Harry was lying on a cold stone surface, a throbbing pain pulsing just behind his right temple.
With a great effort he pulled himself into a sitting position, cursing as he grasped the back of his head with both hands. A sticky, unnatural substance seeped from an open wound and he blinked, groaning as light flashed rapidly in his vision.
His sight of dæmons from his dead eye was blocked.
A cold voice spoke, and there was the sound of a wand being tapped on the back of a chair.
"Sit."
Wincing, Harry pushed himself to his feet, gripping the edge of the nearby desk for support. His legs shook as he eased himself into the chair slowly, envious that Lyra had escaped this torture.
Professor Snape loomed over him. The tip of his wand hovering just above the bridge of Harry's nose. Harry tensed but otherwise stayed completely still, his raspy breath stealing more than air from their surroundings.
There was a sharp tap on his head, and what felt like an egg being broken on it as a trickle of something hot seeped through his hair. The throbbing stopped.
"Look at me," Snape said.
Harry tilted his head back, hating that Snape's black eyes swept over every inch of him. His instinct was to divert his gaze, to stop any advantage that could be gained from diving into his mind. Not that it would have mattered.
Snape pressed one finger to his lip, his calculating stare intrusive. Finally, after what felt like several long painstaking minutes, he lent back.
"You're getting sloppy," Snape said. "The craving to devour is resonating in every inch of your mind."
"My occlumency is fine," Harry said tersely. His hands gripped the edge of the chair to stop himself from reaching for his wand. "Besides, Remus always insists I shouldn't fight what I am."
"You know perfectly well what I think of Lupin's methods," Snape sneered, his gaze sweeping back over the shroud which covered Harry's dead eye. "And although I agree with the end result, giving into the darkness is weak. It is required that you master perfect control, anything less on your part is a failure."
Tipping back on his chair, Harry kept his gaze level and his tone deliberately light.
"So Voldemort's not going to be pleased?"
"The Dark Lord," Snape hissed. "Has the highest expectations of you. You should strive to achieve whatever he desires."
Harry raised an eyebrow at this, daring to push the topic.
"Which is what exactly?"
"The Dark Lord does not share his plans with anyone," Snape said, with a very unpleasant sneer.
But Harry knew what Voldemort wanted in some capacity. Sirius' warning from two years ago still haunted his thoughts. Riddle had let that slip.
Restoring dæmons.
Whatever that meant.
Snape circled around him, his own wand resting lightly in his palm. Harry released his grip, relaxing and pushing away his lingering anger and resentment.
"Legilimens."
An invasion, far more potent than Snape had tried before, slammed into his mind. Yet, Harry could still see Snape and their immediate surroundings, the barrage of memories were flicking faint and fast, too obscure and hidden to grasp any real substance from them.
Snape twisted his wand, and Harry closed his eyes. A specific memory had been latched hold off, and was being pulled violently to the forefront of his mind. With a single exhale, Harry dispelled all thoughts and desires. The memory faded to nothing, slipping away before any detail could be extracted.
"Good," Snape said as he took a step back and lowered his wand. He didn't look as angry as before, but a clear look of annoyance crossed his face.
"You should be in perfect control when your dæmon is present," he demanded. "What has happened?"
Harry gritted his teeth and pushed himself back in the seat.
"It's none of your business."
Lyra had always been so stable, provided everything he required, and yet it all came down to Tom. Tom who had always been there for him in any capacity he desired. But that had changed.
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze probing as he towered over him, but Harry didn't have an opportunity to protest. The wand came striking down, pushing straight into his temple.
"Legilimens."
It was more focused, pinpointed to the exact time and place of Harry's darkest memories. Snape was pulling on scraps of emotions and terror, bringing them to the surface so that Harry had no means of resisting.
He was eleven and locked in the guillotine, separated from Tom and the blade was rising higher and higher...he was twelve and was in his room in St Mungo's, volatile darkness swirled around him...and then Riddle was there and was pulling him in front of the cauldron, and his arm was dripping with blood...his skin was rotting, flesh dropping from his body and a coldness ran like ice through his veins...it was two years ago and Tom had been taken...and there was nothing that he could do...
