"Wormtail, come here." Voldemort called from his seat in the plush armchair. A slight scurrying noise was heard for a minute, and then Wormtail appeared.

"Yes, m-my Lord?" The ugly man stuttered, standing about two feet away from Voldemort's feet. Voldemort looked into Wormtail's eyes for a moment, thinking to himself and not saying a word. Dutifully, Wormtail waited for his Lord to speak.

"Wormtail, I have known you all these years, I concider you a close friend of mine, and yet you still call me by my surname. Why?"

Now, this was an odd thing for a lord to say, especially to his servant. Wormtail blinked a little, with his ugly, small beady eyes, and wondered what had gotten into his master. No one had ever dared even think about calling Lord Voldemort by his first name, afriad they would be dead after the thought (Because, as I'm sure you know, Voldemort was an excellent mind-reader.

Having to answer his lord, or face the punishment, Wormtail stuttered out, "W-well my Lord, I-I never thought-"

Voldemort cut in here with a, "Exactly. You never think, Wormtail. You never think about how people feel, do you? Never concider the possibility that I might want to be called by my first name? I know I have said that I hate it in the past, but the past is the past. Right now, I want you to call me Tom. Do you understand... Peter?"

Wormtail nearly gasped out loud. There was most definitly something wrong with his Master. Had someone put him under a spell? No, impossible. The great, the almighty Lord Voldemort, cast under a simple spell? Never. Maybe his Lord had eaten bad food, and wasn't aware of what he was saying?

"Peter." The call of his name brought Peter back to reality. "Y-yes my L-lord?" Peter was getting quite scared now.

"Call me by my name. Call me... Tom." Voldemort breathed out the last part in a small, quiet breath. He was looking at Peter hungrily now.

"L-ord ...Tom..." As Peter spoke, Voldemort felt a ripple down his spine, and gasped a little. Peter was bloody terrified now. Was this some type of trick? A prank? A joke? No... his master was never one for jokes. He again concidered that maybe Voldemort ate something poisonous...

"Oh," Voldemort moaned. "Peter... say it again. Say my name."

Peter had tears in his eyes now, shaking from head to toe. But he said it again. "T-t-tom."

Voldemort pulled his hips up slightly in his seat, moaning in pleasure. "Oh, Peter, Peter... I've been wanting to tell you this for a long... long time." And here, Voldemort stood from his comfortable seat, and took a few small, even spaced steps to Peter, who was cowering in fright. "Peter, I've loved you since the day you found me in my weakened state. Since you took care of me, fed me, and held me, even though I was hideous. Since that time, I've felt a fire burning inside of me, for such a long time. This fiery sensation in my loins. Everytime you speak to me, my heart starts to flutter. Please, Peter, please, take me here," Voldemort walked to the beat up couch in the corner of the large room, and spraled across it dramatically. He put one long, slender hand across his forhead and left the other oone dangling off to the side. "Take me now, Peter. Make burning, hot, love to me."

Peter was aghast. Who knew that his lord felt this way? With all of his complaints about how stupid Peter was, how he could only do a half-assed job and other such complaints.

But what would Peter do? Would he, should he, do what his Lord say, and make love to him? Or should he try to reason with his Master that he had eaten something rather poisonous, and make the healers from St. Mungo's take care of him? You won't know unless you review 3