Posted: 11/22/2015

Beta: the artful scribbler

Impervious

4th June, 1998
2:37 pm

The Dark Lord's head was spinning and he needed to sit down. Oh yes, it seemed he was already sitting down.

It could not be true. It was absolutely outrageous. He had never heard the like. Why would she lie about something so ridiculous? Then he remembered the Veritaserum he had just watched her consume. He thought about the potions the thief had watched her drinking while Dumbledore took notes; the spells he had been casting at her. Had he been cataloging? The Dark Lord remembered Scabior telling him that none of the Snatchers had been able to Apparate with her. They had actually brought her here in a van. He had simply chalked it up to their ineptitude. But what about the spells he had seen Dumbledore casting at her? What about the Veritaserum?

At a loss for anything else to do, he threw back his head and laughed long and hard. The Malfoys and Bellatrix joined him.

"Jane," he said. "It will not do to make up such stories. I can easily disprove such a pathetic lie."

She didn't respond. She just sat there with her head in her hands and continued to cry.

He stood up, pointed his wand at her, and cried, "Crucio!"

The light came out and hit her straight in the head the way he had intended it to, but instead of falling to the floor, writhing in agony, she just started to cry harder.

And then the cheeky little brat actually had the audacity to mumble, "I's sorry."

The Malfoys and Bellatrix were completely quiet through this. They were watching the scene evolving before them in stunned disbelief.

The Dark Lord looked down and realized he was still pointing his wand at her and the spell was still pouring into her. It was as though it was simply passing through her. Was it passing through her? He leaned over to see if the light was coming out from behind her, but he couldn't tell from his angle.

He looked down at his wand again and lifted the spell.

He turned to Narcissa.

"Give me your wand," he commanded.

She immediately rose, looking dazed, and handed it to him. He turned to the girl and tried to Crucio her with it. The exact same thing happened. The spell came out all blue and shiny and pretty and completely impotent.

Was she a Muggle?

"Are you a witch?" he asked her.

Instead of answering she shook her head.

He handed Narcissa back her wand and started to pace around her, thinking.

"Bellatrix!"

She jumped out of her chair as though she had been burned. "Yes, My Lord!"

She came to his side, anticipating his command.

To her surprise he handed her his wand and said, "Cast a spell at her."

With a joy-filled face she immediately pointed the wand at her and yelled, "Crucio!"

Nothing.

"Try something else," he said.

"Silencio," she tried.

This spell was also proved to be ineffectual, as the little mudblood kept right on sobbing, loudly.

"I's sorry," she gasped. "I's fought ya knowed!"

"Quiet," he snapped. "Do not speak to me again unless I ask you a direct question! Do you understand me?"

She nodded.

He was pacing again, thinking again.

What in Merlin's name was she? Could this possibly be true? Could such an abomination actually exist? He noticed that Bellatrix and the three Malfoys had all stood up and were staring at her.

His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called.

Severus, Yaxley, and Thickness walked into the room. It didn't take but a moment for them to realize something significant was happening. Their master was pacing as though possessed and the Malfoys and Bellatrix were gazing in shock at some funny looking child who was hunched over crying. None of them were willing to disturb the Dark Lord when he was so clearly aggravated, so they moved in closer, but not too close, and waited.

The Dark Lord wasn't sure how to proceed. No experience in his life, no urban legend, nothing in any book he'd ever read had prepared him for such a circumstance as this. This was what Dumbledore had been doing that evening when he had been unknowingly watched by the ex-convict. He had been giving her various potions to drink and trying different spells on her simply to test her with magic. And she had giggled he remembered. One of the spells had tickled her. He wondered which one it had been. That doddering old ass had been studying her. Had Dumbledore been fascinated by her? And how did she spy? When he asked her she had said she didn't know how she did it. He would need to explore that further. In fact, he decided as he looked at her, he would need to invest some extensive consideration before he made any significant decisions regarding her.

Now, the next thing to be decided was how much to tell his servants. Did they need to know that she had spied on him? She had spied on all of them probably. She had made a mockery of them, of him. But that was in the past. She belonged to him now. He could wield her power, bend it, shape it, use it to achieve his own ends. No matter what the freak turned out to be, she undeniably had power. She had certainly managed to keep him on his toes for at least a year and a half. He thought of Potter. Merlin's beard, was it possible that she could find the wretched boy?

His only misgiving was that, if she truly was impervious to all magic, how could he be completely sure that he was controlling her? She apparently had no family. If she did, she would not have been staying in that home for disadvantaged girls. What about that woman she had lived with, Mrs. Carrington? When Dumbledore asked about her, Jane had told him that she mostly left her alone. It didn't sound as though they were close. Well, he would have to put that aside for the time being. He would come up with a solution. He always did. Besides, she seemed utterly terrified of him so she must have a little intelligence. After all, if she had spied on him, and she admitted that she had, she would know perfectly well what he was capable of doing to those who stood in his way.