The memories flashed thick and fast. And Harry was left unable to dispel the worst moments of his existence.
The next one followed before he could even draw breath.
It was summer and Harry was back in Grimmauld place...he was in his bedroom and Lyra was downstairs in the kitchen, apparently helping Sirius with his birthday cake...Harry chucked the quidditch magazine he'd been reading back onto the side cabinet...knowing that he should have been working on his charms homework instead...
There was no reason to suspect what would happen next.
Harry's scream was guttural, ripped from his throat as all strength left him...he collapsed to his knees...his anchor to Tom was severed...and Lyra was just out of reach.
Ripples of cold undulated over Harry's skin. The patches of decay spreading, creeping and carving into his flesh, tearing down across his left arm to seek and destroy what little healthy skin remained.
It was made worse by his complete lucidness. Harry gripped his wrist, arm held out before him, watching helplessly...to know that his fall into shadow was inevitable...that he was a slave to his deteriorating body as darkness swarmed him...
For two years, ever since they had been forced apart, Tom's support had never wavered. Harry had been stable, had never given into own desires, his temptations. He had mastered every part of being demented, knew without a doubt that he would never again be reduced to a defenceless, dæmonless child...and now, within those few seconds, his reality had come crashing down and there was nothing he could do...
And then Lyra was there...was in his arms. Harry clutched at her, fingers digging into her fur as if it was the first time he'd held her...he sobbed, his body shaking as he wished for death. The decay across his torso and down his arm had stopped, was no longer cutting into his flesh...Lyra had seen to that...
The curse broke, and Harry was thrown abruptly back into Snape's office. All the torch brackets had been extinguished and a thick layer of frost coated the chair and the stone floor of his immediate surroundings, countered by Snape's protective curse.
Harry slumped forwards, grasping his arm to his chest. Deep, rattling breaths consumed the room, but with no dæmons present Snape was spared any torment.
"Show me your arm."
It was not a request Harry could refuse.
Snape's spidery fingers crept around Harry's left wrist, pushing up the sleeve and twisting it, so the markings were clear underneath the candle light.
Fresh patches of decay clung to his skin, superficial on the surface but running rotten all the way through the bone. They extended past his elbow, with strands shooting off to wrap around his wrist.
It had been terrifying quick, as rapid as Harry's initial transformation.
"Your condition will only deteriorate if you do not have a solid bond to a dæmon," Snape muttered. He pressed the tip of his wand into the dead flesh. It flashed yellow briefly before dimming and absorbing in a sickish glow.
Harry scowled at him, and yanked his arm out of Snape's grip.
"How often has the decay spread?" Snape pressed.
"Just the once," Harry said, still cradling his arm.
"And after the initial disruption, Tom's influence is continuing to ripple across your bond and destabilise you even when you have your dæmon present?" Snape said. He was eyeing Harry's decayed arm again as if he wanted to examine it further.
Harry nodded, throat tight.
"You should have told me immediately, Potter," Snape said. "The Dark Lord has no desire for you to deteriorate further."
Harry let out a rattling breath.
"So Tom didn't do it on purpose?"
He felt childish and foolish for even asking.
Snape didn't answer. Instead, he flicked his wand towards the shelf where bottles of all shapes and sizes were organised. One by one they started to rattle and shake, as the whole wall began to sink into the floor. The hidden room beyond was small and lit only by a blue glowing orb of light.
Dozens of ingredients were laid out on a table, and a cauldron was simmering in the corner. The liquid contents were solely black, and an odd smoke oozed from within, seeping out onto the floor.
A mixture of death and rotting smell flooded into the room, and still there was the flickers of golden particles captured from within. Dæmons.
Snape withdrew a single bottle, and using his wand filled some of the potion into it. He passed it across to Harry.
Despite the fact the liquid had been bubbling away, the bottle felt ice cold in Harry's grip.
"It's a higher concentration than I would usually give you," Snape said. "However, your current situation is dangerous. You should not leave your dæmons side until I have spoken to the Dark Lord."
Harry nodded, but getting Lyra to agree was another matter, specially after what she'd been subjected to all summer.
