Okay, new chapter. And this time I didn't wait over 3 months before posting! It's a mircale, I swear. I'm finially truly getting in to this story, but unfortunately I have no beta for this story, so sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes I may have missed when proof-reading this story. Enjoy!

It is the intent that matters, not the spell.

Lord Voldemort, who had once been known as Tom Riddle in his younger days, smiled to himself as he watched Lucius Malfoy prostrate himself before his Lord, blonde hair dirty and matted from his stay in Azkaban.

He had been tempted to leave the blonde there, now that most of his power had been stripped away -- what use was an aristocrat who held no sway over the public? -- but Lucius had always been loyal to him, and he was hard pressed to lose that loyalty. Leave him for long enough, and Lucius may have found it in his wounded pride to turn over secrets to the Ministry. To Dumbledore, even.

Lucius had been his star pupil, back when he had been gathering togeather his most trusted followers. The Inner Circle. He had taught them, molded them from the time when they were very young. He had been gentle with them then, nothing but smiles and encouragement. Lucius and Severus, especially, had needed that encouragement, coming from families that showed them none. Severus, perhaps, more than Lucius had clung to him as if he were life itself.

But Lucius had always been quicker to pick things up than Severus. Of course, once he understood something Severus could be bested by no one, other than Voldemort himself. Some even speculated that he was more powerful than even Dumbledore. Perhaps some day they would put that to the test.

But Lucius had always understood first, been the first to successfuly complete his lessons. Lucius had always been quicker than Severus, if not stronger in his magic. Lucius had always been able to understand his plans, even at a young age.

Lucius understood, to some extent, what he was trying to do. Understood ...

Understood he had only ever cast the Killing Curse but a handful of times. But it was rare that he said those words with that intent. The intent to kill.

Because intent was the most important part. The words didn't matter, never had. Only the weak minded believed that those words made up the spell. It was the words that allowed you to focus, but for those who were strong enough, who understood the nature of magic enough ... for those select few, they understood that if you had enough control over youself, over your intentions, you didn't even need the words. Sometimes you didn't even need a wand. Sometimes ... sometimes you could just think it, and it would happen.

Lucius understood that he was doing something ... something else. Something other than simply killing the unfortunate mudbloods he came across, something other than simply murdering those wizards and witches who dared to stand against him. He knew they weren't dieing -- not in the way everybody supposed. He had watched, on so many occassions, the way Voldemort would say the words of the Unforgivable, green light filtering out of his wand to collide with his victim. But there was no pain -- surprise, a gasp or scream, before the body would collapse. A shimmer would fill the air, and another body would appear next to the victim -- identicle in all ways, save for the lack of a soul within it's confines. He would cast the Killing Curse then, yes. But he didn't really count that as murder -- the body was only a husk, a shell. There was no soul, no life within it to kill.

But Lucius didn't know what happened to the real person, left alive but petrified.

Of course, he still indulged in sport. He hated Muggled as fiercely as he ever had, perhaps even more than he hated Potter. Just the thought of that insolent whelp, ready to put an end to all of his hard work, made his blood boil with rage. Sport he reveled in, as did all of his followers.

But only Lucius understood there was more at stake here than the annihilation of all Muggled. Only Lucius understood he had a plan, tucked away somewhere in that crafty mind of his. If Dumbledore ever learned of this well-guarded plan ... even just got a whiff of it ... it would all be ruined.

So he had to keep Lucius close to himself, had to protect the blonde aristocrat, had to keep him close and guarded. Perhaps the blonde would prove useful in the future.

--

Severus Snape watched as his Master helped Lucius Malfoy to his feet, touch gentle as he drew the man in to his embrace.

Only the most trusted -- the Inner Circle -- had been brought to rescue Lucius. If any of the other Death Eaters were to see their Lord behaving in such a way, they would never understand the gentle touches and soothing words he spoke the man in his arms. They had never seen this side of their Master, the almost fatherly way he cradled Lucius in his arms.

Ah, Lucius. He had always been the Dark Lord's favourite, more of a son than a student. There were many times when Lucius would be found in the Lord's chambers, sleeping in his rooms or eating as his private table. And he had been awarded privelaged that others had not. Going with their lord on special trips,coming back with the stench of Unforgiveables on his person -- he had helped their lord in his most delicated of missions, and for that, Severus had always been jealous.

And even now, Voldemort gave him privelages no other wold dare to take, as Lucius clung desperately to him. The Dark Lord murmured soothing words to his star pupil, arms circling around the too-thin form of the blonde as he rubbed soothing circles on his back. Lucius seemed unaware of the others in the room with them, and Severus couldn't say he blamed him. He could clearly remember his own reaction to the few short weeks he had spent with the Dementors in this place ...

Lucius was a mess. His clothes were tattered, blonde hair matted and dirty. When skin he could see -- and there was a lot of it -- was covered with scrapes and bruises, and what looked like scratch marks from what he could only imagine were his own long fingernails. Lucius had always prided himself on his immaculate fingernails, immaculate just like everything else about him. Those fingernails were now bitten down until there was nearly nothing left of them, the ends of his fingertips raw and bloody. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his lips chapped and peeling. His cheeks were pale, even paler than normal, with two bright spots of color on each of his gaunt cheeks. All in all, he looked a fright.

"Severus, get back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore will be missing you soon. Tell him nothing of what you have witnessed here. I don't care what you tell him, but do not tell him of Lucius' freedom." Severus nodded shortly at the command, turning on his heel and heading out of his Lord's private chambers.

It was time to put his lessons training as a spy to good use.