Severus Snape hesitated before the Headmaster’s office.  No matter how many times Dumbledore has invited him up for a completely benign cup of tea he always had a sense of dread before entering.  Possibly because the worst moments of his life took place just before the entering these doors.   He took a steadying breath and entered the office.  “What is this about?” He growled.  “Right now the fourth-year Ravenclaws are probably tearing the Dungeons apart stone by stone to see how it was built.”

“Ah, Severus.”  Dumbledore looked up from the stack of papers he was reviewing.  “I’m glad you could find the time to see me so soon.  We appear to have a small matter of a missing student and I’m trying to pin down her last known whereabouts.  So, when was the last time that you spoke with Miss Granger?”

Severus froze as his mind raced through the possibilities.  “Class, Wednesday.  When did she disappear?”

“Sometime last night.  If you could compile a list of your house and their locations for last night it would be appreciated.”  Severus could account for all of his Slytherins.  But the other houses…they were a weak point.  Dumbledore marked off a few lines on the tattered scroll in front of him. “That should be all, if you could send in Madam Hooch on your way out.”

Severus nodded his assent and left.  He made his way to the dungeons in an increasingly foul mood.   He had been feeling increasingly claustraphobic, trapped within the cold stone walls, surrounded by people who didn’t trust him.  Dumbledore didn’t trust him, for all that he had done to break the back of Voldemort’s supporters after Godrick’s Hollow the older wizard still didn’t trust him.  If Dumbledore had Severus would’ve been called on first he knew the in’s and out’s of this school like no one else and had taken Dumbledore’s charge to watch over the student’s seriously.  Now one had disappeared right out from under his nose.  The failure rankled, but the disregard hurt.  Stupid chit was probably outside the wards begging to be snatched up by passing Death Eaters.  He thought disparagingly. 

“Everyone sit down and shut up.”  He growled storming through the classroom.  Some of the students had already started on the day’s experiment.  How could students lauded as so bright be so incredible stupid?  Points were deducted and detentions assigned, it made him feel a little better.  Here, at least, he was in control.  With the experiments restarted he gave the lecture with only half a mind devoted to it.  The rest was focused on a tirade that had only become all to familiar recently.  Supposed to feel grateful to be trapped in this damn dungeon for the rest of my life, trying to teach children that don’t give a damn about learning.  I’d rather be in Azkaban, at least there they make no pretenses about sucking your life away. 

The class dragged on, thankfully it was his last class of the day and he could lock himself in his office for a few hours.  Most students had more sense then to bother him during ‘office hours’ or at any other time of day for that matter.  It was quite some time before he noticed the throbbing in his arm.  He had ignored summons before, there had been many since the Tri-Wizard tournament.  What could Voldemort offer to him anymore?  Even with his return to strength it was only a matter of time before someone brought him down again, probably Potter.  Try as he might the call was increasingly difficult to ignore.  It burned in his arm and in his brain, his master needed him.  He vowed a long time ago to never answer that call again.  The vow to Dumbledore was easy enough to make, Voldemort would demand reparations for his betrayal.  What could he accomplish there?  The pull, the need to go to Voldemort’s side increased ten-fold.  It had become painful to fight, Voldemort would allow him to ignore it no longer. 

The old secret passage he used, back when he was a useful spy was still sealed and warded from the last time he passed this way.  It let out onto an empty dead end alleyway in Hogsmeade where the buildings were so close they brushed his shoulders on either side and the upper stories leaned against one another.   The mouth of the alleyway was charmed heavily to remain unnoticed so there was no one to see when he bared the dark mark on his arm and pressed his palm against the feverishly hot skin.  No one to see as he disappeared to answer the summons he swore on his life to never serve again.

When the world around him stilled.  Severus found himself in the ballroom at Malfoy’s Estate.  People filled the vast expanse of the ballroom floor talking and laughing.  A small group was even dancing a stately pavane to musician-less instruments.  All of them were dressed in expensive clothing of high society.  Most of them wore the concealing masks of the Death Eaters, especially after auror’s spies and traitors such as himself started turning over lists of names to the ministry.  Only those with nothing more to lose, like Wormtail, or were above ministry law, like Lucius, went unmasked.  He wondered which group he fell into.  Once he would have said the latter but he was beginning to suspect that the former was closer to the truth.

“Severus!” A cheerful voice hailed him from behind.  He turned to see Lucius striding through the crowd towards him.  “So good of you to finally join us.”

“And what, exactly, is the occasion, Lucius?”  Severus asked bluntly.  Everyone here knew the part he had played in Voldemort’s downfall the first time, games were pointless.

“Why the return of the Prodigal Son of course.”  Lucius placed his hand on Severus’ shoulder and guided him through the crowd.  “Lord Voldemort has been waiting for your arrival.”

