Chapter 2

‘My Lord,’ Severus called as he entered the cluttered, dirty bedroom of the Shrieking Shack. Dropping to his knees, he kissed the filthy, black hem of his master’s robe.

‘Severus, how good of you to join us.’ Voldemort grasped

Severus’s shoulder, his sharp, yellowed fingernails piercing the black cotton fabric of Severus’s robes. ‘Rise and join your fellows.’

‘Tonight, we will celebrate victory over the brat. Potter will either bow to me or he will die,’ Voldemort hissed.

A raucous chant of “Potter must die!” rang throughout the shack.

‘In due time, my followers. But first, there’s a small matter to discuss. My esteemed Death Eaters, we have a traitor in our midst. Can anyone guess who it is?’ The gigantic snake, which was draped across his shoulders like a travesty of a wrap, flicked its forked tongue out, tasting the scent of human flesh.

‘Would anyone care to venture a guess?’ he addressed the room full of cloaked, masked people. ‘Lucius, my slippery friend, would you like to offer up a name?’

‘I do not know of anyone who would dare defy you, my Lord.’ He bowed.

‘Do you think it wise to lie to me, Lucius?’

‘I speak the truth.’ Lucius fought the fear threatening to rise in his voice.

‘Liar!’ Voldemort spat. ‘You have denied me many times just to save your own skin.’

‘My Lord, your forgiveness I implore,’ Lucius begged.

Voldemort pointed his finger at Lucius, beckoning him closer.

‘You will be dealt with.’ He whispered something unintelligible, extending his milk-white arm. Hand tilting and shaking with power, he flicked all of his fingers at Lucius, and a wave of energy blasted through the room. Lucius was thrown backward off his feet and into an already splintered table, breaking it into a thousand pieces.

‘Whoever fails to answer a direct question will pay for their disobedience. Now, who among you is willing to betray a friend?’

Silence settled over the small, black-clad crowd, no one daring to answer. Voldemort was growing angrier, his eyes flashing an evil, blood-red.

‘It seems all of you are rather tight-lipped. Maybe you are all guilty of betrayal?’ he suggested. ‘Severus, come to me!’

Severus did as the Dark Lord asked but kept his head lowered, avoiding his evil eyes. He breathed evenly, forcing his hammering heart to slow. If the snake-faced slime noticed his frantic heart rate, his time alive would be less and his death infinitely more painful.

Voldemort approached him and ran his finger slowly, lovingly down the side of his mask. ‘My most loyal servant,’ his voice caressed. ‘You are so very much like a son to me; do you know I almost worship you?’ he taunted.

‘My Lord, you honour me with your presence and regard.’ Severus begrudgingly leaned into Voldemort’s touch, a seemingly contented sigh escaping his mouth.

‘Traitor!’ Bellatrix screamed. ‘He’s the traitor, my Lord! He does not deserve your favour!’

‘Silence, wench!’ Voldemort bellowed. ‘It is my decision, and only my decision, on whom to bestow favour.’

‘But, my Lord, he is not who you think he is!’

Voldemort stood silent, his hand still resting on Severus’s shoulder.

Severus appeared calm as he felt the weight of Voldemort’s mind in his, searching for something, anything with which to prove or deny Bella’s accusation. He brought forth memories of the Carrows’ torturous methods of teaching the students and how he had done nothing to stop them, feigning acceptance. He showed his belief of the Pureblood way of life and his approval of Voldemort winning the war, how he thought it would be a better place to live with one supreme ruler—all carefully crafted half-truths. He stifled a sigh of relief when he felt the Dark Lord withdraw from him.

‘He’s as peaceful and set in his values as any of my faithful Death Eaters should be, Bella.’

‘I know what he’s hiding from you, my Lord. He helped the Potter brat destroy a Horcrux of yours.’

‘What proof have you, Bella? If you’re playing me false, you will be put to death!’ he threatened.

She hurried forward and bowed before him. ‘See for yourself.’ She tapped the side of her head with her right forefinger, offering him a look into her mind.

Voldemort placed his brittle, long-fingered hand in her jet-black hair, and his eyes glowed bright red for a moment before he spoke. ‘That’s what you saw, Bella? A Patronus in the forest.’ He watched her nod her head in assent.

‘Nagini, a snack, I think.’ He stroked her scaly skin as she slid from his body and slithered toward Bellatrix on the ground before changing direction, heading for Severus.

‘My Lord! What have I done?’

‘To your knees, servant. You have betrayed me!’ Voldemort spat. ‘I trusted you, treated you as a son, and you turn your back on me for some Mudblood bitch who never loved you!’

Severus fell as he felt the weight of Nagini crush him like a tin can. With deadly accuracy, she lunged for his throat, ripping the pale, delicate skin, and spilling his blood on the dusty floor. He did not cry out, beg for his life, or even make a sound to acknowledge what his former master had done. He knew how Voldemort liked to hear his victims beg, how he liked to see the light disappear from their eyes as tears streaked though their blood. He would give Voldemort no pleasure in his death.

‘What, you’re not even going to deny your actions or beg for your life? How pathetic.’ He kicked Severus in his side with his dragon skin, steel-toed boot. ‘After all I’ve done for you, you’re not even going to allow me the small favour of watching the light disappear from your eyes as you die. Open your damn eyes!’

Refusing, Severus lay still with his eyes resolutely shut. The metallic smell of his own blood, the searing pain in his neck, accompanied by the icy potion running through his veins, threatened to make him sick, but he forbore, trying to die with his dignity in tact.

After a while, Voldemort grew restless and left with his followers in tow. Harry Potter and his friends had since come and gone, leaving him alone in the moonlit, rickety shack with only the shouting and screaming voices outside. After what felt like days, it grew eerily quiet, and the thrumming in his veins slowed and warmed.

Eyes still firmly shut, he heard someone, who was sniffling, shuffle into the too warm room.

‘Please, please, Merlin, let him be alive,’ the weary, ragged voice of a young girl whispered.

He felt the warmth radiate off of her as she knelt at his side. He felt her soft, comforting touch on his chest as her tears fell into the still-bleeding, open wound on his neck. She removed his silver demi-mask and wiped the wetness from his closed eyes. She then felt for a pulse on the other side of his neck. Although it was very weak, one was present.

She heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Ye Gods, there is a heaven. I don’t know how you did it, but you survived.’ And that was the last thing he heard as he passed out into the land of the unknown.