Author Notes: Sorry for the delay in update. The last part was rather tricky. As always, many thanks go to Tantz, my precious BETA and friend. Review of this chapter will be answered in the next chapter's A/N.
Chapter Ten:
Severus Snape apparated in the usual place. It was a large dungeon room, dimly lit by the ominous orange flames of a few torches on the wall. Lord Voldemort was sitting on his throne, which was decorated with snakes. Nagini lay coiled at the foot of the throne hissing lazily.
He realized that there was only one summoned beside himself: Lucius Malfoy. And he wasn't wearing his mask either. He felt extremely nervous; it had to be very important that only Lucius was privy to. And they'd rarely be summoned two nights in a row; the last occasion was when Angel was revived.
"Take off your mask Sssnape," the Dark Lord hissed.
He did as he was told. Another bad sign, it was ten times harder to hide your emotions from Voldemort's unyielding, relentless eyes without the expressionless mask.
"Do you have any interesting news for me Severusss?"
Snape's mind was racing.
'Is it the boy? But how the hell does he know?'
"What kind of information would you like to hear, my lord?"
"I always love to hear whatever you have to tell me, my dear Potions Master," the Dark Lord replied with a cruel, mocking smile.
He wasn't going to give a clue then.
"Dumbledore is reorganizing the Order of Phoenix, my lord. I saw Mundungus Fletcher in the school yesterday, but I couldn't find out anything more. The Old Fool has become a little suspicious so I can't risk for a week or so…"
"Stop fooling around Snape, don't you know anything else?"
"What is it exactly that your lordship have in mind?"
"Anything involving with a sensation in your Mark perhaps."
Snape swore inwardly. The Dark Lord obviously knew that his son was alive. Of course, why not. 'Why are all fifteen year olds so stupid?' He had to tell him though. He couldn't risk a certain rat finding out and messing everything up.
"I don't have anything of that kind, my lord. But I do have some information that you would want to hear privately."
Lucius looked indignant.
"Is it really that important Snape?"
"Yes, my lord."
Voldemort seemed to ponder this for a moment before saying,
"Dismissed Lucius."
Malfoy pursed his lips but bowed respectfully and disapparated nonetheless, throwing Severus a dirty look.
"It'd better not be your idea of a joke Snape."
"It isn't my lord."
"Look in my eyes."
Snape vowed not to order any house elf punish itself when he got to Hogwarts as he raised his head. His gaze met Tom Riddle's hypnotizing red ones.
"What is it?"
"His highness…is in Hogwarts, my lord."
Voldemort's eyes blazed for a moment before whispering almost inaudibly,
"How?"
"He was found in the Forbidden Forest."
"And he activated the Dark Mark yesterday," Voldemort finished, flexing his long, pale fingers on the throne's arms.
"Yes, my lord."
"Why?"
"His highness was very angry. When I told him that you hadn't given me any orders about bringing him back to you, he chose to…punish me, by activating the Mark," Snape replied, hoping that his lie wasn't evident in his eyes and that the activation of the Mark hadn't let the Dark Lord actually hear and see what had transpired in the infirmary. For once, his hopes came true.
But Voldemort seemed extremely furious, and Snape found it harder than ever to resist the urge to back step or cower; he was Severus Snape not Peter Pettigrew, he had his pride to keep. He turned his gaze to the floor, however. He feared what Voldemort's reaction would be; he was not exactly what one would call sane. But then, the Dark Lord sat back in his throne, his look of twisted satisfaction positively venomous.
He rested his chin on his joint fingertips and drawled,
"Was every effort put in saving the boy?"
Snape bowed.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Excellent. Report to me when the boy is fully healthy… and Snape."
"M' lord?"
"Make sure Mr. Riddle does not find a home in Gryffindor."
"I will, my lord," Snape said, hoping that he would be dismissed now.
Voldemort petted Nagini absently on the head for a good few seconds, hissing back and forth with her. He then raised his eyes and looked at his servant, a twisted smile on his face.
"You called him " his highness" just a moment ago didn't you?"
"Yes my lord."
"You shouldn't have. He is now only Mr. Riddle, if anything. CRUCIO!"
The man's agonized screams echoed through the empty hall.
***************************
A few hours later he found himself in front of the brown door, again. Last night, he had been persuaded that none of those horrible events had ever happened. This hadn't changed when Angel didn't turn up for breakfast. It wasn't the first time the boy slept late. But it was, how ever, the first time he hadn't gone to wake him up. He deliberately didn't leave his study for the rest of the day.
When he had felt the activation of the Mark, a spark of hope had gone off in the place that had once been his heart. He got out of his study and searched the house, from the roof to the dungeons. He looked everywhere he could think of, everywhere except…the boy's room. He still didn't want to go in there. He had then summoned Lucius, asking him if his Mark had burnt. At his negative answer, he had summoned the Death Eaters one by one. When Snape's turn came…
He pursed his lips and stopped his thoughts. He wasn't here to look for the boy. No. He was just on his way to his study. He stiffly turned to leave, trying to banish all thoughts…but something made him stop. He was positive he had heard something…or someone. He turned back to the door. He heard it again. It sounded like someone…crying. The joy and excitement that filled him was something he hadn't experienced for a long long time. It was proven. Angel was there! In his room! He clutched the doorknob, panting slightly.
'Should I really go in there?' he thought.
He still didn't want to go into the room. The crying continued. Crying! His eyes widened. Surely Angel was there but why was he crying? He frowned and pulled out his wand. Angel rarely cried. He had to be in serious pain…injured. His son was in danger. He burst the door open.