Severus let himself be lead and cursed himself for a fool.  He had come expecting pain and death, pain and madness being his only other option.  He had dreamed up some half-arsed hope of finding Miss Granger, or the traitor.  But this, this was something else entirely.  Spent too much time locked in that damn dungeon, starting to think like a Gryffindor.

            He was lead to a small study just off the main hall.  Large picture windows looked out on to Malfoy’s gardens.  A massive fireplace took up one entire wall which he knew was backed by it’s twin in the library, no doubt there were listeners on the other side of the false firestone back.  Voldemort sat on a leather armchair like a throne.  He looked as he did before his own dark magic twisted and warped his body beyond recognition.  Any glamourie or illusion could create that effect though they were exhausting to maintain.  Wormtail knelt in a position of subservience on the floor at Voldemort’s feet with Nagini coiled around him.  Next to them a small secretary’s desk was unfolded on which was arranged various tools of tortur.  Long slender needles, sharp knives of varying lengths and a multitude of potions, both poisons and elixirs. 

            “Severus Snape, My Lord.”  Lucius announced before walking to stand behind Voldemort’s right shoulder.

            “Severus, my son.” Voldemort’s voice was a smooth rich tenor, well trained, he exuded fatherly concern and benevolence.  Not unlike Dumbledore.  Severus could almost hear Dumbledore’s indignation at the comparison.  “I have thought long and hard on the appropriate punishment for the one who betrayed me.  I spend days, weeks while formless contemplating your suffering.”

            Voldemort picked up a long, slender stilletto from the desk beside him.  The ruby in the hilt winked in the candlelight.  “At first I just called for your death, brutal and sure.  I wanted to see your body broken and lifeless at my feet. But weeks passed and I realized the depths of the damage that your betrayal wrought on your brothers and I realized that death would not be payment enough for their suffering.”  His slender fingers played along the sharp edge of the blade.  The tip scraped across his thumb drawing a single bright drop of blood.  “Pain, I thought.  Pain would be a suitable punishment.  All of my children would hear your screams of agony and rejoice knowing that they have been vindicated.  I remembered how you were once one of my most exalted sons.  It is a sad day when a man turns on his brothers but the Heavens weep when a father must destroy one of his sons.  I thought on this and I grieved.” Voldemort paused and examined him at length.  When Severus met his dark eyes, Voldemort leaned forward.  “Do you know what I will do to you Severus Snape?”

            Severus met his gaze without flinching.  “No.”

            “I will do nothing.” Voldemort said, reclining back in his chair. “You see I had an epiphany.  I realized that it was not you that failed me but I who failed you.  I failed to be the strength and authority that you needed.  I see that now.  I let you have too much license to do as you pleased when you needed, when you wanted to be curtailed.  I understand how I failed you now.  And it is an oversight that needs to be corrected, for both of us.” Voldemort gestured to the desk.  “I believe you recognize these items?  I remember how skilled you once were.  What pleasure it was to watch a true master at work.  I imagine that life under Dumbledore’s thumb doesn’t call much for use of these more exotic tools.  Let’s see how much you remember,  hmm?  Imperio.”

            Severus fought the encroaching calmness.  It was harder then he had remembered to fight the peace and well being that he had wanted to feel for so long, no matter how false it was in origin.  With it came underlying tones that were unique to the caster, a warm feeling of love, of being cared for.  Against his will he felt tears burn in his eyes.

            “Oh, my poor, poor boy.  Look how they have used you and abandoned you…” Voldemort’s voice was filled with compassion, blending into the white haze that filled his mind and swallowed him whole.  “Just relax Severus.  Surrender and all will be made right again.”

            He watched with calm detachment as his hands removed his robes and white linen shirt.  He draped the clothing on a wing chair next to the secretary’s desk before selecting a toxin and syringe.  The toxin began to work within moments of being introduced to the bloodstream.  It created a strange duality of sharper sensation, more physical immediacy, while his mind remained distant and comforted in the haze of the spell.  He picked up one of the longer needles and used it to pierce the skin of his palm.  There was no blood, that would come later.  The sharp flare of pain was quickly masked by an icy cold sensation as the metal manipulated the nerve endings in his palm further heightening the sensations felt elsewhere in his body.  Three more needles, three more piercings strategically placed on his palm.  He picked up one of the smaller knives, the blade was short and wide for better control.  The blade was passed through the heart of a candle-flame.  The heat would cleanse the knife and cauterize the wounds.  Pressing the tip of the knife to his sternum he lightly dragged it across his pectoral muscle.  The sharp knife cut cleanly and deeply leaving fine red lines.  His hands guiding the knife through cut after cut never wavered despite the agony that caused his breath to hitch in his throat though his cries of pain were never voiced because Voldemort did not will it.  His mind remained detached from the agony that his body felt, buoyed in the warm feeling of comfort.  There is however only so much pain a body can endure even one controlled through Imperious, eventually Severus’ body reached that limit.  The blood slicked knife slid from nerveless fingers as his mind succumbed to the darkness.