How many spells had Dumbledore tried on her? He had to admit that Dumbledore had been a very clever wizard, so he had no doubt tried hundreds, if not more. Had he ever tried the Cruciatus Curse on her? The Dark Lord thought not. Whatever Dumbledore did he was always honorable about it. He would not have given her any poisons to drink either. But the Dark Lord had to know. He had to push the boundaries as far as he could; this had always been his way.

"Narcissa, Lucius, Bellatrix," he began, "I want you to bring me every potion you have in this mansion. Every one. And bring some of your darkest objects as well."

"Yes, My Lord," they said. Bellatrix looked as though Christmas had come early.

Then he turned to Severus. "What potions are you carrying? Set anything you have there," he commanded pointing to the largest table in the room.

And so it began. Everything he had planned to do that day was postponed. Within an hour he had all of his Death Eaters gathered and helping him test different types of magic on the little girl. He had instructed Narcissa and Draco sit at a table to the side and write notes on the proceedings.

First he cleared the furniture to the side of the room and had her stand in the middle of it. Then he positioned different people around her and told them to cast spells at her simultaneously. This only served to make her sneeze several times, so apparently when she was inundated with copious amounts of magic it tickled her nose. Next he decided to queue them up in front of her and told them to take turns casting whatever curses they'd like, in turn. They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Lucius had a plethora of dark objects for them to play with. He had her gaze into a mirror that should have driven her instantly insane. Nothing. He commanded her to handle an entire set of cursed cutlery. Nothing. He had her comb her hair with a brush that should have caused all of it to fall out and make her hands break out in painful boils. Nothing. He sprinkled her with sleeping powder. Nothing. He told her to look inside a book that would have burned out anybody else's eyes. Nothing.

It was all turning out to be fascinating to him. And worrisome as well. Were there others in the world like her, or was she one of a kind? He asked her if she had any family and she told him no, that she had been abandoned at an orphanage when she was a baby. That was an eerie coincidence. If she ever had children would they be impervious to magic as well? Food for thought.

His Death Eaters did not know what to make of her either. It was quickly known among them that she was the spy who had been helping Dumbledore track them down and foil their plans. A Muggle? A child? And as it turned out, a cripple.

He had not known at first, because of her trousers, but when a couple of spells ripped her clothes she started squawking about her leg.

"Please don' 'urt my leg!" she had whined.

"Is one of your legs not impervious to magic, child?"

"It ent beed a real one, yeah? Yer spells migh' break it."

"Show me."

Her face flushed but she immediately complied. "It be 'ow Dumbledore really knows I's impervious to magic," she told him while she rolled up the right side of her trousers, unlaced her boot, and showed him a prosthetic limb. "'E wan'ed to 'elp me by 'ealin it. I gots so 'appy. But 'is spells ent doin' nuffink. So thats 'ow 'e be figurin' it."

"How interesting," he had replied sarcastically. "Now take it off." His Death Eaters had chimed in with their sycophantic guffaws.

He watched with pleasure as her face turned red. She needed a good dose of humiliation. He and his minions needed it as well. A cripple? It was like salt in the wound that was her sorry existence. In fact, everything about her was a slap in his face. She was so young and helpless. She was a Muggle, a cripple, and it was as clear to him as the color of her skin that at least one of her parents had been a foreigner. Her grammar was nonexistent, and she clearly wasn't very bright. This was the spy who had shadowed him for a year and a half?

"In fact, I have been meaning to ask you something," he said, his face alight with an evil grin. "Have you ever seen any of my servants while they were sleeping?"

She nodded.

"Have you watched them eating?"

She nodded again.

"Have you ever seen them using the lavatory?"

Her face got redder and she lowered her head.

"Answer the question!"

It was almost imperceptible, but she nodded again. A collective gasp of indignation filled the room.

"You have seen them doing every private thing, have you not?"

He included himself; not out loud, but he was thinking it. She had probably seen him bathing, eating, sleeping, all the things he hated for people to think that he did. And she had seen it. His nostrils were such small slits that he couldn't breathe through them very well. Whenever he awoke his pillow was soaked with drool. It was an infuriating thought.

She was crying again.

"Have you ever watched them while they had sex?"

She didn't say anything.

"Answer me!"

"I's ent be watchin'!"

"But you did see them, did you not?"

She nodded.

"Rowle, Malfoy, take off her clothes."

"No, please! I's sorry! I's sorry! I's ent be watchin'!"

Thorfinn and Lucius exchanged bemused looks for a moment.

"Do not make me tell you again," The Dark Lord said, having to raise his voice to be heard over Jane's pointless calls for mercy.

