Author's Notes: This is a little experimental series based on something that kind of always bothered me about the HP series: Voldemort's portrayal as not being human at all. Ah, I like him that way, but . . . well, honestly speaking, I think if someone even has a shred of a soul left, even if they choose to ignore it, it is there. He must feel . . . something . . . other than rage. So, he is portrayed here as Out Of Character as he can possibly be: he is portrayed as almost human. He feels. Sort of. His feelings are selfish and anything more he chooses to ignore and cast aside, but they are feelings. No, he is not emo-Voldie! (I hope) But he is mildly attached to a certain Death Eater.

And he is uke.

So, be warned, Voldemort is OOC and is a sub to Severus Snape's top. Yes. As I said, experimental, not to be taken seriously, and done for the sake of a different take on his character. Oh, and for the sake of meaningless yaoi, too. Duh :p

Oh, and this is written based on Deathly Hallows, so beware spoilers if you haven't finished the book. It takes place in the year of Book 4, though, right after Voldemort was resurrected.

Godric's Hollow. Lair of the enemy. Village dedicated to the memories of idealistic fools that would corrupt the world they were born into by allowing filth to subvert its way inside its most precious corners, share its deepest secrets of power. Thirteen years ago, he had faced the tiniest of traitors, in the looming house on the horizon he seemed to float towards, and thirteen years ago, he had lost to this newest of adversaries. Only now was he whole again, it had taken that long-- only now could he revisit the place he hated most, the place that had seen his most vulnerable and shaken soul, raw and exposed to the world, pained, weak. Thirteen years later, and finally he was healed enough to fully contemplate exactly what had taken place there that Halloween night.

It was difficult. Despite the lack of physical pain, there was a great annoyance and tension in his body that he detested. His breathing was shallow, rapid, almost like a Dementor's rasp, through his slits of nostrils, and his red eyes were wide open, intent on the building he so despised. How was it that he had fallen so in this lair of idiots? How was it that he lost to not their greatest, but to their smallest? How was it that the emotion he dismissed so easily was what had conquered him for that one moment?

Stupidity. He had been careless, stupid, and he hated this. He could never, of course, hate himself, but he hated that flaw. He hated the flaw, and he hated this house. He hated that child, and he hated the world that had bred him. Stupid. Stupid, to lose to such ancient, ridiculous magic. Stupid to not have foreseen such a trite but significant move on that woman's part. Stupid.

Rage boiled within the cloaked man, and he sharply inhaled the cool summer night's air. One long, thin, white hand curled around a pale wood wand beneath one sleeve, so tightly the thin blue veins bulged around the fingers.

Never again would he allow such stupidity-- he had spent years telling himself this. Why, then, had it happened again? Why? How? Fourteen now, and as much a fool as his parents were fools, yet he had conquered him again. He could not make sense of it. He could not fathom how he had fallen, after so many years of assuring himself he never would again, so many years of pain, caused by that cursed child . . .

How had he been defeated by Harry Potter yet again?

The tall, thin man held out a hand and the front door of the abandoned building opened. He swept inside, no more than a shadow's whisper, and it shut again. Glancing aside, he saw the sofa was still there, beneath a thick coating of dust, where the father had been playing with his infant son. With a derisive sneer, he then climbed the stairs the woman had run with the baby. He went through the door that was still unhinged from his own blast of magic, into the destroyed nursery, and stood. He stood amidst the chaos that had unraveled his carefully constructed life, and shut his eyes.

The scene played through his mind as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Their shock. Their helplessness. First, the father, taken down with a single curse. He had swept over the body without a second glance, as the woman's footsteps pounded on the stairs, underscoring her foolish pleas, he desperate cries for mercy. Her irritating scream, when she chose death to protect that baby, the very light thud as she hit the floor. The baby's eyes, green as hers, gazing innocently up into his own, and then flooding with tears of fright. Crying. That awful sound of a baby crying, as sharp and panicked as the babies in the orphanage had been. More crying orphans, how he hated that sound . . .

Voldemort's eyes opened with a start, and he allowed a shudder of annoyance to pass through him. That was enough of reminiscing for the moment. There was nothing he could say or do or plan that would change that night, he thought as he shook his head, nothing. And what would he do to avoid it in the future?