The liquid ran burning down his throat, and yet at the same time brought a near completeness that he savoured. The sudden stillness was apparent as his mind cleared.
Harry rolled the bottle gently between his fingers, staring at the glass.
"Have you seen Tom?" he asked quietly.
Harry expected another sneer, for Snape to go into one of his rants about the dangers of being a spy and how he wasn't Harry's personal owl.
It didn't come.
"What?" Harry said, stomach twisting. A sense of unknown dread was building.
Snape raised himself to his full height, a clear look of irritation on his face.
"I have been asked to deliver a message," he said.
If Harry had a heart it would have been racing. He only ever received messages from Tom when Voldemort allowed it. He wetted his lips, desperately not trying to let his fluctuation emotions be apparent to Snape.
"Tom says that you are not to enter the Decadæmon tournament."
A rush of disappointment and indignation flooded through Harry.
"Why not?"
Any patience Snape had left disappeared as he sneered.
"It's a dangerous tournament, Potter. As Tom's life is undoubtedly linked to yours, the Dark Lord clearly wants you unharmed-"
"I can look after myself," Harry snapped. "And I don't care what Voldemort thinks."
"Regardless of what the Dark Lord wants," Snape hissed, and he looked pained to have to say it out loud. "You know Tom would want you safe in any instance."
"I'm not going to get hurt," Harry said. "Lyra is more than capable."
Snape glared at him.
"You know nothing about this tournament. The challenges it will force you and your dæmon to endure will require your bond to be far more stable than anything you have ever demonstrated."
Harry glared back, his fists clenched around the arms of the chair to stop him standing up and punching Snape in the face.
"I understand the bond between dæmons far more than anyone else," Harry hissed. "I see it every day. I have just as much right as anyone else to compete."
It seemed like Snape wasn't the only one struggling to reign in his temper.
"You cannot win this tournament, Potter," Snape snapped. "You prey on dæmons, are tempted by your own. One wrong move in a task which is designed to push you and your dæmon to the limit will cost you far more deeply than anyone else."
There was something Harry was missing, Snape wasn't usually so forthcoming in his advise. But Harry didn't care. He stood, snatching up his wand from Snape's desk and shoved it into his pocket.
"Nothing could ever be equivalent to what I have already gone through with Lyra. What I still go through."
"I know you think you're special, Potter," Snape sneered, clearly unimpressed. "That you believe anything related to dæmons solely exists for your amusement, but you are nothing without the Dark Lord, nothing without the decay spreading through your body...and one day it will claim you and there will nothing of you left but the foulest of creatures."
A cruel smile slipped onto Harry's face.
"If you think I don't understand that, or sometimes crave that simple existence than I have sorely overestimated you."
Snape loomed over him, but Harry didn't care. He tilted his head, dead eye looking around despite being blind.
"Where even is your dæmon?" Harry said. "Couldn't bare to face your darkest memories, Sir?"
Snape seized the front of Harry's robes, yanking him forwards as he pressed the tip of his wand straight into his neck.
Harry took a rattling breath, the shadow already roaring the life. There was more than one way to devour a soul. Then Snape pushed him away hard, so that Harry staggered, scraping his arm against the stone wall as he steadied himself.
"Get out of my sight, Potter," Snape hissed, nostrils flaring. "And twenty points from Gryffindor for your little excursion on the train earlier."
Harry glared at him, and then spun on his heel, slamming the office door behind him as he left.
The castle was so dark without Lyra. Harry climbed the familiar winding steps of the tower feeling only a deep disappointment when he reached the top. His room was empty, and there was no evidence that she had been there.
His belongings had already been delivered, and Hedwig's empty cage was sitting empty on top of the cabinet. Striding across the room, Harry kicked his trunk open and rummaged in the bottom, looking for one particular item. It was hidden under an assortment of robes, books and miscellaneous socks, wrapped haphazardly in brown paper. Tearing off the paper he revealed a small, square mirror.
Harry walked back to sit on the bed, rubbing a layer of dust from it in the process.
"Sirius Black," he said.
