AN: Usually, I try making Voldemort a more linear thinking character, but I just decided to panic the crazy bastard and watch'um go. Are you not entertained?

ANII: Thoughts, Nile crocodiles, or feedback, pretty please?