Was it helplessness? Confusion? What was this feeling in his tiny fragment of a soul left? It felt like crawling beneath the skin, something running through his very blood, and it enraged him.

"AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!"

The Dark Lord exploded into an almost inhuman scream, and began thrashing his arms about. The room fell into more disarray, as things went crashing and banging about. He destroyed whatever was not yet broken, and further shattered everything that was. His wand cut through the very air like a windstorm, sparks flying from it, as he paced through the room in fury.

Finally, he could not find anything more to break, and he stopped, breathing heavily now. Scowling horribly, he lifted up a sleeve of his robe, revealing his own Dark Mark. He pressed two fingers to it, leaving an imprint in his skin, and the ink writhed as if the snake within the skull was alive. Only one name went through his mind as he made the silent demand.

Severus Snape

Voldemort lifted his snake-like, pale face, and there was the man which he had summoned. Their eyes met, black and red, and a silence hung in the dusty air. Severus' eyes widened, and his jaw slackened slightly. He seemed to be grasping for words, and Voldemort readied his wand uncertainly.

" . . . My . . . My Lord . . . " the man finally breathed softly. He took a step towards Voldemort, but Voldemort took a step back. "Is it--" He held out his hands as if he wanted to touch him. "Is it you? Are you alive?"

Voldemort lifted his head, face taking on a severe look. "Obviously, Severus," he said coolly.

Snape fell to his knees, grabbing the hem of Voldemort's robe and holding it to his face. "Master, I cannot say how long I have awaited this moment," he said profusely. "It is a miracle."

"How long . . . " Voldemort scoffed, pulling his robes away. "How long you have awaited? You certainly were not so enthralled to see me--" He pointed his wand down at the man. "--on our last encounter."

Severus looked up in fright, and his sallow skin took on an even greater pallor. "My Lord, how was I to break the hold I had on Dumbledore? I have been very careful to not forsake my place in his trust, for the very purpose of arriving at this moment!"

Voldemort frowned deeply, studying the man intensely. He remembered when he had first met with Severus Snape, the young, bitter, angry man that he had been. So brilliant, and so alone-- he had reminded Voldemort of another solitary genius that had lived long ago . . .

"You never doubted, Severus, this moment would come?" Voldemort inquired, pushing his memories aside fully. Why were they coming up now of all times?

"Never, Master, never!" Severus said genuinely, bowing lower on the dirty floor. Somehow, even groveling, there was a dignity to him, a certainty and strength in his voice. "Not once did I believe you to be dead! You are far more accomplished than that. Who knows that better than I?"

"Hmph. Yet you never lifted a finger to help me that year," Voldemort told him, lifting his wand. "Not once, Severus! In fact, you went against me! You sought to stop the resurrection of the Dark Lord! Cru--"

"NEVER!" Severus boomed, standing suddenly. "I never sought to obstruct your revival! Never!"

Voldemort hesitated for just a moment. Those eyes, so dark they looked like bottomless pools of black water, so familiar . . .

"You would not have succeeded in that year, in that school, with that fool Quirrell," Severus told him. "I believe you know that now."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. " . . . "

"The fool Pettigrew is clever, cunning, if he is pressed to save himself, and this desperate brilliance has led you to a full, complete return," Severus said. "Now, I am able to serve you as I always intended, from beneath Dumbledore's crooked nose." He tentatively stepped closer to the evil wizard, voice dropping to a whisper. "I hold that fool in one hand, ready to be given over to you when the time is right. He trusts me, he has for all these years, and that trust will make me an invaluable resource to my true Master."

"It would, I have no doubt," murmured Voldemort. He lifted his wand between them, pointed it a touch at Severus. "If I am indeed your true Master."

Severus was silent, eyes shifting aside. "How can I prove it to you, Lord?" he asked softly. He was older than before, handsome still. "Tell me, what must I do to regain your trust?"

Voldemort casually looked over his wand, considering what to do. "I'm not certain it can be regained, Severus," he said mournfully. "You are asking much of the Dark Lord, you know this."