Nothing happened for a moment, and he was left staring at his half rotten and decayed face. His scar was dulled, still visible on his forehead but by far not the most prominent feature. The black shroud that was his dead eye swirled.
The reflection morphed, and Sirius's grey eyes and haunted face stared back at him. The tips of Mintaka's ears were just visible at the bottom of the frame.
Sirius sighed and ran his hand over his face.
"What happened?"
Harry lent back on his pillow, holding the mirror above him. He gave a lopsided grin.
"What makes you think something happened?"
Sirius scowled at him.
"You never get in touch. Not unless I'm about to receive an owl from McGonagall about you terrorising the Slytherin quidditch team again."
"I only did that once!"
"Twice," Sirius corrected. "So what's up?"
Harry hesitated. Tom's request burning in the front of his mind. With a sigh, he relented.
"Do you know anything about the Decadæmon tournament?"
For a moment Sirius' blinked once, and then twice before a large grin spread across his face.
"You're joking, right?" he said. "Are you going to enter? Which school is hosting it?"
Sirius' grin was infectious and Harry couldn't help but relax, some of his immediate concerns alleviated.
"Durmstrang. I just need to put my name in to McGonagall to be considered."
"You're so lucky," Sirius said. "Hogwarts wasn't participating when I was at school. Your father and I wrote to the Ministry to start a petition to rejoin it, but that never went anywhere. The Head of International Magical Cooperation at the time was an ancient old witch who told us to get lost and go and waste someone else's time."
"So what did you do?"
Sirius shrugged, sunken expression alight with amusement.
"I think we sent her four crates of self exploding crackers...or maybe that was to the Department of Magical Games and Sports when we tried to get flying carpets unbanned...either way they spent days trying to recapture all the mice-"
"Well Hogwarts are sending twelve students from sixth and seventh year," Harry said. "So my chances might not be too bad."
"Not forgetting that Lyra's a force to be reckoned with and Hogwarts will want to win," Sirius said. "Professor McGonagall will have to pick you...or I can always find some more exploding crackers to convince her."
Harry's smile slipped slightly. He tugged his hand through his patchy hair and let out a rattling breath causing a layer of thin mist to form on the mirror.
"Tom doesn't want me to enter."
Sirius' brow knitted together, and the tips of Mintaka's ears twitched.
"How'd you find that out?"
A rush of guilt and a deep shame ran through Harry and he glanced away.
"Snape told me."
"Ah," Sirius said, but the look of concern didn't alleviate from his face. "So something did happen then?"
"I didn't mean it," Harry said numbly. "I lost control, but in my defence Lyra was with me and it's not like I hurt anyone-"
Sirius' expression soured.
"I thought you said everything with Tom had settled down?"
Harry shrugged, but he still didn't look up to see the grave expression cross Sirius' face.
"Harry, we spoke about this. You can't have an incident like last time-"
Reluctantly, Harry nodded. The temperature in the room was dropping rapidly. Ice was creeping across the bedspread and down onto the floor, Harry shivered, despite not feeling the chill.
"So I probably shouldn't enter the tournament then?" Harry said. "If my bond with Tom is not exactly stable at the moment there's just as much chance that I'll lose control and devour Lyra."
Sirius waved his hand dismissively.
"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Harry. Whatever is going on with Tom is going to happen if you're at Hogwarts or Durmstrang. You may as well make the most of a bad situation."
Harry pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them. Maybe it was because Snape had just ripped through his worst possible memories, the lingering despair clung to him, but there was no escape from the inevitable. And Harry hated himself for even thinking it.
"What if Voldemort's found a way to block our connection?"
A very hard expression crossed Sirius' face.
"If that was the case the Order would have surely have heard something-"
Harry bit his cheek to save from cursing. His hand automatically tugged at the blue band that enclosed his ankle.
"Okay, forget the Order-" Sirius said, noting the look on Harry's face. "But either way, Tom's not going to give you up so easily. You know that, right?"
Harry shook his head, burying his head into his knees. His grip loosening on the mirror so that he was looking at a sideways image.
"I just don't know what to do, Sirius."