Rowle looked at Lucius, shrugged, grinned, and headed for Jane. Reluctantly, his lip curled in disgust, Lucius joined him. She kicked and screamed, she struggled and pleaded. She even bit Rowle on the arm. But after taking turns holding her down, they finally succeeded in undressing her.

Lucius was loath to touch her. Although the urine he had seen saturating her clothes several hours before had dried by this time, her trousers still reeked of it. But even if he knew she'd just stepped out of the bath he still wouldn't have touched her willingly. For the sake of Merlin, she was a mudblood.

Most of the Death Eaters watched this impromptu show with unrestrained glee, laughing and mocking her pitiful pleas. Severus watched, but didn't seem amused. Draco and Narcissa kept their eyes on the table where they sat in the corner.

On the piece of parchment in front of her, Narcissa wrote, Make Lucius wash his hands as soon as possible.

Once stripped, Jane sat on the floor writhing her legs, real and otherwise, trying to find the best position to cover her nudity. She wrapped her arms over her chest, was red-faced, sweating from her futile exertions, and sobbing; the embarrassment of her fake leg had clearly been forgotten.

"Come, child. What did you expect me to do? Give you a biscuit and a pat on the head?" Cruel laughter filled the room. "This is only fair. Tit for tat, and all of that."

On his parchment, Draco wrote, No biscuits or pats on the head for naughty mudbloods.

The Dark Lord walked around her slowly, looking, reveling in her anguish.

"I do not see what you are trying to cover up." More laughter. "There is not much, you know."

A smattering of pubic hair and two diminutive nubs. Hardly a curve to be seen.

"You have more hair on your face." The hilarity peaked.

He did not need magic to punish her. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he felt inclined to rise to this challenge. He would have to be creative in order to deal with this abhorrent waif.

"Go sit in the chair."

"Please, gives 'em back!" she sobbed helplessly.

She needed an obedience lesson.

"Macnair!"

The large man stepped up eagerly.

"Slap her."

In retrospect, he should have been more explicit. Macnair leaned over and practically punched off her head. It seemed that her entire bare body flew off the floor and she collapsed, gasping in a heap.

"Crucio!" The Dark Lord directed his heat at the incompetent man.

Once his anger was spent, he said, "I told you to slap her, you moron, not incapacitate her. She is not to be irrevocably damaged. By any of you," he told his servants, casting his red eyes around the room, making sure to sweep them all up in this edict. "You are angry. I understand. I am angry as well.

"Her existence is...shameful, yes...and unprecedented. She is a freak of nature and she has wronged us. But no one is to hurt her without my permission, and anybody who dares to defy me will suffer the consequences. I am making plans for her. Mudblood she may be, but she is going to become an asset to our cause. Or die," he added for her benefit.

He turned his attention back to the subject of his little speech and examined her. Her eyes were half closed and she was breathing hard. She didn't appear to be bleeding. The side of her face that had received the blunt of the blow was red. Now what was he supposed to do?

"Severus," he said wearily. "Do something."

"Yes, my lord," Severus obediently replied, going to her side and kneeling as he spoke.

He gently took one of her dark wrists into his pale hands and placed two of fingers over her pulse, waited, counted, and released it. He drew up an eyelid, inspected her cornea, and then he began to carefully probe the back of her head. She seemed to revive some during these tender ministrations and the Dark Lord breathed an inward sigh of relief. He would have to be more careful in the future.

Severus stood up and, handling her carefully, helped Jane into the chair. With his wand he conjured some chunks of ice and wrapped them up in a handkerchief that he took out of his pocket. The Dark Lord watched as he softly pressed the cold compress to the side of her face.

"She's fine. Right?" he asked hesitantly.

"I believe a good night's rest is in order, my lord. Some fluids and food would not go amiss either. When was the last time she ate?"

When was the last time she had eaten?

Perhaps Severus was right. It was getting late and it wasn't as though she was going anywhere. She was his now, after all. But where should she sleep? Initially he had planned to lock her in the cellar, but as he looked at her, skinny, naked, trying to hold the ice to her face and cover her nudity at he same time, he was impressed by her fragility.

He told his Death Eaters that he no longer required their presence and, one by one, they Disapparated.

He took Lucius and Narcissa into the foyer to give them his instructions.

"Take her upstairs and give her one of your rooms." He could tell by their faces they had not anticipated this. "Keep her close and make sure she is...comfortable. I want her well fed and rested. Give her a bath and something clean to wear. Get rid of that filthy Muggle attire. I shall be back tomorrow.

"Heed my words, you are not simply guarding her, you are going to protect her. If she is in any way harmed, if she escapes, I will make the punishments you have received since Potter got away feel like paradise. Do not fail me again. Have I made myself clear?"

They both mumbled, "Yes, my lord."