"I know, Master." He fell to his knees. "But, I beg you, please, please take me back into your service. I . . . I have waited my entire life for this! My entire life! I live for nothing but to fight by your side!"

"Lovely words, but they are merely words, Severus."

Voldemort swung his arm, and Snape was blasted back into the wall. He hit it with a crash, and Voldemort flew over him, grabbing him by the neck. "Do you attempt to make a fool of the Dark Lord with your words?" he asked angrily, pointing the wand in the center of Snape's forehead. "DO YOU?"

"No, Master! I swear it!"

"I saw you defending my most hated enemy, have you forgotten?" Voldemort yelled at him. "Not once did you try to help me! Not once did you come looking for me! NOT ONCE! IN THIRTEEN YEARS, NOT ONCE!"

Severus frowned slightly. Was that . . . hurt, he saw flickering in the man's red eyes? No. It could not be. It had to be rage, nothing more. Nothing more was possible.

"I had to convince Dumbledore of my allegiance to him!" Severus explained. "What else would have been the use of your death?"

"The use of my death?" Voldemort echoed furiously, holding him tighter by the neck.

"Nothing would have come out of that night had I not used it to gain Dumbledore's confidence!" Severus went on, strong despite his obvious fear. "I knew you would not want me to panic as the others did! I knew you would more appreciate a plan that could service you when you returned, because I never did doubt you would return, Master!"

Those black eyes had not changed in all these years, they remained unreadable, black as the night, with an intelligence only matched by one other in the world. Voldemort drew a breath slowly, shutting his eyes briefly. He could not reach within the man's mind, and thus knew it would be a gamble to trust him-- a great risk.

Yet . . .

Those same eyes had been so full of awe upon meeting his own for the first time. So young, their bearer, and so brilliant. Half-blood from his mother, same as Voldemort. Coincidence, Voldemort had always known this, but still he felt it bonded them in a way he had never felt bonded to anyone else. Two lost, abandoned boys, saved only by their genius, their unblinded eyes to the world's workings . . . master and servant, yet near equals . . .

"Believe me."

Voldemort opened his eyes in surprise, and they bore into Severus'. "Are you making demands of me now, Severus?" he asked softly, almost amused. He dug his wand further into Snape's forehead. "Of me?"

"All I ask is that you put the same faith in me that I have put in you all these years." Severus gently pushed down Voldemort's wand, an act he might have killed another for. Their bodies moved closer. "You know that I . . . I have nowhere else to go, nothing else to live for. If I cannt serve you, then . . . then I . . . " He locked eyes with the Dark Lord. "Then kill me here."

Tears slid from those black eyes, as Voldemort stared at him blankly. There was a heavy silence. Voldemort could feel the man's heartbeat beneath his own faint one, felt his warmth. I should kill him, he thought uneasily. If he is not to be trusted, I could be destroyed by his treachery. The risk is too great . . .

Then again, who am I to fear a petty spy? I am the Dark Lord. Could I honestly be defeated because of one person's misplaced loyalty? If he is against me, I shall kill him the moment it comes to my attention. If he is truly loyal, as I suspect, then I gain a great tool to use against that fool Dumbledore.

"Will you kill me, Master?"

Voldemort stared at him, blinking once. "Are you truly mine, Severus?" he inquired, holding the man's face in one hand rather tightly. His long, pale fingers slid into his sleak black hair. "Do you swear on your life you are mine, and not Dumbledore's?"

"I swear it. I serve only you. Always, only you, my Lord."

Severus drew closer, a bit hesitant still, and then their lips met. Voldemort did not kiss back, but allowed it. He always was too affectionate, stupid man, he thought. It is the only thing that separates us.

The kiss deepened, and Voldemort pulled Severus out of it by yanking his head back by the hair. "You know I don't like that, Severus," he said quietly.

"I apologize, Master. I am just so grateful that you have returned to me."

"Hmph."

Severus' hands were upon his chest, and he released him. Keeping his red eyes fixed on him, he watched somewhat curiously as Severus kissed his neck, opened his robes' collar. It felt good. No one had ever pleasured him as Severus could . . .

