Chapter Text
My lord, Severus muttered under his breath. The last place he wanted to be was Riddle Manor. After back-to-back classes that had drained him completely, and then the exhausting Order meetings, he was already worn thin. On top of that, the fight between Gryffindor and his Slytherin students had left him feeling completely empty. A deep exhaustion settled in his bones, making him feel weaker with each passing moment.
Now, he knelt on the cold stone floor, surrounded by Death Eaters moving silently around him like shadows. His face was paler than death itself—so pale that anyone looking closely would have been shocked at how broken and fragile he’d become. But his mind was even worse off. Dark and scattered thoughts swirled inside him, a whirlwind of despair and confusion that made it hard to hold on.
Just last night, the sink in his dungeon had been filled with blood. He’d scrubbed it away, almost as though it was just a routine thing. But who could say? That night, he had broken down and wept on the marble bathroom floor, tears soaking the cold tiles until exhaustion finally pulled him into sleep right there on the floor.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s rest. If he managed two hours, that was lucky. Deep, uninterrupted sleep had eluded him for so long he wasn’t sure it still existed for him. Even in his airy bedroom, where fresh air should have helped, he found himself gasping in dreams as if the very air was trying to strangle him.
Two Crucio curses had already hit him, both delivered personally by the Dark Lord. The pain had exploded across every nerve in his body, relentless and merciless. And now Voldemort demanded answers—specifically about Potter. Severus had nothing to offer, no secrets to give.
Kneeling like this, in complete submission, dulled the sharp edges inside his head. A wave of dizziness took hold, spinning him slightly. Maybe that weakness would make him ready for the next curse—the Killing Curse. In truth, he almost welcomed it. He kept his gaze down, saying nothing. He bore the shame quietly, knowing this might be the moment his life would finally end.
You have disappointed me, Voldemort said coldly. Severus gave no argument in return. He remained still, too drained for words.
Then Voldemort’s hand shot out, grabbing Severus by the hair, fingers tightening like iron bands. Severus’s head snapped up, forced to meet the Red Eyes boring into his. He instinctively braced himself—Legilimency was coming. His mental defenses rose quickly, but he made a decision to let the Dark Lord inside without fighting.
At first, his mind was a blank slate. Then he eased open one door—a small crack. The Dark Lord stepped through, watching the past week unfold: the monotonous, dragging classes; the tense meetings with the Order as plans buzzed through the room; the chaotic brawl between Gryffindor and Slytherin students, fists flying, spells sparking—his everyday struggles laid bare, nothing hidden.
Minutes passed as Voldemort watched and then pulled back—but Severus’s mental walls had cracked further. Another door opened wider, inviting the Dark Lord deeper. He couldn’t keep him out any longer.
Memories spilled out uncontrollably. Severus saw himself clearly, wounded and pathetic. The bathroom scene flashed back—the blood swirling down the drain. Then darker days at school flickered by: the Marauders bullying him relentlessly, James Potter sneering, Sirius Black laughing cruelly, Remus Lupin watching silently, Peter Pettigrew joining their torment. Fists and curses rained down on him, each moment carved into his mind.
An older Severus appeared too—trying once more to cast a Patronus. A silver mist faltered and faded. It had failed a hundred times before. His young face twisted with pain, streaked with blood and filled with fear—fear that looked much like what haunted him now. But even so, he fought on. He never gave up.
A twinge of envy crossed Voldemort’s face. Then the worst memory hit—the moment that tore Severus apart: rape. The agony exploded through the vision like a shockwave. Severus’s screams filled the dark mindscape so vividly that Voldemort flinched. He had never witnessed such raw, brutal suffering.
Severus lost himself in that memory, screaming, wishing for death to come. Then a fragile thread of hope—a pregnancy swelling inside him, a brief flash of joy. But that hope was crushed. He lost the child, his only reason to keep going.
Then came the desperate begging—Severus pleading with Lucius Malfoy, begging to be made a Death Eater, anything just to escape that hell.
Severus felt more exposed now than he ever had before. He had kept this part of himself locked away, even from his own mind. The Dark Lord held the most painful wounds he had buried deep inside. The walls he built around himself began to crumble. His usual blank expression faltered. Memories came crashing in like relentless waves. Tears filled his eyes.
Voldemort stood still, staring at his Potions Master as if he were lost. He didn’t know how to comfort him. A strong fear took hold of him, and despite having no heart, he felt a strange, growing pity for Severus.
The greatest Potions Master of their time was breaking down right in front of all the Death Eaters. The royal watchers were present too. Slowly, his inner defenses fell apart.
Tears gathered in Severus’s eyes, trembling but held back. The Dark Lord sensed the rising panic inside him. His world seemed to cry out to protect this man, to shield him from harm. He wanted to cover him with every honor, every comfort imaginable.
Without a word, Voldemort raised two fingers. In an instant, the hall cleared. The Death Eaters disappeared, the royals vanished, and silence took over.
Voldemort knelt, swallowing his pride for the first time. He pulled Severus into a hug. At first, it was light, hesitant. Then his arms tightened firmly. “Let it go, Severus. It’s over,” he whispered gently.
Severus clutched the robe desperately. Then, a scream burst out, raw and full of pain. Voldemort had heard many screams before, but this one cut deep. He would do anything to silence it before it spread, before England could hear.
But Severus never screamed out loud. Even in death, Voldemort was certain he would hold it back. The pain would fill the air in silence.
That night, Tom and Severus lay on the floor. Tom held him tightly, afraid to let go for even a second, afraid Severus might disappear. For the first time in months, Severus slept deeply. Five hours passed in peaceful rest, finally wrapping him like a warm blanket.
Voldemort woke slowly, feeling warmth pressed against his side. He turned his head, and saw the most beautiful sight: his Potions Master, peacefully sleeping beside him, looking like a small child lost in a dream.
The night before, doubts had gnawed at him. He questioned everything about who he was and why things had turned out like this. In the dark, he drew harsh conclusions, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Now all he wanted was revenge. He longed to find every person who had hurt Severus and make them pay. Those cruel acts had broken Severus beyond repair. Years of torment, betrayal, and war had left deep scars. Voldemort’s fists clenched tight at the painful memories.
Lost in those dark thoughts, he noticed movement. Severus had woken. Immediately, the man knelt down, face twisted in fear and trembling. He forgot to shield his mind; no occlumency barriers rose. Every raw emotion spilled out, clear for Voldemort to read.
“Severus,” Voldemort commanded, his voice sharp and cold from habit. “Go to my bedroom. Lie down there. I’m coming soon.”
Severus froze, his body stiffening as panic grew like a storm inside him.
Voldemort quickly realized his mistake and softened his tone. “I mean it. Go sleep in my room. I’ll wake you soon. Dawn hasn’t come yet. It’s too early for Hogwarts duties.”
Severus nodded and shook his head as if to clear the panic. Relief washed over him, and he rushed toward the door. In his hurry, he bowed deeply, an act of submission that bound him to the Dark Lord once again.