When it did, he straightened, and rose to his feet, but immediately had to sit down again on the bed because of the blackness stealing his vision and balance. His sight soon cleared again, but his head was left with a painful ache. He sat there, not really daring to stand or lie back down until the door opened to admit Peter. "The Lord says you are to come down to dinner now."

Fearing a nod or standing would return the dizziness, he only made a dismissive gesture. "I will be there momentarily," he said in his most aloof voice.

Peter frowned, "You're coming with me, or not coming at all, Snape. I'm not going to suffer Nott's fate."

Severus's gut twisted at this unwelcome reminder. "Gideon's dead?" he asked in a small voice, hoping, but doubting, it didn't sound as pitiful as it . . . sounded.

Peter shot him an odd look. "Quite thoroughly."

His stomach lurched at that ominious-sounding confirmation. He felt decidedly ill. "I'm not hungry. Please pass on my regrets to our Lord, Peter."

His ex-yearmate paled slightly, and Severus thought he saw a thin layer of sweat break out on the now-grown-man's forehead. "I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that the invitation was optional, Snape." He didn't sound very sorry, then his eyes narrowed in the calculation that their teachers had never seemed to notice. "I knew you pretended to be Gideon's friend, but, really, Severus, I hadn't thought you would take his death so hard. You couldn't possibly have actually liked somebody, did you?"

"I'm only twelve, Pettigrew," Severus reminded him quietly. "I barely knew Mr. Nott."

Peter gave him a hard, disbelieving look. "Twelve-year olds can't do the things you can do, Snape. Go ahead and play your game of little lost lamb to our Lord, but I knew you then."

"You knew me then?" Severus repeated in incredulity, "You were a bloody Gryffindor. The only words we exchanged were insults, hexes, and accusations. And I wasn't the only one talking."

"You gave far worse than any of us did."

"It was four against one! What did you expect me to do? I was confident enough to think I could handle you by myself, but not stupid enough to think I could do it nicely."

Peter laughed. "You were an arrogant git even then, weren't you?"

"You were noble Gryffindors," Severus imbued the last two words with the essense of insult, "You wouldn't stoop to anything truly nasty." He paused, and looked at Peter as if seeing him for the first time, "So what in bloody Merlin's name are you doing here, Pettigrew?" Normally, Severus would never have dreamed of speaking to an adult like that, but this was Peter.

The grown Pettigrew scowled at him, it looked much more fearsome now than it had back in his old life. "You are expected at table now, Snape." All his recent time with Slytherins had apparently taught him to glower, but he still needed a lot of work on dodging questions.

"You'll tell me sooner or later, Peter," Severus told him imperiously, not moving from his seat on his bed. What was with him lately? Engaging in deep conversations with Gryffindors? First Harry, then Remus, then Hermione and Ron, then Sirius, now Pettigrew. Before the time shift, he'd never once spoken to any of them. It didn't seem likely that it was habit that he'd picked up from Professor Snape.

Though, to be fair to his older self, he'd only gotten student and auror impressions of the man he grew up to be. Two points of view that weren't likely to look highly upon him. Maybe, when he got back to Hogwarts, Matty could ask his Head of House about Severus as a grown up. If he got back to Hogwarts.

"It was your fault, Snape," Peter said irritably, "Now come to dinner."

Severus stared at him. "How was it my fault?" Surely Peter was lying. No Gryffindor - especially not one of Potter's friends - would join Voldemort on his say-so, if he ever gave one the say-so, which he couldn't imagine any circumstance under which he would wish to do so.

"Come to dinner, Snape, and I might consider telling you later."

It was as good an incentive to go as he was going to get. His stomach had calmed, and a careful rise to his feet proved he was not about to keel over again from dizziness. "I'll hold you to it, Pettigrew." In his best Atticus Snape impression, he swept past the grown man who used to be his classmate and hoped his intuition would guide him to the dining room without getting embarassingly lost.

After only two wrong turns, he did find the room. The table was set for one, and Peter told him eat, before leaving him alone. There was no window, and no bird to use to send his letter, so Severus just took his seat and peered into the bowl placed there. He smiled as he recognized the dish as beef stew, slightly congealed at the top from the wait during which it sat ther unattended.

He picked up his spoon and began to stir, re-mixing the thick broth into an even consistancy. He nearly screamed when a . . . thing . . . he didn't want to recognize rose to the surface. He did drop the spoon with a clatter. He swallowed his own bile, and picked up the utensil again, telling himself that he did not just see an eye in his soup. He fished it out with little difficulty and hid the disturbing item between the folds of his napkin where he couldn't see it, and where it couldn't see him. Please, don't let that be a human eye, he silently begged whoever might be listening.

