Nothing had prepared him for this.
He had been told stories, of course, of the blood-red eyes, the lipless smiles, the high, hissing voice… but nothing approached the reality. This thing was not—could not—be human. He was an Angel of Death, a monster of the Deep, a living, breathing nightmare.
His robes, though silver in color, glinted black in low light. His thin, bare, translucent feet were planted inches from Severus Snape's nose and spidery blue veins slithered down his legs.
"My dear boy," The high, chilling voice possessed him from within, and Severus could not tell if it was in his mind or out. All he knew was the deep shiver running through him, the dark seduction, the feeling of deep and dangerous power that swept over him.
"Rise." He climbed awkwardly to his feet before his brain processed the command. He had never felt so exposed, so foolish, so inferior—but he was too stricken by the figure looming before him to feel self-conscious.
The eyes stunned him. They could not be described at deep, or hollow, for they instead projected outward; penetrating, inescapable, seemingly all-seeing. The scarlet iris contracted when they came to rest on Severus, the pupil a laser beam of magic that he felt burning throughout his body, not asking for entrance but forcing it. Snape's Occlumency served only as a shield to deflect the seeking eyes, not stop them. They sought out that which they hungered for most—fear, vulnerability, and suffering.
"You need not fear me. You are a part of me now, and I a part of you. I am the heart that beats beneath your breast, and I control the flow of life throughout you—but you do not fear your heart, do you? You know I possess no soul, and that is so I may have yours, use yours, to empower me. Your very essence is now another stone in the wall of Lord Voldemort. I am not your death, I am your life. You must not fear life." The voice flowed like a sweet poison through Severus' veins, and he felt himself undone. It was beyond anything he had ever experienced—never had he felt so known, so connected, not even with Lily. He felt consumed by the Dark Lord before him, swallowed up in his awesome power. Now he had the taste of it, and he only wanted more.
"Show me your heart." Severus was at first unsure how to obey, but the question was negated as he saw the pupils of the snake-eyes dilate slightly and felt a pulse of warmth within him. Then, her face. Everywhere. He had never felt a bliss such as this, her love wrapping around him, her image before him, and he could swear he felt the heat of her skin on his. A bolt of shame shattered the paradise as he realized who he was fantasizing about—a Mudblood. He struggled to erect his mental barriers before Voldemort could see more, but it was too late.
"Again, my boy, do not fear me. There is little point. I will know all of you, there is nothing you can hide. Lord Voldemort is not deceived. I see her, my boy. She is beautiful. I see your love for her. Love is a weakness, but it is powerful, as well. I feel no love and therefore have no weakness, but I do not lose power—I use your love to fuel me, just as I use your soul. It is your love for her that gives strength to every drop of magic you possess, light or dark, and it always will. This makes you vulnerable, but fear not, for I can compensate for your deficiencies. I know that you suffer at her hands. She does not love you, my boy, accept this. She never will. She is not worthy of your devotion, but your heart betrays you. I know your pain. You may trust in me as you could not in her—I will never turn you away. You will never frighten me. You will never repulse me. You will never be able to push me away. I do not love you. You do not love me. You are a part of me, forever, and you are protected and accepted. You are needed and wanted and valuable. I will always have you. You will never be alone."
The Dark Lord reached out bony, icy hands and rested them on Severus' cheeks. Despite the cold seeping into his skin, the young man felt immensely reassured. It was like falling, and he landed in a pool of warm security, wrapped up by Voldemort's power. Before he could stop himself, Severus reached forward, grasping the Dark Lord's robes and clawing at his skeletal frame, but Voldemort seemed to expect this. He pulled Severus against his body and let the boy lean his weight against him and burst out crying.
"I-I want her so badly! She p-promised to be my friend, to be my most loyal friend, and she betrayed me! She abandoned me for—for Potter!" He spat it out like a dirty word. "I came to you because I knew your power. I wanted to be strong like you! But now—now I want to be a part of you, to be unfeeling as you are, to let you take this burden from me!" Severus was sobbing hysterically, pressing his face against the Dark Lord's chest, curled like a child against him. All his pain, his suffering and his rage, was bleeding out at Voldmort's feet. "My mother and father never loved me. They never knew how. Without Lily, I probably would have perished—but she saved me! I never deserved her, never…she made me feel, made me want to live, to thrive! I'm a greasy, nasty git—I'm hideously ugly, and I know it—and I never deserved her…"
Voldemort combed his fingers paternally through the lank, oily hair, his other hand wrapped protectively around Severus' body. He oozed power and cool authority, to the extent of being super-human, flawless and untouchable—practically a god.
"My child, my boy. You do not need to suffer. You are physically unattractive. You are unappealing, rude and uninteresting. Lily Evans will never love you. But this does not matter, for Lord Voldemort does not care. Lord Voldemort does not value charm or looks. He does not value arrogance, humility or morality. He values power. I know you will be nothing more than a drop of water in my vast ocean of power, and I accept you. Your flaws are trivial. Lord Voldemort is infinite compensation. Alone, you are worthless, but with me—you are invaluable. You do not know weakness. You do not need love. You are beyond such worldly constraints. You are a part of Lord Voldemort."
Severus sighed deeply, pressing his face into Voldemort's robes. "I see. I understand."
"Are you ready? Are you willing?"
"Yes."
The Dark Lord raised his wand and pulled back the sleeve on Severus' left arm. He rested the tip on the boy's wrist. The laser eyes expanded, an even brighter red bleeding into the iris.
When he next spoke, Severus experienced it as echoing everywhere: around him, within him, throughout him. A surge of dark pleasure washed over him, and the sensation of something wrapping around him, squeezing and sinking into his flesh as his master chanted.
"Ego sum vestri pectus pectoris , vestri mens quod vestri animus. Ego sum forever vestri vinco, vestri vita quod vestri nex.
Vos es mei."
A creeping dark thing blossomed from beneath the Dark Lord's wand, slinking up his thin arm and spreading up his neck and absorbing into skin so that tiny black veins snaked up his face and across his chest and over his body.
Suddenly, the high, hissing voice rang out once more, watching with subtle interest as inky shadows consumed Severus' arm, observing the boy's face twisting with pain.
"The second Death, that never dies,
That cannot die, when time is dead:
Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,
Eternally uncomforted."
Severus felt a hot flush of panic at the words, writhing against his controller, digging the fingers of his right hand into his left foreman, scratching at the wisps of blackness that surrounded it. Blood welled beneath his fingertips but the markings only grew deeper, purer, with the life force mixed in. The sharp edges of the skull appeared, and it was the eyes that scared him most—intense, piercing, just like it's creator. The dark serpent glided out of the skull's mouth and into Severus' skin, raised up and scaly to the touch, branding into his flesh.
Voldemort traced his finger over the tattoo and send bullets of pain through the boy's body, and Severus wished for nothing more than to make this all undo itself. He was frightened, and betrayed, and alone. Voldemort tilted the new Death Eater's chin up toward him, looking deeply, deeply in the onyx eyes.
Severus felt suddenly smothered by grief and despair, and fought desperately against it, tried to conjure up the images of his sweet love, to resurface from the pool of angst he was drowning in, but it was futile to fight where so many others had fallen before him. He finally gave up, sinking into the scarlet, snake-like hell, deep, into the dark abyss below, into folds of black power, and, finally, into Lord Voldemort himself.
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view –
--
Author's Note: The first poem, spoken by Voldemort and starting with: "The second death, that never dies," is called The Dark Angel and authored by Lionel Johnson. The ending poem, titled Alone, was written by Edgar Allen Poe.