"Sure you do," Sirius said, with one of his haunted smiles. "You enter the tournament, get out of Hogwarts, steal Tom back and try not to devour Lyra in the process. What more do you need to know?"
Harry's breath came out in a rattling laugh.
"You make it sound so simple."
Severus Snape's footsteps echoed off the stone floor as he walked down the long chamber. He passed large ornate frames whose canvases and occupants had been burnt out many years ago. A fire was burning gently in the grate, casting the immediate surroundings and the waiting figures in a dim, flickering light.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness Snape could see the Dark Lord was sat in a large, throne like chair. His arms draped over the side lazily, as his red snake like eyes watched with a horrible predatory like quality. Just to the Dark Lord's right, a young man stood with his hands pressed behind his back and his legs apart slightly. His form was translucent, just like that of a dæmon.
Given the nature of his visit, Snape could only guess which part of Voldemort's soul was present. Tom had grown tall in the past few years, his features more handsome and defined so that he and Riddle looked strikingly alike. It was odd to think that the disfigured, serpent like form of the Dark Lord had ever appeared so human.
A third person was waiting with them. The skull like mask hid their entire face and the hood was drawn up to cover any notable features. Just like Snape, this person's dæmon was not present.
Snape reached the group, fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the cold stone.
"My Lord," he murmured.
Voldemort's high and unnatural voice echoed down the long chamber.
"Severus, I am pleased you could join us so soon."
Snape rose back to his feet and removed the hood from over his head.
"Forgive me, I did not believe I was expected."
Voldemort's face twisted into an unpleasant smile.
"I had hoped, nothing more...but of course, my loyal servant here assured me you would come, after all he is all to eager to act following the incident tonight-"
The Death Eater shifted, his mask was littered in intricate runes and carvings of a design that was unfamiliar and old.
"From what I heard, Potter lost control during the Hogwarts feast," the Death Eater said.
Snape nodded, choosing his next words deliberately.
"I take it that the news has already reached the Ministry then?"
Behind the mask there was the clear narrowing of eyes.
"Now that Scrimgeour is no longer protecting Potter, the Minister is eager to take advantage of the situation...of course the Wizengamot have always been sympathetic to the boy, but now circumstances have changed...and if our Lord desires it, Potter will be detained before the week is out."
Snape allowed an amused expression to cross his face.
"You are a fool if you believe Albus Dumbledore would ever let it get that far," he said. "Potter is too well protected, the Order of the Phoenix have seen to that."
"Even the Order cannot remove the boy from the Ministry's influence."
Snape raised an eyebrow at this, his lips curling into a sneer.
"Then you know that the Order have blocked the trace on the boy?"
What could only have been a look of fury must have crossed under the mask, for the Death Eater twisted back towards the throne like chair.
"It cannot be true, my Lord?"
Voldemort inclined his head, his voice a dangerously quiet tone.
"It does appear that Albus Dumbledore has replaced the boys trace with a tracker of his own making. Which means that the Order has the capability of extracting the boy from any location...supposedly even one as secure as this."
"That's impossible," the Death Eater started aghast. "No magic is more powerful than your own-"
Voldemort waved his hand impatiently.
"It certainly complicates matters," he said. "I would have preferred not to have to confront the matter directly. However-" He fell silent, his gaze wandering across to Tom.
The group waited in silence as Voldemort seemed to be contemplating something. When Tom did not say or do anything the Dark Lord withdrew his wand and held it loosely between his fingers. He fixed his red eyes back onto Snape.
"You have examined the boy, Severus?" Voldemort hissed.
"Yes, My Lord. It appears that Potter's temperamental behaviour is because the connection to your soul is being intermittently interrupted-" Neither Tom nor Voldemort reacted, so Snape continued. "The disruption is significant...his occlumency is compromised and his emotions appear to be in a constant state of flux. If it continues Potter will be prone to make further mistakes, just like tonight regardless of if his dæmon is present."
Voldemort blinked once, and then hissed something in parseltongue. Tom flicked his eyes across to the Dark Lord but he did not reply.
"Then it is a perfect opportunity," the Death Eater said. "Even without the Dark Lord's influence, the Wizengamot will have to remove the boy from Hogwarts."