Several more items joined the not-an-eye as he carefully inspected each spoonful before putting it in his mouth. Voldemort joined him about halfway through, and took the seat across from Severus. He did not eat, either because it was no longer neccessary for him to do so, or because he already had. Instead, he simply watched Severus eat (or exile certain parts to the napkin).

Only as Severus neared the end of his bowl did he speak. "I trussst you enjoyed the Nott Ssstew?"

Severus stubbornly refused to consider the possibility that the beef may not have been beef. His gaze did, however, fall on the lumpy napkin that held . . . the things he didn't want to think about too closely. "I thought the stories said Dark Lords ate their victims for breakfast, not dinner," Severus remarked, feeling proud of himself for not running to the nearest toilet with his hand over his mouth. It was really too much to expect his voice not to shake as well.

Voldemort gave an unforced, genuine laugh. "No, my Ssseverusss," he corrected, either deadpan or serious, "It isss babiesss or bad children that we eat for breakfassst." Either way, Severus decided that he wasn't going to have breakfast here. He pushed away the three or four spoonfuls that remained of his stew as well.

"Tell me, my Ssseverusss, have you any memoriesss of your firssst ssserviccce to me?"

Severus shrugged, "I had a dream about it, once. I think that was a memory. I - Professor Snape killed a little boy." Severus mentally cursed himself for calling his dream self as Professor Snape. Here he was supposed to be able to admit to doing that kind of thing because he was expect to do them himself eventually. "I used crucio to do it," he added, hoping that made up for his previous slip.

"Do you recall why you turned on me?"

He stood in a sitting room. There were enough shelves of books to almost call it a library, if a far larger selection hadn't graced the room across the hall. A desk faced the only wall that wasn't lined with books, and a robed and masked Death Eater was going through the drawers. Severus himself was looking through the shelves of books, getting a favourable impression of the room's owner by the selection of titles. He took down one ancient looking tome entitled "Draughts of Life and Death" just before someone called his name.

He turned toward the speaker, his eyebrow raised inquiringly, though that would be impossible to see, hidden as it was behind his own Death Eater mask. Severus got the impression, somehow, that the man rifling through the desk rolled his eyes at him. "You're supposed to be looking for the letter."

"It could be tucked into one of the books," Severus told him, though that had not been his reason for taking down this particular text. "It would be where I would hide such a thing." His eyes scanned the titles again, and he gave a small smirk, "I expect Professor Branstion would as well. In the library. I'd wager my entire potions stock that the letter won't be in this room."

The other Death Eater grumbled something under his breath, and stood. "Why are we wasting time in here then?" He stalked past Severus and crossed the hall to the library. Severus followed, bringing the ancient text with him. He arrived in time to hear the other's groan of dismay as he took in the sheer volume of books. "Snape, if this is just a trick for you to spend some quality time in the potions master's library, I will flay you."

Quality time in the potions master's library. Severus could only wish. He did not respond to the other Death Eater's threat as he began to skim through the titles here. Paying scant attention to the time or his assignment, he browsed the library as if he had the right to be there, taking down the occassional book, and placing it on the coffee table where he had placed the "Draughts of Life and Death" book.

Consequently, he was more surprised than alarmed when the Professor himself popped into the room right in front of him. At some point he had taken off his mask, and dropped it on the sofa beside the coffee table. He had ignored his companion's muttered warnings.

"Severus!" the professor exclaimed, as surprised to see him, as he was to see the professor.

"Professor," Severus returned politely, the second before the other Death Eater swore and cast a panicked killing curse at the man. The professor knew he was about to die. Severus saw it in his eyes, as they turned to him again, and silently asked what his tongue did not have time to say. The green light enveloped him, and Severus caught his body before it could crash to the ground. The brown eyes never left his as the life fled them.

"Sev." It was the professor's last word, and Severus never knew whether he simply didn't finish the full name, or if he was saying the name that he was one of four people ever given permission to use. Two of which had died in Severus's fourth year of Hogwarts. Now, only Evan Rosier was left with that right.

"You bastard, you killed him." He held tight control over his emotions and lashed out only with the single insult, as he lowered the body of his professor to the floor of his own library.

"He recognized you, Snape."

He looked up at the Death Eater with a glare that made him retreat a step. "He could have been obliviated."

"He works for Dumbledore, Snape. He's the enemy. He wasn't Slytherin or even pureblooded."

