Child of Darkness

Chapter Ten:

Severus' room was...interesting. It had a bed—yes—but only one rather scratchy blanket and no sheet. He had pulled his spare robe out from his bag—which had been thoroughly checked by careless hands—and used it as a pillow. There was a bookcase, yes, with some titles that he had not read before—mainly centring on potions, Dark Magic and the Dark Arts. Certainly interesting reading. He had added his own titles, trying to lighten the atmosphere. There was also a table with potion equipment on—but no ingredients. The floor was bare, the walls were bare, and there was no window—he was working by the light of several candles.

It was a slightly more luxurious cell.

He sat on the uncomfortable "bed" whilst watching the shadows flicker on the wall opposite him. This was it then. He had made his decision, and now he was here, trapped in a room, with a maniac who would kill him for breathing out of line. Who was also his father.

He had to hand it to himself—he really did choose the best situations.

He pulled a book from the shelf and curled up on the bed, pushing his back against the wall. He turned over, and adjusted position.

And again.

In the end he sat up with a growl of frustration. He wasn't comfortable. He needed to be comfortable to read his book.

He stood up and sat down by the wall instead, pressing his back straight. He bent his knees and pulled them up to his chest, resting the spine of the book on them. This would have to do.

He read for a few hours before exhaustion started to overwhelm him. He wondered who would replace him at Hogwarts.

He sighed, resting his head against the wall, closing his eyes. It was not long before he was fast asleep.

His dreams were troubled, but he slept through the night and awoke feeling slightly more refreshed. He turned his head to one side, letting his eyes flutter open—and was suddenly aware that he was being watched.

"I would have taken the bed away if I had realised that you planned to sleep on the floor, Severus." Voldemort's voice jolted him awake, and Severus sat straight. "How long have you been there?"

"I am going to ignore your lack of manners, Severus. I have been here only for a short while—I was going to wake you, but decided that you needed your sleep more. I trust that you are feeling more refreshed now?"

"Yes, my Lord." Severus answered, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "How may I serve?"

Voldemort laughed. "How may you serve? That is certainly an interesting question." He continued to chuckle to himself, while Severus stared at him, confused as to the source of the humour. "I have a potion that I require, Severus." He held up a book that he had brought with him. "I expect it to challenge you, but it should not be impossible—although no one else has yet completed it. Its successful creation died out with its creator over a century ago—and the recipe has remained hidden for many years. However; I have found it, and I intend to use it."

Despite himself, Severus was intrigued. "What is it for?"

"Immortality." Voldemort answered. Severus stared at him. "Immortality?"

"Your hearing skills are impeccable, Severus."

Severus laughed. "Those potions do not work, my Lord. The only known vaguely effective cure to death is the Philosopher's Stone, which is stored safely with Nicholas Flamel and cannot be claimed by anyone else."

"That was the incorrect answer, Severus. I expect you to look at this recipe and brew it for me."

"It is a waste of time and your valuable resources, my Lord, for I can guarantee that it will not work..."

"Severus. I am not going to repeat myself again. You will create this potion, and I shall take it. If you refuse, I shall ensure that your secret is revealed and that you are walking down a street populated with Aurors when it is. I would suggest that you would survive maybe thirty seconds before you are killed—or worse, placed in Azkaban. Do I make myself clear?"

Severus stared at him. "Crystal, my Lord."

"Excellent. Here is the recipe." He handed the book to Severus, who opened it at a marked page. He scanned the list of ingredients—and his eyes caught on a certain element. "Now it becomes clear." He murmured.

"Indeed. I assume you are looking at the catalyst in this potion? The blood of a family member, willingly given?"

"This is why you revealed that to me."

"It is also the reason why you are still alive, Severus, and not dead in my dungeon in a pool of your own blood—and other wonderful bodily fluids—so I wouldn't question my decision. I trust that you will be able to make this?"

"Yes. I will have to create a test potion first—and have a test subject—so we can ensure that it does work."

"I am sure that can be arranged, Severus." Voldemort turned to the door. "I shall leave you to work. I expect a result within a week." He handed Severus a box—"The ingredients that you require are in here." Without looking back, he closed the door behind him—and Severus heard the key turn in the lock.

A potion that could make the Dark Lord immortal. Severus really had found a problem now.