How I missed the physical pleasures, Voldemort thought, running his hands through all of Severus' hair, feeling him. Having no body, only pain, no form . . . How I missed feeling . . .

His eyes lifted to the roof, and then he exhaled. "Not here," he said suddenly.

"Hm?" Severus lifted his face from the man's starch-white chest.

Voldemort stood quickly. "Not here," he repeated, brushing himself off. "The pleasures of our reunion is not for this cursed place."

"I agree." Severus got to his feet, a little unsteady. "Master, why not . . . " He frowned a little. "Why not . . . come to my home?"

Voldemort laughed coldly. "Your home? That little hovel of a shack, all full of books? Do you still reside there?"

Severus' ears turned red. "Y-yes, my Lord."

Voldemort laughed more. "Would you even call it a 'home'?" he mused. "No, Severus, I would not waste such a night in that pitiful abode! I can't even see why you choose to remain there."

Severus was silent, trying to control his anger and humiliation. It was all he could do to keep it beneath the surface, though choice words ran through his mind concerning his 'Master'.

"We have made residence with the Lestranges; Bellatrix was all to happy to put us up."

"Bellatrix," scoffed Severus.

Voldemort turned to him with a ghastly grin. "Jealous, still, Severus?" He grabbed the man by the arm. "Fear not, so long as you are loyal as you always have been, that woman could never take your place."

"I am honored, Master."

"But we will take her house. Come."

Severus held tightly to the strange wizard's arm, and they were pulled into darkness.

Scene Two

In moments, they were standing within a sprawling room. Every inch was lined with luxurious fabrics and expensive antiques, all in tones of white, silver, black, and deep green. A fire was going behind a setting of massive black marble and ebony wood, and it crackled as if to greet to two. From the shadows slid a long snake, its great width dragging along the carpet with a hushed slither.

"Nagini," Voldemort hissed to it, petting its head and snout. Their eyes hardly looked different, and he then spoke in another language to it. Nagini nodded, and then slithered aside. Voldemort held out his arms grandly. "The master bedroom, best room of the house-- the Dark Lord demanded no less."

Severus looked around, mildly impressed but jealous. "I-I see." He approached Voldemort. "She-- Bellatrix-- won't disturb us, will she?"

"She only comes when called, I made it clear to her I would tolerate no less," Voldemort said dismissively. "Now, Severus, where were we?"

Severus touched his neck, though he hardly felt up to continuing their 'reunion'.

"Ah, yes," Voldemort breathed. "Perhaps you wish to show me just how grateful you are to have me back, hmm?"

Severus smiled, though inside he was dying. Perhaps out of desperation to retain a shred of dignity, he overtook the Dark Lord as he never had before. Voldemort made an amused sound as he was laid back on the bed, and the Potions' Master climbed over him lecherously, tearing into his robes. Does he intend to top me? he wondered, his blood beginning to run hot. Of course, he is not the child I recruited anymore. Interesting.

Severus kept an eye on him, uncertain of whether he was okay with this switch in positions, and expecting to be blasted off at any moment. Looking down at the man's warped face lit with awful pleasure, he felt a pang of pity for him. He believes me, and he believed in me so easily, he thought, licking the man's neck. I feel almost guilty. He deserves to be used, he deserves worse than to be used, but . . . Had my heart not already belonged to another when we met, I may have been able to . . .

Severus moved Voldemort further onto the bed, into the soft black sheets. "You intend to dominate me, do you?" he finally asked, not sounding very amused anymore. He took Severus by the hair. "Why?"

"I only wish to give you the pleasure you so often have given me, my Lord," Severus said in his quiet, deep voice. He kissed Voldemort again, making sure it was a lustful kiss as opposed to the affectionate ones he so deplored. "Please, Master, allow me to give you service you, to give myself to you."

Voldemort hesitated. As a young man with no power, he had submitted to many powerful wizards, in exchange for various things. Most often, they had been cruel and lascivious, and so he had killed them once he was through with them. The idea of submitting for the sake of being serviced was foreign, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"To service me, or to show me all you've learned over the years?" he asked angrily, sitting up a little. "From Dumbledore, perhaps?"

Severus broke into laughter, and Voldemort shook him. "WHAT IS FUNNY?"

