A/N: The long awaited Chapter 6...is here! I really had a difficult time with this bit of the story, but it's pretty crucial, so please give me any feedback! Thank you for being patient.

Chapter Six

Christmas Eve of the year 1977 fell on a Friday. Most students opted to go home to their families. The few who remained were gone to Hogsmeade for a merry time with friends.

Severus Snape, however, had ducked out of both options. The foremost - he had no family to go home to. The latter - he had no business in Hogsmeade. He didn't have anything to buy, or anybody to enjoy an evening at The Three Broomsticks with. After dinner by himself (he took his meal in the common), Severus decided to end the day with some light reading and go to sleep early. Christmas was always rather dreary for Severus, as he was always alone. And in the morning, no presents ever appeared on his bed.

Not that he wanted any, he told himself on the way up the stairs.

But when he reached his chamber, he found his first ever Christmas present lying on his bed. It was small and rather heavy, wrapped neatly in decorative paper. He picked it up gingerly, suspicious. Then, deciding that it wasn't some trick of Sirius', he slowly and carefully undid the wrapping. A journal fell into his hands.

He examined it cautiously. It was seemingly quite new, with blank pages and neat leather binding. He looked for a note, but found nothing at all. Thumbing briefly through the pages, he found nothing but crisp white sheets.

Severus put the journal aside on his nightstand. He didn't have the patience or the time for writing in the blasted thing - journals were reserved for lovesick third years. Picking up his library book, he began to read about the history of famous Greek wizards.

Yet every few seconds, Severus found his thoughts straying to the mysterious journal, his eyes occasionally sneaking glances at it. He couldn't focus on the text...his mind was fixed upon the mysterious journal.

Ridiculous as it was, it seemed almost as if the journal wanted Severus to write in it. It wanted to be picked up again, to opened and examined.

Severus couldn't stop wondering about it. Who'd sent it? His parents were dead, and he really didn't think anybody would bother to give him a present, and even if it was from one if his few friends, why a journal? It wasn't like Severus was a great writer or loved to document everything...

"Goddamn it," he muttered angrily and slammed his book shut. He got up and grabbed the leather journal and a quill. Turning to the first empty page, he began to write the date.

'Friday, December 24, 1977'

To his great shock, his words faded into the pages itself...and were replaced by different ones. The spidery handwriting appeared instantly from nowhere. Severus blinked hard, staring at the sheet of paper in disbelief, which now read:

Christmas Eve. So I assume this would be a present?

Severus wondered if he should continue. He didn't like the sound of a replying journal, as he had never encountered nor read about one. Yet how could harmful could words be? He could just close the damned journal anytime he desired. He decided to pry a little more.

'Yes, it is. But who are you?'

My name is Tom Riddle. I used to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And you are?

Severus hesitated a moment, but he found himself wanting to give his name and identity. He wanted to talk to this Tom Riddle, he needed companionship.

'Severus Snape. Seventh Year here at Hogwarts.'

Ah, how fortunate. I am finally meeting you. I have heard quite a bit about you, Severus.

'You have?' Severus scribbled, intrigued.

Yes. The cleverest Slytherin. The most powerful 7th year of your time. Adept at the Dark Arts, master of Potions. Clearly, you aren't one to reckon with.

'How do you know all this?'

Your family is well-known among the Slytherins.

'What do you know of my family?'

That your bloodline is one of the purest and darkest of ancient wizardry, even older than that of the Malfoys. That your father was found dead a few years back, but the cause was never published.

Severus leaned forward, his eyes glued upon the journal.

'How did you know about my father?' he demanded.

It was in the Daily Prophet, February of 1970. Can you tell me what exactly happened?

'I've never told anybody before, and I don't trust magical journals.'

Suit yourself.

Severus chewed absent-mindedly on the end of his quill, racking his mind for something to say.

'So what exactly are you? Are you alive today, or is this a preserved journal of your past?'

I am very much alive at this moment.

'Where are you?'

I cannot say.

'How old are you?'

Not very, but intellectually far beyond my years.

'Were you a Slytherin at Hogwarts?'

Yes, one of the best in my year. Not so much unlike you. Say, is Albus Dumbledore Headmaster now?

'Yes, why?'

Just wondering. He hated me, and I him. Always kept an eye on me, singled me out.

'What for?'

No idea. But that's all rubbish from the past. I am now stronger and wiser than that old fool.

Severus frowned deeply.

'There is only one other wizard whose powers can come even remotely close to Dumbledore's. And you are not him.'

Voldemort, you mean.

Severus was impressed; he'd never met anybody who could really say (or rather, write) the forbidden name outloud.

'Yes.'

But you don't know who I am, what if I was, indeed, Voldemort?

'Your name is Tom Riddle.'

