Interestingly, this story does take some turns I didn't necessarily expect. Like Tonks showing up at the end of the chapter.
As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
"I am Control."
He felt something then, a deep throbbing agony where he'd once thought he'd had a heart. Back when he'd been alive. The Voice came from everywhere, filling him, giving him form, granting him thought. "You are my servant, my knight, my champion."
"Am I not dead?" He asked without speaking (he'd forgotten he had ever had a voice).
"I will return when I deem you worthy of my attention." The Voice stated without replying to his question. And then, it abandoned him completely to screaming silence.
--
"I am Control." Came the blessed greeting that sent him into ecstasy. He was wretched when it left him to the emptiness of his death. It never answered a single question. It pretended not to hear him! But it must have heard him for it spoke to him! It knew him! Was it just a matter of obedience? What did it want? It never said! It only told him he was not ready but that when he was, he would serve the Voice. How? How can he serve the Voice? What could it possibly need or want that he could provide? It never answered his questions. It simply announced itself, filled him, then left, emptying him again. He stopped asking questions.
It was not enough. The agony of the terrible waiting filled every moment that he was alone. He stopped thinking altogether.
Still it was not enough.
At last he stopped existing except when the voice filled him.
--
Margaret Sellinger studied the telemetry that had been recorded over the past three days comparing it to that of the first three days. He was broken. He was hers! No longer did the body within the tank do anything more than what was automatic or done for it. "Phase Two at last," she murmured to herself, nearly breathless with the anticipation of her success.
She fairly ran to the lab remembering her professionalism barely in time to arrive collected and not a bit out of breath. The technician on duty looked up from her study of the live telemetry readings at the senior scientist's unexpected entrance.
"Good morning Dr Sellinger."
"Good morning Petrie. Have room one prepared and the team summoned. We're moving on to Phase Two." She turned away from the other woman and reached for the microphone. She paused to take a deep breath and steady the excitement out of her voice. Then she toggled the mike, "I am Control," she announced as usual. And of course, telemetry registered the subject's increased heartbeat and increased brain functions. "I shall give you form, and your form substance," she continued in the same commanding tone as usual. Then she killed the mike and waited for the team to arrive.
They came and did their work with well executed efficiency, removing the man from the tank and reinstalling him in the adjoining room. He was stripped and laid on the hospital bed. she ignored the techs' widening eyes when they viewed the many scars the subject carried and neither dared say a word though she was sure there'd be gossip later. Leads were switched and tested and soon a web of tubes and cables snaked from the body to hissing and clunking machinery nourishing and sustaining the body as well as keeping track of all reactions. His eyes and ears were padded and swathed in bandages so as to keep out both light and sound. When he began to wheeze, a mask was placed over both mouth and nose to pump oxygen he needed. The team was dismissed though a single nurse merely went to wait in the observation foyer just outside the glass walled room.
Sellinger watched in silence until twitching fingers heralded Snape's return to consciousness. She lifted the microphone that's leads fed directly to his auditory nerves. "I am Control."
She felt her own flush as his body shuddered at the sound of her voice.
"I have given you form. I return you to life. I will instruct you. You are mine. If you prove unworthy I will abandon you." Each word was carefully enunciated. Each short phrase spoken without emotion. He would know only her words and only her truth would exist. The body stilled except for the rise and fall of his diaphragm as he inhaled and exhaled. As her silence continued that too slowed and became shallow. She thumbed off the mike again and gestured to the observation foyer for the nurse to return as she herself took her leave.
The nurse frowned at the supine man. She knew vaguely that he was the test subject of some highly classified research. The details were probably beyond her, but it didn't matter. Her job was to care for the body of an apparently comatose man. She replaced the nearly emptied bag of glucose. Seeing that nothing else was needed she returned to her station at the console and, after a furtive glance to make sure she was not being observed herself, pulled out a magazine.
