The Project

His head was wrapped in gauze, blond eyebrows peeking out over the top of closed lids; the only reminiscent of the white-blond mane that used to wrap around the scalp of his head. The pale pallor of his skin was pasty, livid circles underneath his eyes, lips a lavender discolorment.

The wire that hung in mid-air jerked with every heartbeat, buzzing gently with each beat. His torso rose ever so slightly, his body resisting movement, but the simplicity of a heartbeat propelling lungs and diaphragm, keeping him alive. Ever so slightly.

The guard outside thought of the buzzing as a quiet sound, like the project of a bumble bee collecting pollen for its hive. He would lean in to look through the tiny, barred window of the solid steel door just to see if he was responsive in any sense. It was his job.

He smoothed his purple robes that signified medi-guard status. He constantly clutched his wand, preparing for the moment that the prisoner would awake. He constantly wore a scowl or a dreamy grin. He only thought of the hell the Death Eater deserved or the soft buzzes of summertime.

A researcher prepared for surgery. She had signed the consent forms that she had created herself. She had donned the scrubs for sterilization. Her head was shaven of her brown locks, the smoothness bringing a nauseous sensation to her stomach.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed in the hospital, her eyes looking up at the light overhead. Over her head. The light was harsh and seemed to suck all of the pleasantries out of the room. Every color seemed to bathe in a sickly blue light. Even her glistening brown eyes seemed to be duller than the normal coffee-colored rings.

But then again, she seemed to lose all beauty about her when she became distressed. Or so she thought. So she was told, about her eyes anyway.

She was told that when she was sad, the color drained from her eyes like sand through fingers. She became like mud on a lonely construction site on a depressing holiday.

But of course, she didn't remember this. She just blinked the tears away, stared at the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening for it to work.

It was her baby project. She had been working on it since she was out of school. That was something she had remembered.

She remembered begging for the money from the Ministry, Gringotts, any wizarding bank that would grant her the honor of being a sponsor. That took her ages. Her researching team couldn't work without money. Time took progress, and as they all say, time is money. And they didn't have that. And surgery wasn't popular in the wizarding world.

But they got it. It wasn't easy, and she was sure that she would have wrinkles prematurely because of it. But she didn't mind the extra hours, the laborious procedures, the painful charms.

Now her baby project was going to be performed on her. She was the first human test subject. She was her own experiment.

They didn't want her to do it. They wanted him under the scapand (the first step to her overall project). But the bastard was in a coma, blissfully unaware of the world he lived in. She had made sure that performing the surgery without consent of the patient was illegal in any situation. Seeing as he couldn't exactly give consent, she was the only option.

So, there she was, in a purple and white patient gown, her head glistening in the blue-light of fluorescent bulbs remembering what it took to get here.

It took everything.