Author: Lucinda

Rated T for teen, similar to how the later Harry Potter books would be rated.

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody from the Harry Potter novels.

Distribution: with previous Pottery Shards.

Notes: a Point of View piece from book 5 or 6.

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Sometimes it was easy to see why she had gone to his side. When he caressed her face with his slender fingers, when he gazed into her eyes and called her beautiful. When things were going well and there was plentiful food, and whichever place that they were staying was warm and comfortable and made her feel safe, made her start to dream of having her own little ones. When he was in a good mood, laughing and smiling at her dry jokes and clever observations.

Those were the times that she still loved him.

Sometimes, when he screamed at the darkness and cursed the names of his enemies, she worried for his sanity. Wondered if the accident, that 'minor setback' that had taken him from her side for so many long years had damaged his mind. He'd had a brilliant mind, sharp and cunning, tangled as you could ever imagine, and filled with devious, delightful plans. A man of ambition, driven to achieve great things.

She was the only one that knew of the dreams that tormented him in his sleep. Wicked, awful things that made him writhe and weep. Him, weeping! He would not speak to anyone of those dreams, not even willing to share the details with her. She'd gathered that he dreamed of how things could have been, that he dreamed of that awful night that had taken him away from her. That he still had awful dreams of his childhood. Dreams where he begged someone to stop, promising not to tell, that he wouldn't touch those things – though she had no idea what the things might be. Those dreams made her want to find the one that had caused them and make that miserable wretch scream and plead like her darling did, before she crushed the life from their eyes.

But she could not save him from his past. Or from the enemies of his youth – he'd sworn to her that all of them besides the bearded meddler were already dead. That he'd taken care of them himself just as soon as he'd figured out how to not be caught. And he would not share any of the details of his youth.

Sometimes, he stalked the rooms or halls of their current home, hissing threats and curses upon those who were his current enemies, or those who troubled him. Those who failed him, broke their promises. Those who had betrayed him, repudiating his name and their association when he'd suffered.

She took note of those names, especially those who had abandoned him, those who had betrayed him. When she thought she could get away with it, she would kill them for him. When he no longer felt that their use outweighed the annoyance that they caused. She'd already managed to claim one, the disgusting louse who had reeked of cheap alcohol and foul smoke. She'd hypnotized him with her beautiful eyes, edging towards him as he stared at her grace, at her sleek body. By the time she was close enough, he'd been standing there with an even stupider than usual look. Killing him could only improve the wizarding stock.

There were enemies that she could not reach, enemies that she longed to remove from his life. People who thwarted his work, opposed his ways of making the world better. People who called him horrible names and cursed at him – both with cruel words and with spells.

"I wish that I could make it better for you, my darling one," she watched him as he sat in the chair, his fingers tapping along the wood.

She moved closer, leaning her jaw against his shoulder, hoping that her support would improve his mood. That he would know that he had her at his side.

He ignored her.

Oh, it was going to be one of those evenings. The evenings where she wondered what she had been thinking to go with him. To abandon a comfortable future and a familiar life for his sweet promises and passionate dreams. When she felt like she'd been a fool, charmed and dazzled and led on a merry path for the amusement and convenience of another. For his amusement. A night when she didn't feel like he meant it when he called her his sweet, his precious angel. A night when she felt like he was laughing at her as much as he laughed at those groveling idiots.

A night when he sulked and brooded in his chair.

"How could you fail? Did you not say that it would be so simple that a child could manage the task? Did you not promise me success, promise me the book?" He was glaring at the rounded figure in front of him. His fingers had stopped tapping on the chair, and one hand was clenched around his wand while the other gripped the chair as if he feared it would run away.

"But…" the man snivelled.

"You are no use to me." There was a flatness to these words.

"Give me another chance! I can get it for you, I swear!" the man begged, falling to his knees.

The word that he hissed was filled with magic, with anger, with hate. It made the begging fool scream, his limbs flailing about in irregular arcs. Still screaming, the man's body twisted, the veins in his neck and along his face bulging. The screaming man's eyes started to take on a reddish color, and he had collapsed to the floor, still writhing and twisting. Soon he began to claw at his face and chest, though his blunt nails did little damage. A small chunk of meat fell from his mouth to the floor even as a red froth began to emerge from his lips – the man had bitten off his own tongue.

Then the man went still, dropping fully to the floor instead of having his middle raising upwards as only his head and his feet touched the ground, perhaps accompanied by a hand. He wasn't even gasping for breath any more. A thin trickle of blood emerged from his nose, overwhelmed by the large pool forming near his mouth.

"He's yours, my sweet." The words should have been soft, filled with the concern and understanding that had lured her to his side. Instead they were dull, as if the whole matter bored him.

Approaching the still form, she felt her jaws part in what was almost a smile. Even if he was being a broody bastard tonight, there was plenty to eat.

As she began to swallow the corpse that had only minutes before been one of the cowardly Death Eaters, Nagini decided that she would stay with him a little longer. His mood would pass – they always did.

End Pottery Shard: His Moods.