"I-I apologize, Master, but the idea of even touching Dumbledore with desire is quite humorous," Severus said, ending his laughter abruptly. "That fool? That fool which we both hate so very much?" He held Voldemort's snake-like face in both hands. "You believe I would consort with him?"

"So, you wish me to believe you gained his absolute trust without such means?" Voldemort snapped, hitting his hands away.

"As I said, he is a fool," Severus shrugged. "Oh, it did take many years before he began to believe my supposed sincerity, but he did eventually. When Quirrel attempted your revival, it was the perfect opportunity to show him how very loyal I was," he continued mockingly. "He believed then that I truly had reformed, that I was on his noble side."

Voldemort laughed. "I see, I see now, Severus. Such a fool, Dumbledore! To have a man like yourself at his mercy, and to not take advantage of that! Yes, he always was that stupid! Ha ha ha ha!"

He was almost childish in his delight at his enemy's shortcomings. Severus took advantage of his mirth to kiss him, and lie him back again. "I have been with no other, Master, none," he said. "I have learned nothing, only how much I have waited to repay you for your allowing me to serve you. How much I want you . . . "

"So, repay me, Severus," Voldemort relented, his doubts lost in the joy of spiting Dumbledore.

Severus smiled a tender smile, though beneath it his thoughts were cold. Oh, I shall repay you someday, in every way you truly deserve . . .

Severus' touch was hot, his hands rough by now. Though slightly uneasy, Voldemort had to admit that it was exciting to have another atop him. He felt young again, young and alive. He could feel Severus' caution in the way he undressed him, and wished he would throw it aside. If he was going to dominate, he had to be forceful. Though, it was good he was still very aware of his place as servant.

Finally, Voldemort gave in to Severus. His long, thin arms wrapped around the man like two snakes, and he wrapped his teeth around Snape's neck, drawing blood. Severus did not wince, only met him with equal fervor. It was difficult to be so caring with a man he wanted nothing more than to kill. He wished to punish him, punish him severely, in every way imaginable, yet he was forced to be subserviant even in dominance. A bitter irony.

I could have loved him, had he not murdered Lily. But he tore my heart out that night. Part of me understands, doesn't blame him; after all, he feels no love, never has felt or received it, so how could he respect a thing he believes not in? Still, I hate him. I could have loved him, I respect his power, but it is too late for those things.

Severus looked the man over, his body unnaturally pale and thin, hairless as a snake. He was repulsive, yet somehow also desirable for his raw, vulgar lust. He was a man, older than Severus, but also a child more lost and immature. For a moment, Severus just stared down at him, pondering him, expertly hiding the torrent of emotions stirring behind his cold black eyes.

Voldemort frowned slightly, and it was clear from his eyes that he nearly saw into Snape's mind, the hatred and anger. Severus pushed into him then, kissing his knee as he did, and now Voldemort was laughing . . .

"Very good, Severus," he hissed. "But harder, you must-- ahhh!" Voldemort turned his face, and saw Nagini had slithered into bed with them. He grinned, reaching over to it and speaking in Parseltongue.

Severus glanced in alarm at the snake, but knew it would do no good to protest its presence. As it entwined around them, he stifled a shudder, and slammed with annoyed effort further into his 'master'.

Voldemort hissed his approval, enthralled by the pain and ecstasy. Nagini coiled around his legs, up his body, and then to Severus, as if binding them together. It was surreal, even to the Dark Lord. After so many years of having no physical being, he could not have asked for a more fitting reward. What a fool he had been to have considered killing poor Severus! This Death Eater, who had always given him the best plans, the most trustworthy advice, unrivaled pleasure such as this-- to have killed him would have been such a waste of talent and vibrancy! No, better to let Severus live, and keep all of him for himself. Better to enjoy him fully, just in case he ever did have to die. How he hoped he never would have to waste such an enjoyable man . . .

Severus went to turn him over, but Voldemort stopped him. "No."

Snape gave him a puzzled frown. "What?" he panted. All his hair tumbled down around his face, giving him the look of a vampire. His shoulders heaved with effort, and his sallow skin took on a lurid glow from the sweat.

