Someone
A piece of writing I conjured tonight in between working on two other stories. Voldemort's POV.
Such a lonely existence. I can see that from the moment I first look into his eyes. Those eyes are uncared for, unloved, disrespected and empty. He presents a front, I think. He has done just that before me, to earn my respect and my admiration. It is not a happy front; it is a superior front. He tries to be superior, to be sarcastic, to be a little bit different, because it attracts him the attention he has yearned for.
I can read people easily, and he is easy to read. I think he believes he is difficult to read. A little bit mysterious. But no. The loneliness is obvious. It is clear that he has spent much of his time in the company of his own shadow.
Loneliness is a powerful emotion. It is not agony, not like hate or anger or devastation. No. They are quick, they numb the system, shut down the mind. Loneliness eats away at the defences. It weakens the spirit, so those it infects become desperate. They try to reach out to others, and find themselves rejected. They turn things to dust.
I wonder if that is the reason why he is here. He is lonely, so he has come to me to try to become something worthy. I wonder if he believes I can bring him popularity.
I step forward so I am on the same level as him, and I can look into his eyes once more. I think his heart is broken. It's a pity, because that can cause such exquisite torture. I think he truly is numb, now. At least that means he will not question me.
My decision is made. I ask him to extend his arm, and he does so without hesitation. Such willingness. That is what loneliness can do. He wants to be with someone, and to do that, he will sell his soul.
I have been lonely too. I have done great things with that loneliness. Maybe he will too. He has the potential, the hatred of himself, the dislike of everything around him. He does not trust people; and he will never trust me. I like that.
I touch the tip of my wand to his arm and murmur my curse. He flinches, but nothing more, and that impresses me. He has a high capacity for pain.
Most lonely people do, because they have lived with it for years. I am not surprised.
But it does mean I can lure him into a false security. I can reach across the gap between us and stroke his cheek, just gently, encouraging him and empathising with him. Perhaps I even do feel the latter; I understand what it is like to be ostracised and abandoned by society. Maybe my desire to have him as my servant stems from my need to help him. Because I can help him.
I will not be that someone he so desperately craves. I can pretend, but it will never be real. Maybe he even knows that.
No, I will not be the someone who could change Severus Snape's life, because I wonder if it is too late for that. He is here, after all. He is here, sacrificing himself to me. It must be too late; perhaps if someone had cared, before now, things would have been different.
I will not be that someone. But I will help him to become someone.