So, I know I haven't been around for a while, my friends never fail to remind me of my shortcomings :)

I dedicate this to MahK, you said my stories were always depressing, well then here is another! :p

Oh, I guess you can make this, the speaker, anyone but I meant it as Lucius...

I hope you enjoy


Looking through his eyes I knew I was lost. The man I loved is no longer there. Instead, all I see is a madman in his place, yet I still love him.

It wrenched my heart when I remember how he used to be and then see the shell of a man he has become. He was so vibrant, so full of life and love. He was beautiful in his passion, and I don't mean the one exhibited in the bedroom, well not completely. His passion lay in his Dark Arts and Defence and he was extremely adept at both. I don't think he ever took anything he loved half-way or did it half measure, it was all or nothing with him.

But every passion has its price. He became a Master in both Arts he loved, but in the process his eyes turned a ruby red. Severus once told me that his eye colour is what truly signified his mastery of the powerful arts. I loved the colour of his eyes, such a rich beautiful green. Dumbledore didn't help much; the old fool drove him off the brink with all those lies and the secrets he kept. He shouldn't have tried to manipulate him. Young or not he was and still is exceedingly smart and very fragile. Those revelations destroyed him.

His goal was to help the Wizarding world; pick it up from the ruins and give it a chance to prosper. But the old fool and his manipulative ways turned the masses against him, the one who they once viewed as their possible saviour was turned a devil in the blink of an eye. They shunned him. Attacked through the media to guarantee them a chance at victory. None would have been able to hold his/her own against him whether they chose to face him verbally, duel with him or fight him physically. They all knew it was a lost cause if they tried. So they took cheap shots at his childhood and heritage, they sullied his name. Twisted truths, ugly lies, incessant gossip and rumour. Over time betterment, anger and rage deformed his plans and he lost himself to those emotions. To the need for revenge.

He has now fallen asleep. He looks so innocent and peaceful, so much like his old self. His visage when asleep gives me hope that one day the man I loved will return to me. This hope and my love to him are the only things keeping me from leaving him for all those years. I hate the direction our cause has taken. I kept my distance from my father when I understood the extent of his delusion. I couldn't, and still can't, stand such prejudice.

I had to maintain a facade growing up; forced my son to maintain one while he grew up. I have given up so much, but the man he has become does not notice or appreciate my sacrifices or continuous presence and unfaltering loyalty. Other than being a trusted ear listening to his opinions and thoughts, I have come to mean nothing to him more than a servant, or so his treatment of me has indicated. We no longer spent our nights, limbs intertwined, in the aftermath of mind blowing love-making, talking or just simply basking in the company and the sense of security brought by the presence of the other. The whole thing has become a cold, calculated process, sex then sleeping at different sides of the bed and sometimes not even the same bed. It is as if our relationship, if you can call it that, has degraded to an outlet for his frustrations, mental or sexual, nothing more, nothing less.

He sleeps sp peacefully, innocent of my torture. I wish I could sleep like that, but unfortunately I am unable. Today had been one long day, it is very exhausting, keeping up with his train of thoughts I mean.

I refuse to cry, I haven't done so since I was a child, but I don't think I can stop the tears any longer. I don't think I can keep watching him slip away, bit by small bit every day anymore. A drop of liquid falls on the mop of midnight-black hair currently resting on my chest, one more thing keeping my hope flowing, strengthening my resolve at night while I watch him in his slumber. Even so far gone, even though our relationship has been decimated to the ashes it is right now, he still turns to me for comfort when he is troubled, though now he turns to me when unconscious rather than while awake. My presence when he is troubled seems to be the only thing to get him to surrender into Morpheus's embrace.

This makes me believe that my 'Pet' is still there, somewhere deep down the man I once loved, and still love, is still alive. I finally realise that the drop of liquid is actually a tear. I have given in. My loss and fear drove me to surrender. Many tears follow the course the first took, all falling in his hair. I comb my hand through the sleek strands, basking in the comfort, sorrow, and the knowledge that I can only do so while he sleeps. He leans into the touch, making me smile sadly. His brows furrow in constraint, it is as if he can sense my woes.

The man he used to be was able to, but the man he is now cannot. Tom could but Marvolo can't.

I know that even though I cling to the hope that my lover will return to me, I know that the only time I will have Tom back is when Marvolo is tired and troubled enough to lower his shields and allow the person inside to surface. I will have my lover only while Marvolo sleeps. I know this yet I do not believe, I do not give up. Because I know that nothing else matters if I didn't have him by my side, even if for only a few hours of the day.

PS: Tom is not scaley Voldemort, he looks like his younger self, the one in the second movie if you like...€