That's what I went by twenty years ago.

Severus froze, his quill poised in midair. A sick feeling started to creep in his stomach, and he suddenly grew cold. He became aware of how alone he was, how vulnerable to anything dangerous. His left forearm suddenly felt numb.

Severus? the black letters appeared. If I frightened you, I apologize. I am certainly not Voldemort.

'You did not frighten me in the least,' Severus wrote back angrily. How could he have been so paranoid and stupid? Of course he wasn't talking to Voldemort. Even the dumbest wizard could've figured that out.

You want to tell me what happened to your father?

'Why are you so interested?'

Wouldn't you be?

Severus thought about this.

'I suppose there's no harm in telling you. It's rather lengthy.'

There is no such thing as time in memory.

Severus shuddered slightly, though the room wasn't cold at all. Then, choosing his words carefully, he began to tell his past to somebody for the first time in his life.

'When I was young, my father was violent to both my mother and me. He would come home drunk almost every night. He often beat my mother.'

Did he hit you?

'Yes, but not as much. Most of the time, I was locked in a closet, listening to nothing but the screams of my mother and my own pounding heartbeat. My mother was a decent woman, but her mother had been a Muggle. My father always detested that, he believed in purebloods and ancient traditional wizarding families. He thought she was defiling the lineage.'

Where did you live at the time?

'Southern Britain, in a desolate and dark mansion. We were quite wealthy, but money never brought me happiness. I was an only child, so I spent my time reading books, especially those of the Dark Arts. The older I grew up, the farther my parents became. They slept in separate bedrooms, ignored each other at meals. It wasn't a happy picture.'

What happened to them?

'My mother finally got fed up and left my father. She never said goodbye to me, just left one day and never came back. I have not heard from her in eight years. One year later, at the age of ten, I came home to find my father on the ground. He was not breathing, eyes wide open, his wand a few inches away from his outstretched fingers. Dead.'

What was the cause?

'The killing curse. He finally got tired of life and committed suicide.'

What happened to you?

'I spent the rest of that year with various family members and old family friends, though I never stayed in one place for long. Then, the Hogwarts letter came. Dumbledore arranged for me to stay with the Malfoys during the summers until last year, when I turned 16 and the Snape inheritance was bequeathed to me.'

Malfoy, you say?

'Yes. I befriended Lucius Malfoy. We still keep in contact.'

A fine family, the Malfoy's.

'Do you happen to know them personally?'

As a matter of fact, I do. And now, it's time for me to meet you, Severus.

Suddenly, a splitting pain filled Severus' head. A distant roar exploded in his ears, like the sound of a nearing train magnified a thousand times. His forearm felt like it was being prickled by a thousand jabbing needles. The pain was overwhelming, burning his skin, ripping his flesh....

He screamed, a guttural cry that echoed about in the empty room. The journal dropped from his hands, hitting the ground with a thud. The boy fell upon his bed, clutching his left forearm with his other hand. A thousand images seemed to be flickering through his mind every second...his deceased his father lying on the floor...Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes...a burning village...a pearl-like sphere...

Severus felt like his head was going to explode - something was cramming its way into his mind, and he couldn't drive it back...he continued to scream and writhe in his pain.

Severus... a soft hiss broke the roaring. You fool...your weakness was much easier to discover than I'd anticipated...

"WHO ARE YOU?" Severus screamed.

A high, cold laugh that seemed to chill the very marrow in his bones rang loudly in his head.

"Who do you think I am, Severus?"

Severus inhaled sharply - the voice was not inside his head anymore. He snapped open his eyes. Through his tears, he could make out a tall, cloaked figure towering above him. Beneath the hood was the face of a man, no older than thirty. Yet his dazzling green eyes had the wisdom of a powerful wizard. He extended an arm to Severus.

Delirious and blinded by his pain, Severus feebly raised his hand. Ice cold fingers suddenly wrapped themselves around Severus' forearm. They were too tight, they were cutting off feeling in his fingers...he thought he was really going to pass out when an incalculable strength pulled him to his feet, where he swayed dangerously, struggling to keep his eyes open. He dreaded the words that were to come.

"I am Lord Voldemort."

Another wrenching flash of pain seared through Severus' arm. It seemed to be moving, tearing apart his skin in a delicate pattern. To his horror, as he looked down, black ink was spreading across his skin.

"What filthy bastard sent you to me?" Severus demanded between clenched teeth, trying not to show his agony.

Voldemort smirked.

"My servants do not know each other by name, Severus. And you are no exception. Yet you'd be surprised to know that although weak and rather stupid, he is also a student at Hogwarts, 7th year. A damned Gryffindor."

"Not Peter Pettigrew," Severus muttered under his breath. "He can't..."

