Promise
The dimly lit study exuded an air of dark elegance, filled with shelves of ancient tomes and arcane relics. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, with each shifting shape adding to the sense of foreboding that pervaded the room. The space was silent, save for the low crackling of the fireplace, its flames casting a warm yet ominous glow.
At the centre of it all, two figures sat in close conversation. One was a middle-aged man, whose dark features framed what would have been a handsome face were it not for his piercing eyes, which gleamed with a crimson malevolence. The other figure, much younger, had a gaunt, angular face and deep, dark eyes that shone with both brilliant intellect and burning ambition, fuelled and tempered by past ills and festering resentments.
Since his eager induction, Voldemort had followed the younger man’s progress with rapt and greedy interest. He’d heard stories of the boy, mostly from Lucius, who’d described a quiet half-blood whose brilliance outshined his dirtied blood and poorer origins. Unbeknownst to Lucius, this was a tale the likes of which he was intimately familiar, and it intrigued him greatly.
He’d tested the boy, choosing to patronise his Mastery in the potion-making arts, and he was not disappointed. He was every bit the prodigy that he’d been led to believe. He’d completed his Mastery within the year, a feat not many could boast and a testament to the boy’s brilliant intellect and relentless determination. The Dark Lord mused on the countless hours he must have spent poring over ancient texts, experimenting with dangerous concoctions, pushing the boundaries of his knowledge. In Severus, Voldemort saw a glimmer of his own ambition and brilliance—a young wizard whose talents he could mould and shape into the perfect tool.
Now sitting across from the boy, Voldemort listened with rapt attention as Severus eagerly recounted the details of his latest creation. Severus' voice was animated, a stark contrast to his usual reserved demeanour. The spell he spoke of was an intricate warding charm, not designed for securing mere physical objects but for protecting secret knowledge itself.
"You see, my Lord," Severus explained, his voice gaining a rare note of excitement, "the charm acts like a sentient guardian, encrypting the information in such a way that only the one who placed it can decode it. Any unauthorised attempt to breach the ward would trigger the erasure of the information, rendering it useless to all.”
Voldemort leaned back in his high-backed chair, his long fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes glittered with a combination of fascination and approval. "Intriguing, Severus," he murmured, his voice a silken hiss. "Your ingenuity never ceases to amaze me. This charm of yours could prove invaluable in safeguarding our most sensitive plans."
Severus' eyes lit up with a rare spark of pride. Recognition was a currency he had been starved of for so long, and here it was being lavished upon him by the most powerful dark wizard of their age. He had always known he was different, smarter than his peers, but the constant bullying and abuse had crushed his spirit, fuelled only by deep seated and festering resentments. Now, under the Dark Lord's mentorship, he felt his true potential being acknowledged and nurtured.
Voldemort, for his part, understood the value of the young man. Severus Snape possessed a rare intellect, one which even he was forced to recognise almost equalled his own. More importantly, he saw the pain in Severus, a deep, festering wound that he could exploit. Years of abuse from his muggle father and neglect from his beaten mother had left Severus with a profound sense of isolation and anger. At Hogwarts, the Marauders had only added to his torment, their relentless bullying going unanswered by those fools masquerading as Professors, each of them too biases or too inept to care.
Voldemort had dismissed the rest of his Death Eaters earlier that evening, sending them on a raid to attack a muggle village, aiming to sow chaos and perhaps even draw out the old fool and his Order, maybe stretch their already dwindling resources ever thinner—this final thought caused a cruel grin to creep across Voldemort's features.
But, he had chosen not send Severus. He knew the young wizard did not possess the same love of violence as others, like his darling Bellatrix. Severus was different; his motivations more complex. Voldemort knew he could use the promise of retribution against those who had wronged him—those in the Order, the so-called Marauders—to ignite a bloodthirst in Severus. As he now sits and observes the boy, he considers that he could have likely sent him along tonight—the resentment and pain he saw in those eyes burned with a vicious streak. With a satisfied smile, he mused on this final thought as he continued their conversation.
"Tell me, Severus," Voldemort said, his tone almost gentle, "what inspired you to create such a spell?"
Severus hesitated for a moment, a shadow passing over his face. "Knowledge is power, my Lord," he replied slowly. "And power must be protected. I've seen how easily secrets can be exposed, how vulnerabilities can be exploited. I wanted to create something that would ensure our knowledge remains secure, that our plans cannot be unravelled by our enemies."
Voldemort nodded approvingly. "A wise precaution. You think ahead, Severus, and that is a rare quality. It is precisely why I value you so highly."