The air was stuffy and heavy, like that of a tomb unsealed. The room itself lacked something, and it wasn't only the presence of its owner. It lacked…life.
"Angel?" he called, holding his wand up.
The velvet curtains were shut, leaving the room in dark, but still the light that shone into the room from the corridor behind, falling directly on an empty, untouched bed, was enough to give him a good view of the room. A vague feeling at the pit of his stomach stopped him from lighting the candles.
"Angel!" he called again, this time louder.
He looked around the room, which looked unnaturally quiet and…empty. He looked around, waiting for Angel to jump out of a corner, shouting, "BOO!" and snicker at his startled face, something he had found pretty amusing at an earlier age. Something that he himself had always scowled at but had never truly tried to stop his son from doing. He looked toward the bathroom door, waiting for it to open. Waiting for Angel to come out, having forgotten, or not cared enough, to dry his hair properly yet again.
"Angel! Come here," he ordered firmer than ever, but inside he knew he was getting oddly anxious.
He looked at the desk, waiting to see his son yawn his way through some old tome he had set him to read. But the book lay forgotten near the edge of the desk, covered in dust. He looked back into the corridor, wishing to see Angel walk in, his broom on his shoulder and drenched to the skin, grinning and challenging him to yet another one on one game.
"I GIVE YOU THREE SECONDS ANGEL!" he shouted, cold flames licking at his inside. "THEN I'LL GIVE YOU THE CURSING OF YOUR LIFE!"
Nothing.
"ONE!"
He looked around, waiting to see Angel lying on his back, killing time doing things as stupid as making puppets with socks.
"TWO."
Still no response.
"YOU NOW I'M SERIOUS!"
He now had to say three but he somehow couldn't bring himself to uttering the word. He gritted his teeth, crossing the room in long, angry strides. He threw the door of the bathroom open, only to find it dark and empty. He then turned and walked to the window, pulling the curtains open so hard that one of them tore off the hangings. He opened the wardrobe. The boy's scent filled his nostrils, prickling the bare tips of his nerves. He barred his pointed teeth, tearing apart the many robes like a savage animal. He panted heavily, his vision blurred, his blood roaring in his ears. He didn't notice as Nagini uncoiled herself from his waist, quickly slithering away. He raised his wand, ready to perform a locating charm.
He heard a muffled sound. He froze, completely silent. He heard it again. A sniff. It came from behind the bed. He stormed to the other side of the room. The boy had again failed a curse, he was certain. It must have backfired. That's why he wouldn't answer. He had probably lost his voice or something.
He strode to the bed, the short distance seeming to stretch for miles. But when he reached the bed, he didn't see Angel behind it. Standing before him, trembling in fear and shaking with sobs, was cowering a House Elf. Its face was wet with tears and it was clutching Angel's Quidditch robe. He had never felt so angry at the sight of anyone before.
"What are you doing here?" he bellowed. "Where is Angel?"
The Elf's ears drooped even lower. Its downer lip quivered as it broke into heavy sobs, burying its face into the already drenched robes as it retreated further in fear, pressing its back to the stone wall, knees trembling.
"ANSWER ME!" he roared.
"Master Angel is gone," the Elf wailed, its voice muffled by the robe. "Master Angel is…"
"NO!" he shouted. The House Elf was so shocked it dropped the robes and fell to the floor, crouching and bringing up its arms to its face, a single cry leaving its lips.
He felt frozen to the spot.
Angel was gone. His son was killed…at his own hands, and he was forced to face this now. Rage flared in him, and he maniacally pointed his wand at the reason of this unwanted revelation. The magic that he released on the elf was the most horrible he had ever allowed on a servant. The elf screamed and twitched in mid air, the flesh slowly leaving from the bones, the blood encasing it like a crimson, accusing mantle. The Elf died. The stupid Elf died too soon. Voldemort was now beyond control. He threw aside the shapeless lump that was once Angel's favourite servant, and turned around to face the room, his wand overactive: Everything that reminded even remotely of the boy, was caught up in flames, was destroyed, was annihilated. The room itself reeked of the boy's presence, of his scent, his laughter, his voice, his smile, his memories, his very existence. Voldemort thought he would be driven insane- he had to complete the deed, he had to finally eliminate every weakness that this infernal descendant of his had inspired. He had to rise above this. He had to conquer it just like he had conquered death.
It was just another step towards immortality.
This last thought made Voldemort's contorted face settle in a stony deathly smile, and the temperature dropped dramatically in the room, rivaling the aura of a Dementor. A corner of his mouth curled in satisfaction as he calmly looked upon the chaos he had created around him, in this single room that was different, that held some trace of Tom Riddle in the Dark Lord's residence and heart. The Dark Lord was now in control, and he would neatly erase this last remnant. He didn't care what Snape had said, he no more had a son, he had never had.
Voldemort walked out calmly, in the frigid way that belied the complete lack of any emotion, even that of anger. He turned to the open brown door and looked inside the room again. Flicking his wand neatly, he banished everything, leaving the room a bare box of stones, fit for torture like every other room in his house for which he had no especial use. He flicked the wand again, and the brown door shut with a bang. Voldemort smiled a little wider, and watched the color wash away into pitch black, until the whole door was as black as any other in his house…as black as his heart.
He walked away like a living corpse, satisfied of the day's work: For there was no different door in his house anymore.
Tom Riddle was completely dead. The Dark Lord would live forever.
To Be Continued…