Voldemort's face contorted into something that could only be annoyance. He drummed his fingers on the wooden chair, his expression less than pleasant. There was a moment where only the crackling of the fire could be heard.
"Very well," Voldemort hissed. "You may start the process to extract the boy. Although it must be done delicately, Dumbledore's protections must not be triggered or access to the boy will be lost entirely. And the consequences of that will be severe."
Snape pressed his lips together, and took a shallow breath.
"There is...something else, My Lord," he said.
Voldemort sat back in his throne like chair. His gaze fastened upon Snape's with such a fierce intensity, his voice was high and impatient.
"And?"
For the first time, and at great risk to himself for disregarding the Dark Lord so callously, Snape looked directly at Tom. In response, Tom barely reacted, his eyes flicking to meet him.
"I thought you should be aware there was an occasion where Potter was separated from his dæmon...which happened to coincide with when the connection to you was fully broken."
Tom's composure, which had been the perfect picture of indifference, faltered. His mouth parted slightly, eyes widening as his whole body became rigid. If Snape hadn't been watching carefully, he would have missed the tightening of his fist and the brief look of pure terror which flashed across his face.
In comparison the reaction from Voldemort was chilling. The Dark Lord merely twisted his head to mildly observe his soul. The wand that had been placed on his lap was suddenly back in his grip, held delicately but deliberately.
"You're lying."
Tom's voice was quiet, barely louder than the crackling of the fireplace. There was betrayal in his prolonged, unblinking stare, as if his eyes were suddenly unfocused and he was seeing straight through his surroundings.
Given the fact that Potter had not been lost, it made sense that Tom denied it. Voldemort seemed to have the same opinion, as his red eyes blinked in a horribly reptilian way.
"I trust there was no lasting damage, Severus?"
"The spread of decay was substantial. I suspect if his dæmon had not been seconds away Potter would have deteriorated past anything recoverable."
Tom whirled suddenly and hissed something in parseltounge.
Voldemort tilted his head to the side, his lips curling into a faint mirthless smile as he nodded. A wand materialised in front of Tom. He grasped it and took several deliberate steps forwards, raising it to point directly between Snape's eyes.
"Show me."
Snape hesitated for less than a heartbeat and then allowed the memory to surface.
He needn't have bothered. The sheer force of will that ripped into his mind made him stagger, disorientated as his memories of the last few hours were shifted apart like sand.
He was back at the Hogwarts feast...Dumbledore was standing up to announce the decadæmon tournament...and then there was a commotion at the Gryffindor table, apparent as dæmon from all directions fled...a patronus burst into life...which could only mean one thing...the memories shifted...and Snape was hurrying to his office, Potter floating unconscious in front of him...another shift...and Tom had the memory he required...
Snape watched for the second time that night, Potter's memory...not as clear as the first, but still with the same dangerous potency...the decay just as ruthless, caressing the boys body as it took hold and ruined him...devoured from the inside...
A heartache reverberated through Snape. A longing and despair so deep, that he staggered from the wealth of raw emotions coursing into his mind.
Now memories of insignificant times flashed before his eyes...Potter sitting in detention while finishing his homework...Potter on a broomstick in the middle of a quidditch match while his dæmon flew beside him...Potter eating breakfast, a smile on his decayed lips as Lyra knocked over Granger's pumpkin juice...and then everything changed...and Snape wasn't looking at his own memories any more...
He was back in the chamber...but it was like he wasn't there. Instead he watching three figures from a distance...Voldemort stood in front of the same fireplace, robes draped around him as he surveyed two parts of his soul.
"Have you made your decision?" Voldemort's voice was worse in the memory, the hiss echoed through the chamber, as if it was coming from every direction.
Tom's presence pulsed, his own emotions tainting the scene before Snape, the rush of fear paramount as he spoke.
"The answer is still no."
"Even if I will let you keep the boy?" Voldemort said softly. Riddle jerked slightly at this, his own hand twitching to find his wand.
Tom glanced sideways only briefly, his voice heavy.
"We both know that's a lie."
Screams tore through the building beneath them, but none of the three flinched.
