One to ask
Never. He had never - would never. The Master sifted through the images tumbling free in his mind, seeking and probing. He could not hide, at least not everything. He surrendered, and the Master opened him up, and looked. And looked. And looked into places he did not know were within him. Without malice or mercy, as if dissecting an animal from pure curiosity, the Master reached into his dark places and drew forth thoughts and images that he had hidden away, even from himself.
"So you desire her," the Master stated. "No doubt it is doubly sweet to both destroy your enemy and possess her. Otherwise, poor choice of a vessel."
Yes, those were his deepest and most unspeakable desires! They were all true, drawn from the same source as his other fantasies and nightmares, now cast to die and given form by the illimitable artisan. It would be a symbol of his power over James Potter, over Lily Evans and her poor choices. Standing over James Potter's corpse, he would laugh: he won. Potter lost.
To be able to rule, the master must understand the servant.
But to serve, the servant too must understand the master. He had to entertain and amuse. His life - and hers - depended on it. The images and fantasies he summoned with ease, because they were all true. In fact, they came to him quite naturally.
The Master was pleased.
"Very well," He said. "Let it not be said that Voldemort does not reward his servants." With an expansive sweep of His arm, the Master declared, "I will grant her the chance to live. No -" He smiled generously. "She shall have three chances."
He was grateful. Three was a special number, and for the Master, symbols and the power they held were important. One to ask, one to task, one -
"For your service you are rewarded," the Master interrupted his thoughts.
"But you dare to favor mine enemies!" He shouted, and His servants cowered.
A heartbeat. Two heartbeats.
"Crucio."