Severus closed the professor's dead eyes. He almost wished he could cry for the man who had been like a father to him, even before his own father had died. "Ravenclaw. My mother was Ravenclaw."

"Snape, your mother was Slytherin," his companion sounded half-annoyed, half-worried.

Severus barely heard him. His eye fell on one of the books on the shelf beside the body. It was one he knew the Professor liked. He pulled it out and folded it under the dead man's hands, just over his heart.

"Snape, they'll know it was you, if you keep that up." The other Death Eater was starting to sound nervous now.

"Let them." Severus was beyond caring about his own welfare at the moment. "Leave if it bothers you."

"What about the letter?"

Severus looked at him blankly. "The what?"

"The letter. That we came here to find."

"The Ministry is probably on its way. You won't find it before they get here. Just go." He hesitated a long moment, then nodded, and disaperated. Alone, Severus continued to fuss over the body, and eventually noticed the corner of parchment sticking out of the book he had given the dead man to hold. He slid it out, and almost began to laugh when he realized he held the letter they had come for. The letter his favourite professor had died for. Severus set it on fire without even reading it.

"Professor Branstion is dead, too?" Severus said, aloud, appalled. His black eyes sought denial and comfort from the only person available to him. "My lord, say he isn't. Please. Say I imagined it."

"Professssor Branssstion?"

"My potions master at Hogwarts."

The dark lord frowned thoughtfully, "Ah, yesss. Branssstion. The man with Flamel'sss letter with the recccipe for the elixssir of youth. It never wasss recovered."

"I burned it," Severus told him with vindictive pleasure.

Red eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "Did you indeed."

"Yes. Then I went to Dumbledore to turn in myself and Igor Karkaroff who was the one who killed him. I hope the bastard still rots in Azkaban."

Voldemort began to laugh again.

"What?" Severus snapped, unable to stop the angry question. If the Dark Lord said one word about Severus's choice of language, he would attempt to kill the monster right now.

"I underssstand now your enthusssiasm during Karkaroff'sss . . . interrogation." He chuckled again. "Karkaroff isss no longer in Azsskaban, but even you, I think, would be sssatisssfied by hisss demissse."

Severus took that to mean he died a traitor's death at Voldemort's hand. Like Nott. Like he should have had, but didn't. "Why am I alive?"

Voldemort smiled at him. It was more scary than fond, though it might have been scary because it was fond. "Becaussse, my Ssseverusss, you did sssomething none of my other traitorsss did."

"What was that?"

"You sssurvived three and a half yearsss of willful and active treachery before you were dissscovered." He reached across the table to run a chalk dry finger along his jaw. "I find it amusssing to sssee your pitiful attemptsss to repeat your former massstery. Tell me, my Ssseverusss, why you persssissst in giving your allegianccce to that fool Dumbledore?"

"Because he's nice to me and lets me make my own choices!"

"By giving you your own Auror watchdog?"

"I told him to, so I wouldn't have to come back to you, yet!" That was a pretty stupid thing to say to him, Severus realized a tad too late.

Voldemort chuckled, "Perhapsss you do have sssome ssskill at thisss already. I begin to doubt you were ever completely mine." He smiled, cold enough to give Severus chills. "But you will be, my Ssseverusss. You will be."

"I doubt it," Severus muttered.

Voldemort only smiled indulgently. "Isss there truly nothing I can offer that interessstsss you?"

Severus bit his lip, trying to keep back the words, but his tongue had a mind of its own. "There is."

"And what isss it that you want me to do for you?"

"Teach me."

Voldemort smiled, and his red eyes almost flickered in amusement. "Teach you what?"

"Everything."

The smile and flickering eyes did not dim. "You'll need to be more ssspecccific than that."

"Things that Dumbledore won't teach. Things that you can't find in books. How to do the things you do. How to be a great and powerful wizard. How to defeat you."

Voldemort hissed something, somehow making it sound amused. "I will teach you all of that, my Ssseverusss, excccept inssstead of how to defeat me, I will teach you how to sssuccccceed me."

Severus blinked. "Succeed you, my Lord?"

But instead of answering, Voldemort rang a bell that seemed to appear from nowhere, and Peter entered the room. "Wormtail, the Veritassserum will wear off on him sssoon. Bring him to hisss room, and be sssure he isss locked in adequately." Severus started at the Dark Lord in horror. He'd been dosed with truth serum? As he let Peter lead him away, he realized that even under the powerful truth drug, he had called Voldemort his lord.