"The boy must be tested," Voldemort hissed. And the wand that was held loosely between thin fingers seemed all the more prominent, as if Tom was deadly aware of it.
Riddle sneered, his own disgust plain to see.
"If my brother is so...reluctant to assist you, My Lord...then let me go in your place."
Tom laughed, despite the shiver down the back of his neck.
"We both know that Riddle will only try again where he failed before-"
The scene was rushing now...speeding past so that Snape could barely catch any hint of the conversation...and then it settled...coming back into a clear focus.
Riddle was gone, and the Dark Lord and Tom were alone. Voldemort was circling Tom, almost predator like as his robes trailed behind him.
"I am...disappointed," he hissed. "I have promised you far more than you deserve and you would dare defy my command-"
"My Lord-" Tom wasn't looking at him, was clutching an arm to his chest. "There must be another way..."
A look of pure fury and rage passed over Voldemort's face. The enormity of the situation was apparent as Tom took several steps backwards. There was a hiss, a curse in parseltongue, and then Voldemort had raised his own wand and was pointing it at Tom-
"Enough."
Voldemort's shrill command was high and unnatural, cutting through the memory. The curse broke, and Snape was thrown back into the present in the room with Voldemort, Tom and the masked Death Eater.
Snape kept his gaze impassive, despite his now racing heart beat. The rush of information he'd just been presented with made no sense...contradicted everything the Order thought they knew...and with his own prolonged silence, Snape's true loyalties would be only confirmed...which meant if Tom had truly pledged himself to the Dark Lord...
Tom was standing very still. His head lowered and his breathing sharp. Unregulated magic was burning, fury radiating through every inch of him. It was a stark contrast to his emotionless portrayal only moments before.
Robes billowed around Voldemort's skeletal figure as he stood and approached the fireplace. His disfigured face caught in the light, his slits for nostrils flaring.
"Thank you, Severus. You have done well."
A horribly cruel smile flickered onto Voldemort's face.
"It seems that forcing the boys removal from Hogwarts will no longer be necessary."
The masked Death Eater jerked, and fell to his knees again, forehead pressed against stone.
"My Lord," he said. "If you let me convince Fudge-"
"That will do," Voldemort hissed. "Leave us."
The Death Eater started muttering hurried apologies, crawling up to the hem of the Dark Lord's robes to kiss it. Only with another dismissal did the Death Eater scramble up from the floor. The man cast Snape one final resentful glare through the slits in his mask before retreating at a brisk pace.
Voldemort curled his long fingers around his wand and he then fixed unnatural red eyes back upon Tom. There was a sharp edge to his voice, a challenge as he surveyed his soul.
"I trust that your support to the boy from now on will be unyielding. Your connection to Potter infallible. No matter the circumstance."
Tom said nothing. He glared at Voldemort, his anger so palpable that if he raised the wand, only one curse was expected.
Just like the memory, Voldemort began to slowly circle Tom. An oppressive magic was rising, flooding and drowning their surroundings. The sheer power of it was suffocating so that Snape could barely draw breath.
Tom still had not moved. The wand in his hand emitted black sparks as Voldemort came to stand only an arms reach away. And then the Dark Lord was leaning down, his lipless mouth curled into something which could only resemble a smile as he hissed something softly into Tom's ear, the parseltongue intrusive and alien.
A desperate look of resignation flashed across Tom's face. He made to draw away but Voldemort's snatched his wrist, pulling Tom closer while still hissing those horrific sounds.
Something flashed and there was a second of complete darkness. A prickle of deathly cold slipped down the back of Snape's neck. The instinct to draw his wand was burning but he remained completely immobile.
Tom raised his arm and opened his palm, surrendering the wand for the Dark Lord to reclaim. Voldemort took it and released Tom's wrist with an unnecessary force. His expression contorted in a murderous fashion, his serpentine face, gleaming and deadly.
"And your answer?" Voldemort demanded.
Snape held his breath, thoughts flying back to the memory he had just witnessed, trying to decipher what Voldemort could be asking. It didn't matter either way.
Tom averted his gaze and bowed his head.
"Yes, My Lord."