The words were like balm to Severus' wounded soul. In this dark, foreboding place, under the tutelage of a man feared by all, Severus felt a twisted sense of belonging. He was recognised, valued, and, most importantly, understood. The Dark Lord saw the potential in him—the brilliance that had been overshadowed by years of neglect and abuse.
As an hour or so passed, Voldemort continued to engage Severus in conversation, asking probing questions about his spell and offering subtle praise. He fed Severus' need for recognition, knowing that in doing so, he tightened his control over the young wizard. Severus, in turn, absorbed every word, every nod of approval, his loyalty to the Dark Lord growing with each passing moment.
Voldemort watched him closely, a serpentine smile playing on his lips. He knew that, with the right manipulation, Severus Snape would become one of his most powerful and loyal followers. The boy's intellect and pain were tools he could use to his advantage, shaping Severus into the perfect instrument of his will. And so, he continued to nurture the young wizard's talents, biding his time, waiting for the moment when he could unleash Severus' full potential against their enemies.
For now, though, Voldemort was content to listen and learn, to feed Severus' starved ego and build his trust. The young wizard was a prized possession, a brilliant mind shackled by past pain, and Voldemort intended to wield him with the precision of a master craftsman. The future was his to shape, and with Severus Snape at his side, Voldemort knew he had a formidable weapon in his arsenal.
As the fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows around the room, Voldemort leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Severus' face. "Severus," he said, his voice carrying a note of almost fatherly concern, "you must understand that your talents are unique. Your ability to innovate, to see beyond the conventional, is what sets you apart. It is what makes you indispensable to our cause."
Severus nodded, his expression a mixture of pride and humility. "Thank you, my Lord. Your guidance has been invaluable to me."
Voldemort's smile widened—a cold, calculating expression. "It is my pleasure, Severus. I see great things in your future. You have the potential to achieve greatness, to rise above the mediocrity that surrounds us. Together, we will reshape this world, and you will have a place of honour by my side."
The words were intoxicating to Severus, a young man who had known so little kindness and respect in his life. The Dark Lord's approval was a powerful drug, one that Severus craved more and more. He had always been driven by a desire to prove himself, to show the world that he was not the worthless boy his father had claimed, not the outcast the Marauders had tormented. Now, under Voldemort's wing, he felt that he finally had the opportunity to do so.
Voldemort could see the effect his words were having. He had a keen understanding of human nature, especially when it came to manipulating the emotions of those who served him. He knew that Severus' loyalty was born not just out of ambition, but out of a deep-seated need for recognition and validation. And so, he continued to feed that need, knowing that each word, each gesture of approval, bound Severus more tightly to him.
"Tell me more about your charm," Voldemort said, his tone encouraging. "How does it differ from existing warding spells?"
Severus' eyes brightened at the question, and he launched into a detailed explanation, describing the layers of complexity he had built into the spell. "The charm operates on multiple levels," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "It begins with a basic ward, one that any skilled wizard might recognize. But beneath that are additional layers, each one more complex and subtle. The final layer is almost sentient, adapting to any attempt to breach it and responding with counter-spells that vary depending on the nature of the threat."
Voldemort listened intently, his expression one of genuine fascination. "Remarkable," he said when Severus had finished. "You have a gift, Severus. Such ingenuity is rare indeed."
Severus felt a warmth spread through him at the praise. He had spent countless hours perfecting the charm, driven by a desire to create something truly unique. The fact that the Dark Lord himself appreciated his work meant more to him than he could express. It was a validation of his talents, a recognition of his worth.
As the conversation continued, Voldemort subtly shifted the topic to more personal matters. He asked about Severus' time at Hogwarts, about his interactions with the Marauders and the teachers who had failed to protect him. After much convincing, Severus spoke candidly, the bitterness and pain of those years still fresh in his mind. He described the relentless bullying, the humiliations, the sense of isolation.
Voldemort listened with an air of sympathy, his eyes narrowing with feigned outrage. "It is a travesty," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Those who tormented you will pay for their actions, Severus. I promise you that. No one who has wronged you will escape retribution."
The words struck a chord deep within Severus. He had harboured a burning desire for revenge for so long, but had never had the power or means to achieve it. Now, with the Dark Lord's support, he felt that he finally had the opportunity to settle those old scores. The promise of retribution was a powerful motivator, one that Voldemort knew would keep Severus firmly in his grasp. "Thank you, my Lord," Severus said, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and determination. "I will do whatever it takes to serve you and our cause."
Voldemort nodded, his expression one of approval. "I know you will, Severus. You have already proven your loyalty and your worth. Continue to innovate, to push the boundaries of magic, and you will be rewarded. Together, we will achieve greatness."