Due to some wonderful responses, here's another chapter! This is Alternative Ending Number One. (M rating, remember! In this case, man-sex and rude words. Don't say I didn't warn you.)

I will leave the choice up to you, but it might have happened like this….

……

The door to the bedroom bangs open, revealing an exceptionally predatory-looking Voldemort. He makes a big show of sealing the door with locking spells, the kind which keep people in, rather than keep people out.

"So!" he exclaims evilly, red eyes glinting with flagrant lust and a playfulness which confuses Snape for a moment. "What a delightful creature! What fool has left a beauty like you alone and unprotected?"

It dawns on Severus that the Dark Lord is in a mood for a little role-playing and he clears his head for an evening of acting out fantasies of forced seduction, suspecting that if he plays the part well enough, things never need progress to more unpleasant acts which make him scream for real. He starts up from his seat with feigned alarm.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he demands imperiously.

Voldemort gives a very slight nod of approval at his plaything's immediate understanding. He can never regret keeping the sly one alive – he instinctively plays whatever part is required of him perfectly, which means his master has no need to resort to other, less familiar outlets, save for procreative purposes, of course. He has never been fond of intimacy with strangers, the Weasley harpy's recent assault on the more delicate areas of his person serving as a reminder that the world has always been peculiarly cruel to him.

He throws his head back and cackles, stalking into the room like a tiger sighting its prey.

"My identity is of no importance. And as for what I want…" he reaches Snape's side and leers at him, snaking an arm around his waist and pulling the lean body against his. "Why, I want you, my little dark one."

"Unhand me, you fiend!" cries Severus, pushing Voldemort away with some violence. They tussle briefly and the concubine allows himself to be overcome and pinned to the floor, but puts up a show of struggling desperately.

"Such spirit!" laughs the older wizard. "But resistance is futile! You will submit to me, my precious!"

"Never!" he shrieks. "My Master is a far greater wizard than you! He will reduce you to ashes for this impudence!"

Voldemort is impressed and breaks character for a second to raise an amused eyebrow at Snape, who grins. Wily rapist once again, he sucks at the pale neck, pinching the skin harshly between his teeth until his captive gasps.

"None can save you now," he growls, grinding his hips against Snape's. "You are mine. Mine!"

"No! Please!" begs Severus breathlessly, more aroused than he cares to admit. He twists and moans as each attempt to wriggle free is mercilessly thwarted by a laughing Dark Lord, who alternates his sharp bites with lascivious licking and deep, plunging kisses to his protesting mouth. His wrists tingle as a partial binding spell fixes them firmly to the floor and the fabric of his shirt rips against his skin as it is roughly torn away. The rest of his clothing vanishes and his legs are resting over Voldemort's shoulders.

"To whom do you belong, little whore?" pants the Dark Lord, eyes feral with lust as he pushes the first thrust inside of Snape.

"You! To you!" the former spy wails, arching into every slamming intrusion as much as his bonds will allow and probably no longer acting.

"That's right," he snarls, brokenly. "Mine."

"Yesss!" Snape screams, just before he blacks out.

…….

The next morning he is still pinned to the floor when he wakes, though the rich red throw blanket is tucked neatly around his naked body. Experience has taught him that the spell will have weakened by now and few minutes of working his wrists should be enough to release it.

Once he is free, Severus sits up and stretches, taking stock of his injuries from the night before. Nothing is serious, some bruises, stiffness and a rather intimate ache, but the carefully-measured dose of healing potion sitting on the breakfast table should be more than adequate. Something else is wrong, however. Nothing painful, rather a slight change to the physical sense of self which he cannot comprehend until he shifts slightly and puts his hand on a wooden bead lying on the carpet.

He stares for a long time before his hands creep up to his neck and feel nothing but his own skin.

The magic-inhibiting necklace evidently broke during the struggle. It was bewitched to resist any attempt by Snape to remove it, so it must have been Voldemort who accidentally tore the string in the throes of passion. Rowan beads are dotted around the room, some on the floor, some nestling in the damaged shirt lying crumpled next to him.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the paperback novel he had been reading, resting on the arm of the chair by the fire. He has no wand, so there is no point annunciating the word, but his mind forcefully commands 'Accio book!' It does not move. He tries again, throwing more energy at the spell. This time, the cover flips open and the first few pages rustle.

Leaping to his feet, he flings aside the blanket, closes his eyes and visualises eleven and a half inches of beloved ebony, summoning the intoxicating feeling he first had twenty-nine years ago in Ollivander's dusty shop, when the instrument chose him. 'Accio my beautiful, precious wand' he purrs, clenching his fists.

When he opens his right hand, there it is, familiar and wonderful – the scorch mark halfway down where it rolled too close to a cauldron, the small chunk missing at the end from a hasty duel with Moody during his first month as a Death Eater – but otherwise intact.

"Hello," he coos at it, grinning like a skull. It hums back happily.

He downs the potion, grabs a fresh set of clothes and looks back at the bedroom which has been his prison for…how long? A few months? A year? He has no way of knowing.