"I refuse to submit that much, Severus," Voldemort said firmly. "Even to you."

"O-oh. I apologize, Master," Severus said uncertainly. Foolish man. He will submit, but not lie on his stomach? What sort of sense does that make? Is he more in control if on his back?

"You have grown so much, Severus," Voldemort told him, stroking his arms and chest. He laughed and again let his arms encircle the man. "You are a man now, aren't you? A man worthy of topping the Dark Lord?"

"I-I . . . "

"Tie me."

"What?"

Voldemort grinned. "I still want to test your loyalty. Tie me." He reached over and took Severus' wand, handed it to him. "You wish for more empowerment, do you not?"

"Y-yes, but not--"

"So, then, bind me!" Voldemort demanded. "Let me see if I can trust you to have me helpless."

"As if ropes could not be easily undone by you."

"Ha ha! You are a smart one, Severus," Voldemort smirked, petting his hair. "Let us pretend, then, shall we? Do it."

Severus looked at him anxiously.

"DO IT!"

Such a dominant submissive, Severus thought, irritated. He pointed his wand at the wizard and jerked it. Black ropes shot out, tightly tying Voldemort's wrists together, then coiling around his body to his ankles. His white skin was squeezed until it began to bruise, and Severus felt a tinge of smug satisfaction at the sight. Nagini hissed at him angrily, though it did not intervene.

Voldemort laughed at the novelty of it. "So," he said as he squirmed against the ropes, "you have the Dark Lord at your mercy. Do you feel strength, Severus? Do you feel more of a man?"

"Yes," Snape replied simply.

"And?"

Severus looked at him. I want to hurt him. I want so badly to hurt him, to shout at him, to ask him why he killed the woman I loved. But I can't. I would sacrifice everything if I did, all I've worked for these past years . . . Damn him. Does he sense my hatred? Is that why he is testing me this way?

Voldemort watched him with rapt interest. Severus did not set aside his wand, but seemed to have it ready, considering what more he could do. His lust for Voldemort became lust for power that could not be hidden. Of course, it was only natural for sexual desire to become meshed with desire for power; was all sex not simply an act of dominance?

"Do you wish to hurt me, Severus?" Voldemort continued to tempt him.

"Why would I wish to hurt a man I love and respect?" Severus replied silkily, resting a hand upon Voldemort's knee. The words were empier than he had hoped.

"It is natural for even one as loyal as you to be tempted by seeing the person they serve helpless," Voldemort pointed out. "I would not respect you if you did not desire power, great power! It is fine to admit it to me, Severus. The Dark Lord understands."

Does he? Or is he trying to lure me into doing something he can kill me for? He wants to trust me, but he doesn't. It's hard for him. Why has he let me come this far, then? Normally, he would not take the chance?

Severus' eyes lit. Is it because it is me? Does he . . . have some sort of attachment to me?

No! No. He is not human. He does not feel emotion of any sort. He is only using me for entertainment, that's all. Using my emotions for his own sick games!

Indeed, Voldemort was trying Severus' patience for the sake of fun. As much as he respected his most faithful servant, he felt a desire to try him, torment his foolish emotions. After all, if one has such pitiful feelings, they deserved to be toyed with so.

"The servant always wishes to overthrow the master, see them helpless, do they not?" Voldemort went on. "To punish the master for dominating them?"

"I do not wish to punish you, my Lord," Severus said finally. He crawled over Voldemort and touched his horrible face. "You are the only person in this world I can respect enough to serve. Why would I wish to tarnish that by dominating you?"

Voldemort eyed him, not very convinced.

"True, I am a cruel man, and derive pleasure from the sufferings of others, as I know you understand," Severus admitted, "but to lower the Dark Lord to a level beneath myself? I would not desire that, never, Master. It would disgust me to even consider it."

"Hmm, I wonder . . . "

"I wish to pleasure you, nothing more," Severus told him. "I know you believe that. Otherwise, you never would have allowed me to bind you. You are a brilliant man, after all."

Voldemort thought he detected a hint of sarcasm, but decided he had merely imagined it. Severus leaned into a kiss, passionate and subservient. It satisfied him. Leaving the ropes, Severus proceeded to prove his words through actions that erased the last bit of doubt from the Dark Lord's mind.

