"You might as well let me go," Jack said, hiding his alarm at the thought that whatever was going on involved his team as well as the Order of the Phoenix. The wizards could take care of themselves against other wizards, but it was another matter completely when it came to his team. Look how easily he'd been captured, after all. "I'm not going to help you."

Voldemort frowned, not appreciating the interruption when he was gloating over how well things were going. He turned to the greasy-haired newcomer.

"Severus? Have you met Jack O'Neill?"

The wizard gave Jack a cold, disinterested look, and shook his head.

"No, my Lord. I've heard of him, though."

"Jack here is the key to us obtaining the hidden prophecy."

"Hidden in the Ministry of Magic, my Lord?"

Voldemort's frown deepened, as if that place was a subject he'd rather not discuss.

"There are other places to hide secrets, Severus."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Such as…?" Jack asked.

Voldemort gave him a superior smile.

"There are places that humans don't go – places they are afraid to go. Places that can hide secrets for centuries if need be… secrets that are just waiting for the right person to come along and find them…"

If not for the pounding in his head, O'Neill might have been more impressed. But probably not. He shrugged, and leaned back into the cushions surrounding him.

"Yeah, well… good luck with that. Wake me up when you get back from those places…"

"You're coming, of course, little brother."

"I told you not to call me that."

"You dare make demands of the Dark Lord?" Snape said, unable to hide his contempt. "You? Who-"

"Severus," Voldemort interrupted, cutting off Snape's tirade before he could begin. "We don't have time for that. Have Bellatrix bring in Terack."

"Yes, my Lord."

Snape gave Jack another cool look and then left the room.

"Severus is an interesting man," Voldemort said companionably to O'Neill once the man was gone. "The Order doesn't trust him – for the most part – and my people don't trust him – for the most part."

"I can't imagine why," Jack said sarcastically.

"He's loyal to me, however," Voldemort continued. "He has no choice."

"Good for you."

If Voldemort was disappointed that Jack didn't ask why, he didn't show it. Instead, he walked around the room, looking at the portraits on the wall while Jack closed his eyes against the aching in his head.

He really didn't care what they all had planned for him – except for the fact that he had to keep his team out of it – and to that end, he needed to get his head to stop pounding so he could start trying to figure out a way to escape before Carter and the others did something dangerous trying to rescue him. Especially if this Snape guy was really some sort of double agent. That made him far more dangerous – in Jack's eyes, anyways – than Voldemort ever could be.

"Master?"

A new voice from the doorway woke Jack from a doze that he hadn't meant to fall into. He opened his eyes and turned his head, wishing almost immediately that he hadn't when his head reminded him that it was hurting and he shouldn't make sudden moves.

Voldemort turned as well.

"Terack. My guest is feeling under the weather and is of no use to me until he can move without pain. Deal with it."

"Yes, Master."

The man – who was small, delicate and reminded Jack of a woman he once knew – came over to the bed, carrying a wand in his hand.

"What happened?" He asked Jack.

"What?"

"I need to understand the nature of your injury before I can heal it," the man explained.

Jack scowled.

"How the hell should I know what the nature of-"

"He was hit with several stunning spells," Voldemort interrupted.

"Yes, Master. Thank you."

"Stunning spells can be dangerous if used improperly," the man said, more to himself than to Jack.

He pulled a small pouch of something out of a pocket of his robe, and tapped his wand lightly against the bag, muttering something softly under his breath as he did so. Then he went to a pot of water that was sitting on a small stand close by, and tapped it with his wand as well. An instant later the water steamed as if hot, and the healer dumped a small portion of the contents of the pouch into the pot, stirring it with a motion of his wand.

"You'll want to let this cool a bit before drinking it," he cautioned, pouring a cup of what was now a green looking tea, and bringing it over to Jack.

"I'm not drinking that."

The man hesitated, looking at Voldemort.

"It's not poison, Jack."

"I don't care."

"Drink it."

Jack scowled.

"No."

Voldemort's calm façade once more dropped. He wasn't used to people telling him no, and the healer was so startled by Jack's actions that he had gone a very unhealthy pale, dropping his pouch to the floor from fingers suddenly numb.

"Drink it!"

"No."

Why was everyone always trying to get him to eat and drink things he didn't want to drink? First Daniel and those priests with the twelve foot caterpillars, and now Voldemort and his sidekick's potion that was almost definitely a poison – despite what they were telling him.

Voldemort's wand was suddenly in his hand, and pointing at Jack.

"Imperio!"

He frowned, and suddenly had the oddest sensation of something weird going on inside his head. A voice telling him to go ahead and drink the potion, because it wasn't poison and it wasn't going to hurt him. He just needed to do what Voldemort said. Just do what I want you to, little brother, and your headache will be gone in a heartbeat…

He actually reached out for the cup on the table without realizing what he was doing, and then jerked his hand back as if it had been burned. What the hell?

"Stop it!" He yelled, losing his temper when he realized that somehow Voldemort – or the other guy, but probably Voldemort – was trying to screw with his head. And had almost succeeded. "I'm not going to drink it. I'm not going to go with you to wherever the hell you want me to go, and I'm not your brother. Do you understand?"

"Damn it!" Voldemort was about as angry as he could remember being. Which made him furious, because he knew he was doing exactly what he'd told Jack he wasn't going to do. He was losing his temper and had let loose with an imperious curse that he hadn't planned on using. A curse that was completely useless, now, because in his anger he'd allowed himself to make the mistake of trying to match will with someone who was about as strong willed as he'd ever met. Maybe the most strong-willed person he'd ever met. Jack had seen it, now, and he would know it if he saw it again, Voldemort was certain. Which meant he'd be ready for it, and that made it ineffective.

He needed to change tactics, and fast, because he had to have Jack's cooperation.

"Look!"

He reached out, took the cup and downed half of it, making sure there was no way Jack could think it was a trick. He did gag on the taste – because it was truly awful – but he didn't keel over dead, and he slammed the cup down on the table once more, affecting an anger that he no longer felt – completely.

"It's not poison. Okay? It's just for your head. Now drink it. Please."

Yeah, he about choked on that please, Jack could see. Which meant that whatever Voldemort wanted from him, it must have been pretty big. Which gave Jack an edge. Enough of an edge that he was pretty certain Voldemort really wasn't trying to poison him.

"Why didn't you just ask nicely in the first place?" He asked, reaching for the cup and drinking it down – and glad that the mug hid the amusement he was feeling when Voldemort suddenly looked about ready to blow up.