He stands motionless, wondering what lies beyond the door. There could be literally anything awaiting him on the other side of that piece of wood. Curiosity kills cats. But Snape is not a cat and nobody ever bothered to make a proverb about potions masters. Should he give up the existence which has brought him comfort and stability for the first time in his life, for a foolhardy and possibly fatal attempt at fighting tyranny, or sit down in his chair and continue with his trashy book like a good little love-slave?

He wavers.

Finally, he says, "Oh, fuck it," and blasts the door into splinters. He has never been the sort of person who can live a quiet life.

…….

Snape sits in his office, trying to make sense of the latest report, sitting in all its 300-page glory on his desk. It has been two years since the revolution and the country is still a mess from the chaos which the Death Eater administration managed to inflict before its ignoble defeat. Predictably, it did not take long for everyone to start bickering and hiding behind their damaged bureaucracy again once the final effects of the Imperius potion had been neutralised, but they had been almost unanimous on the question of leadership.

There is a soft tap on the door.

"Come," sighs Snape, resigned to not getting past the second paragraph of the paper. A ginger head pops into the office.

"Minister?"

"Yes, Mr Weasley, what is it now?" Severus fixes Percy with an even stare.

"Remus would like to know if he can clarify a couple of points so he can start your biography," noticing the frown begin to form, he quickly adds, "He swears it won't take long. He knows the Prime Minister is expecting you at eleven."

"Very well," he resigns himself to ten minutes of the obsequious werewolf's loathsome presence, knowing that forcing himself to be pleasant to his old adversary is the smoothest way to secure his place in posterity's roll of honour.

The interview is every bit as tedious as expected, though he conceals it as best he can. Lupin covers the same facts over and over again, making sure he gets them right, Snape feeling as harassed as when he first had to explain how he changed the world, at Voldemort's trial.

Yes, his first thought had been to locate the mudbloods' wands and take them to Azkaban, thus empowering the only set of non-Death Eater wizards not under the influence of the potion.

No, the guards had not questioned his actions once he had shown them the Dark Mark on his forearm.

Yes, Draco had been the DE in charge of supervising the mu…muggleborns brewing the potion. Yes, the boy had already been planning to break out Granger and flee the country to set up a love-nest somewhere. No, he had not dared argue when she insisted they liberate everyone else instead. Yes, they had both followed his instructions for the brewing of the antidote and equipped the rest of the inmates with a supply. Yes, they had all then apparated to different locations around the country to administer the new potion, while aurors, Order members and the insufferable brats who used to worship Potter (wherever he may be) had sprung a surprise attack on Voldemort's Ministry.

No, he had seen no reason to turn down the grateful country's offer of power. No, he had no plans to abolish democratic procedures and set up his own dictatorship. At present.

No, he bloody well did not join the Death Eaters because his Daddy used to hit his Mummy, what kind of idiot question was that anyway, you blasted beast?

Does he miss Voldemort?

My, my, how time flies. He really should be heading for Downing Street about now. Lupin recognises a dismissal when he hears one and limps out, scrolls and scrolls of notes tucked under his good arm.

He moves to the window which looks over the bustling Ministry courtyard and feels heavy with the responsibility thrust upon him. He could have turned down office, of course, but he is not sure that he trusts any of those idiots with such an important task as running the magical country.

Does he miss Voldemort?

The evil, disfigured Dark Lord who killed, maimed and ruined hundreds of lives. Who kept him imprisoned in a single room for eighteen months without seeing another human being, as nothing but a fucktoy. If Lupin asks again, he will say No, absolutely not.

But of an evening in the enormous Highgate mansion, perk of the job, he will sometimes feel lonely and unattractive, and find himself subconsciously waiting for the door to fly open and his Master to return and ravish him, then leave him to read all day with no decisions to make and no burdens to carry.

Does he miss Voldemort?

Yes. Yes, actually, the Minister does.

…….

AN: Alternative ending Number One! I've never done Snape-takes-over before and I confess, it's fun!

Thanks for your encouraging reviews, so glad you like. Love SN x

…….

A sort of pointless EPILOGUE which insisted on writing itself, in keeping with the first chapter of HBP.

It is the Easter school holidays and from his seat in the waiting room next to the Prime Minister's office, Snape can hear the man arguing with his son.

"Leo, please. You cannot play with that in here!"

"Why?"

"Because Daddy is busy."

"Why?"

"Because there is lots of work to do."

"Why?"

"Because I have a very important job."

"Why?"

"Leo…"

"You can't tell me off! I'm a wizard! I'll turn you into a frog! Hah hah! Blam!"

"Out, young man! I have a meeting with…with the Other Minister now."

"Who?"

"Out!"

The door creaks open and a blond boy galumphs past, a pointed paper hat on his head and his legs straddling a red plastic mop. The Prime Minister emerges, shaking Snape's hand apologetically.

"Please excuse him, Severus. It's hard to teach them to be culturally sensitive towards a community which isn't supposed to exist," he simpers. Snape smirks and looks the leader up and down.

"You have considered the possibility that he may actually be a wizard, Anthony?"

"Oh, that's highly unlikely, surely?" The PM boggles at him.

Snape makes no reply, wondering how long it will take his muggle counterpart to notice that his feet are now green, webbed and vaguely slimy.