--
"I am Control." The Voice filled him and brought him life again. His whole existence was centered on pleasing Control so that he would not be abandoned. He must have done well enough for he was given sight. It was a painful gift, causing at first an immense headache that pummeled him mercilessly. But it was not permanent and he was grateful to Control for that as well. Then Control gave him motion. He was allowed to use the form, the body, as if it was his own. He was given a garment to use to cover himself much like the men who came to take him from place to place except the pockets and shoulder decorations had been ripped off his. He was given a room that had a bed and a toilet. The men hit him sometimes, but it was only when Control told them to and so he didn't try to protect himself. He obeyed every directive Control gave him, yearning only for that Voice to fill him with its purpose.
He stood patiently, waiting as She walked around him. Control's voice came at last from within. "You will be my champion." It echoed throughout his mind sending waves of rapture throughout his body. He trembled without realizing it. "Return to your cell," Control commanded and he left with the two men.
Margaret Sellinger bit off a smile as the subject almost moaned with ecstasy at the sound of her voice in his head. It amused her to think she could order the man to kill himself and he'd be nearly orgasmic at the prospect. "Phase Two complete," she whispered to herself when she was alone.
She returned to her office and filled out some of the inescapable paperwork that accompanied any government activity and then pretended to read some journals. Just before the change of shifts she got ready to leave the site herself. it had been several weeks since she'd first arrived with Snape and she was long overdue for a night in her own bed. Maybe dinner out at an elegant restaurant first. She smiled to herself as she fantasized taking the weekend off for herself. Snape would suffer extreme loneliness without Control. It could only help solidify his need and the bond, in her opinion. Besides, she wanted to pick up some other clothing; she was so bored of the same three suits over and over again.
--
It was Tonks' day off but she had volunteered to take a watch shift at Sellinger's apartment. After more than a month without any sightings without even the smallest clue, there wasn't anyone except Albus Dumbledore who held any hope that Severus would be found. But no one was able to convince him to lose hope and truthfully, there weren't many who were willing to work that hard to convince him to concede the point. Tonks had figured at the very least she'd get some reading done. She'd picked up a Muggle book by someone called Hawking and while it wasn't the fictional novel she'd thought it, the book, "A Brief History of Time," was riveting. Big Bangs and whatnot. Fascinating stuff. But weighty for someone as unfamiliar with Muggle science as she was.
The late September afternoon was cooling quickly with the sun low in the sky. She closed her book, yawned and stretched and when she opened her eyes saw someone unsettlingly familiar enter the apartment building across the street. Short blonde hair? Damn! Sellinger?!
Oh yes, no doubt about it, for only a few moments later she felt the signaling of the wards that had been placed in and about the apartment go off in frantic warning. She pulled out the antique looking silver toned compact from her seventies vintage cloth bag and hastily murmured her partner's name. "Kingsley! Kingsley Shaklebolt!"
Sellinger was still up in her apartment, but for how long?. Why wasn't he--
"Tonks?"
"Wotcher. Guess who's come home to her roost?"
"What? Who?" Long pause while the confusion on the dark face became unbelieving shock. "Sellinger?"
"Yep. She went in about... ten minutes ago." She looked up to make sure her taking to herself was not drawing any attention yet, while she pretended to fiddle with her hair while looking in the mirror.
"Do you think you can follow her?"
"Easily. I'll just keep morphing. She'll never notice."
"Right then. I'll tell Dumbledore. Stay in touch, Tonks. I want to hear from you at regular intervals. She may be only a Muggle but she's dangerous and the people she works for even more so."
"Right, right. D'you think I might get some backup, then?"
"I don't doubt you'll need it. Don't try any rescues by yourself, got that?"
The young witch laughed. "I'll not pull a Gryffindor, Kingsley. No worries. Here she comes. Later!" She snapped the compact shut without waiting for the man's reply. She'd long ago paid for her last tea and a salad so she only had to get up and leave the bistro-like outdoor table. Which would have been fine except she tripped over a chair that was not quite pushed in. Thankfully the only attention that attracted was from the young couple snogging at another, nearby table. She blushed, they blushed, she hurried off after the thankfully unaware scientist.