Scene Three

It was strange to see Voldemort sleep. Severus robed himself and sat on the edge of the bed, staring in morbid fascination at the deformed wizard. One would not expect such an inhuman thing to need sleep, yet he was certainly dreaming somehow . . . How could one with no emotion dream? On the other side of the room, thrown over a sofa, Nagini also rested. The night was still, even the fire's embers dying at last.

Snape sighed, and laid a hand on Voldemort's shoulder. One might have thought him fragile, so thin and so white, if they did not know of his power and cruelty. Severus remembered how thrilled he had been to meet him and be accepted into his inner circle. Only Half-Blood, yet he had been acknowledged finally for his talents. He thought Voldemort was an equal, one that understood genius and the desire to be recognized for it. He agreed that those with power should rule over those who did not have it, instead of allowing themselves to be disgraced and hidden away from them. He thought this man could give him power over those who did not see his worth . . .

What a fool he had been. What little worth he had ever had was destroyed the moment he chose to join Voldemort. This man-- no, he was not a man, not even human anymore. He was a monster. A monster that had to be killed once and for all, soon.

Severus stared down at him, stroking his face now. How could one end up like this? Did lust for power really lead to such a desolate existence? It was sad, in a way. For years, Severus had watched Voldemort do so much, work so hard, to achieve power, only to have it snatched away as Dumbledore said it would be, by the love of a mother's last sacrifice . . .

I might have loved him.

Severus lay beside him now, pulling the covers over him with unusual gentleness. Stupid, bitter, brilliant child . . . I could have loved him. Dumbledore always said that Volde--No, that Tom Riddle, was an immature, frightened child, lost and desperate and full of greed and narcissism. I only half-believed it until now. But it is true. Why am I so despaired? I should be glad to realize that he is wrong. I should be glad to be able to deceive the man who killed my love into his own demise. I should be . . .

Why am I not?

Severus moved closer to him, still caressing him. His hands squeezed the pale skin tightly, nails digging into it. "Do you dream, my Lord?" he murmured into the man's ear. "Hmm? Dream of power? Dream of murder? Is that what you dream of?" He kissed Voldemort's shoulder ironically.

Voldemort's eyes shot open, and Severus moved back so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "M-Master?"

"Dream?" he echoed sleepily. "Yes, Severus, I dream of power and murder. I dream every night I have murdered that idiot boy Potter." Though exhausted, he spoke as clearly as if he had been awake the whole time.

"O-oh. I-I did not expect an-- I mean, I was . . . only curious, my Lord."

"What of you, Severus?" yawned Voldemort. He lay on his back, stretching his branch-like arms. "Do you dream, perhaps? Of love and companionship? Hm?"

"No."

"I thought you wished for a woman, did you not?" Voldemort asked. "Last we spoke, you were disappointed I killed that Mudblood you fancied, yet you agreed you could find a woman worthy of you, of pure blood. What happened to that ideal?"

"When you died, I wanted none other," Severus said, hugging himself. He imagined he spoke to Lily as he said the words, so they rang true. Inside, his rage burned more strongly than ever.

"The Dark Lord is touched," Voldemort said in the most insincere of tones.

Severus back in the pillows, and suddenly drew Voldemort onto his chest. The Dark Lord looked stunned, his pupils narrowing into thin slits amongst all the red, and on the verge of anger. Having no way of taking his fury out on Voldemort, Severus kissed him viciously.

You are the worst of me, the worst of humanity, of this world. I could have loved you, but I hate you. I hate you beyond anyone else, beyond anything. You killed my only love, and for that even I could never forgive you.

Severus pulled out, smiling down at his 'master'. "And I am honored to have you again, my Lord."

Voldemort thought this was rather strange, but merely licked his lips and smirked. He moved off of Severus' chest quickly, as if afraid to appear vulnerible, and then turned his back to him. He felt Severus squeeze his upper thigh one last time before rolling over to sleep as well. As close as they had just been moments ago, now they lay apart.

The lack of closeness suited Voldemort just fine, and he did not even think to question it.