"And why not?" Voldemort was clearly having a good time, amused by Severus' pain. "The bane of our existence is greed, Severus. We all want power, we all crave for it. Everyone serves the Dark Lord."

"Join me." Cold fingers tipped his chin up. Sharp green eyes bore into Severus', a low whisper hissed seductively in his ears. "Join me, rise to power with me. I need your skill, your superior talents. I want you, Severus, as one of my own. You shall serve the greatest and darkest wizard that has ever lived. You will become powerful, more powerful than you could ever imagine. Others will tremble and fall at your feet. Get the revenge you've always craved. Join me. Come with me."

The fingers tightened on his arm. Severus tried to inhale, but everything was spinning and bleeding. He could only see those eyes, hear the whisper, feel the icy fingers.

"No," he gasped, sweat breaking from his forehead, tears streaming down his face. He felt cold, alone in the dark, and impossibly small as he stood beside this figure whose very presence overwhelmed him to a point of unconsciousness...

"Do you really mean that?" a sneer mocked him. "I can give you everything you want, anything your heart desires. I have more power than you could ever imagine. You would never be alone again."

Those words hit Severus like a cold slap. He glared up at Voldemort.

"I prefer being alone," he whispered defiantly.

Voldemort's penetrating eyes grew colder, if that was even possible.

"Very well, then," he said. From his robes, he pulled out his long, ebony wand. Severus watched him helplessly, his heart pounding, his blood cold.

"Crucio," Voldemort grinned as he whispered the curse.

Severus' fingers froze in midair. His wrist turned sharply and his hand flew toward his throat. Bloody fingers tightened around his neck. He tried to pull away, he tried to fight it, but there was no ounce of strength left in his arm. He felt his throat tighten, the blood draining out of his face. He was choking himself to death.

Voldemort was laughing delightedly.

"You want to die like your father, Severus? You want to kill yourself?" he pushed his wand forward, and Severus' fingers dug into his own flesh even harder.

"No, no," Severus managed to choke out. His vision blurred again, but this time not from tears. He felt faint, light. He needed oxygen, and quickly.

"Then join me." Voldemort's words were final, resolute. He lowered his wand, though not completely disarming himself. Severus' fingers loosened. He fell back, coughing violently. When the rattling waves of pain dulled, he slowly raised his head.

Join me...join me...the words rang in Severus' mind over and over.

You would never be alone again...you shall be feared by all...

All his life, Severus had led a life of miserable abandon. He'd never felt like he belonged anywhere. He'd never served any purpose, believing nothing was worth the effort. Over the past seven years, he'd built a bitter façade that misled people to believe he had no emotion save hatred. They were wrong, all those people who feared him and shied from him without even speaking one word to him.

Deep down, Severus was no different from the other students. He wanted affection and care. He wanted a loving mother, he wanted a true companion to talk and laugh with, he wanted to play Quidditch in the summer with his father. He envied the way people chatted with their friends at the dinner table, while he could only watch from the dank, desolate corners of his bench.

But Severus whole-heartedly knew would never receive that kind of respect. He was forever doomed to step in shadows, to form his words with malice. Nothing but a black-hearted devil. He would be remembered by many only as the silent and cruel Slytherin.

He didn't want to be silent anymore. If he were to be hated, he would be hated to the fullest extent.

Slowly, Severus looked straight into Voldemort's eye and nodded.

And as suddenly as it had come, Voldemort was gone. Simply vanished out of thin air, as if he'd drank the invisible potion. Severus lay there upon the ground, clinging on to the bedpost. He no longer felt pain, only immense exhaustion. Remembering the ripping pain in his forearm, he lifted his arm and rolled up the sleeve of his robe.

There was an ugly black symbol of a skull with a snake writhing in its mouth. Severus closed his eyes slowly. He could barely believe it. Just that quickly. He was branded as a servant of Voldemort. He'd lost hope, lost faith. He was set to ruin lives, to murder.

To murder. The words hit him sharply and he opened his eyes again.

All his memories flooded back to him. Being alone in a locked, dark room, his father's fist hitting his mother, the day he'd gotten the Hogwarts letter, the terror of James and Sirius, Voldemort's grin…

Severus' thoughts wheeled to Remus Lupin. Thinking of Remus' delicate smile, of his impeccable cursive, of how Remus never treated him wrongly...

It dawned on Severus that instead of being treated wrongly by another, it was him who had been cruel to Remus. Even from the beginning, he'd never given Remus a chance...just because he was friends with James and Sirius...

But somehow, the Gryffindor had wriggled his way into Severus' heart. Somehow, Severus ached deep inside, knowing that he was now on opposite sides with Remus.

It was inevitably clear. Severus knew that he would have to end their fragile friendship, and soon.

He touched his face and found that it was wet with tears.

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