A consideration

To my beta Star, a truly wonderful person

AUTHOR: Flyingskull
SOURCE: J. Rowling's Harry Potter series
ARCHIVE: Do not archive elsewhere, please.
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: Don't own Rowling's characters, obviously she owns them. I do this purely for fun, not for filthy lucre.
FEEDBACK: Oh yes, please, I'll be very, very grateful. *smiles winningly*
NOTE: This is mostly a long conversation between Voldemort and Snape at an undisclosed point in the saga. If you expect physical action, you'll be disappointed; on the mental plane, however there'll be no lack of twists, turns and duellings of two masterminds. This is things seen from the Dark Side, in tight Voldemort POV, so don't expect our heroes to be seen in the usual light. It is my hope that it may offer food for thought, though. Rated R because it's definitely not a children story.

Lord Voldemort was coiled in his high-backed chair in what he secretly delighted to call the playroom and his underlings called the headquarters. Snape was kneeling before him with a curious mix of wariness and boredom barely to be seen in the downward curve of his mouth. Voldemort smiled; time to play, he thought.

"Peter, bring a chair for Snape," he said. "The rest of you, leave."

Pettigrew obeyed, seething in silence, and took his accustomed place at the left of the Dark Lord's throne.

Voldemort's smile widened. "No, Wormtail," he said, caressing the insulting nickname, "leave and see we are not disturbed." He watched with interest the blood flow and ebb on his servant's face, noting with glee how stiff his departing bow was, how different from the usual fawning scrape, and waited for the doors to close before waving Snape to the chair.

"So, Snape," he hissed, lingering on purpose on the sibilants, "would you betray me? No, no," he added quickly, "no lies. Think, my Snape. You are awovedly capable of betrayal. You do say you're betraying Dumbledore and all the Side of Light." His smile became positively predatory and triangular. "The Side of Light," he repeated, savouring the words. "See? I offer all respect to it. So, if you can betray them for me, why not betray me for them? Could you? Have I given you enough time to decide whether the truth or a lie would serve you better?"

"I may," Snape's bitter voice was cold, his eyes unfathomable.

"And so you may," Voldemort approved, leaning back.

"You seem satisfied by it, Lord." Snape's careful voice gave away nothing, not even curiosity.

"It is always a pleasure," the Dark Lord said, affably, "to have one's reading of a character proved. You are hard to read, my Snape, all schooled face and eyes and a mastery of Occlumency. You'll lie like a prostitute, if you can see the usefulness of it, but now..." he stopped abruptly and let it hag in the air.

Snape said nothing. He waited, still as a stone.

"Will you let my words wash over you like a rock in a wild river? Is this wise, my Snape?"

"What would be wise, then, Lord?"

"Share your thoughts, I'm in a pensive mood and would discuss betrayal with you."

"A discussion, Lord, would presuppose the possibility of a disagreement between the parties," the Potion Master said, carefully. "I would not willingly risk your displeasure."

"And yet you do," Voldemort pointed out. "I could Crucio you right now for your rebellious words."

"You could, Lord," Snape said quietly, almost to himself. "You could do it for a whim, or for the pleasure of it."

"Shall I, then? You admit your words were rebellious?"

"They were not in intent, Lord, unless you choose to read them so."

"Are you on my side?" Voldemort asked abruptly, leaning forward once again, red eyes fixed on the still figure before him.

"I serve you, Lord."

Voldemort laughed. It was a contorted sound, but it was born of genuine amusement. "See how ably you turn my question!" he laughed and, for a moment, he seemed almost human again. "I won't ask you again, my Snape," he added, traces of amusement lingering in his voice. "Keep your secret, but share your thoughts. Let's pretend we're old friends discussing philosophy after a hearty meal. I give you full liberty of expression."

"Thank you, Lord." Snape said.

"How diplomatic." The sneer was back in the monster's voice, but his eyes were now looking inward. "I'll make it easier for you, then. Do you think I trust Wormtail?"

"He's your most faithful servant."

"He's a self-serving pathetic blob of pus," Voldemort said, matter of factly, "a born lackey. He betrayed his best friends because they didn't love him anymore. No, because he must have suddenly realised they never gave a toss for him, his company and his fawning. He's a little cowardly sadist. Do you believe that makes him dear to me?"

"No," Snape had recovered a little from the shock and his voice now sounded like someone testing water before the plunge. "No, I don't believe so."

"You believe I hold no-one dear, in fact," Voldemort said, "but you are wrong. In my own way I hold you dear. Oh, and Lucius, but for entirely different reasons. I simply use little cowardly sadists. It is my pleasure to lie to them by offering meaningless privileges, but I despise them because, in the end, what they want is to be loved. Pettigrew sells his services like a whore and expects to be paid with affection and trust. How contemptible!"

"To wish for affection is contemptible?"

Voldemort opened his mouth and closed it again, arrested. Now you want to play as well? I thought you were a harder nut to crack, my Snape. Or is it possible you're playing an entirely different game? How fascinating, he thought, boredom sloughing off him like an old skin.

"I learned to do without," he said. "You learned to do without. There is strength in wanting, weakness in wishing. I don't trust you, my Snape, but I respect your strength. I could go so far as to admit I respect you," he added and watched avidly for the flickers of reaction in the wizard's face.

"Is there anyone you trust, then, Lord? Malfoy?"

Ah, now you're steering this conversation away from you! But I'll enlighten you and why not? We have time and the game may yet surprise you.

"Not at all," he said. "Lucius is a politician born and bred. There's something faintly endearing in his overwhelming ambition to the be the power behind the throne. One may be pardoned for making the mistake of thinking he knows his limits, but he does not. He was simply taught that an éminence grise will be shielded from public opprobrium and, if the worst comes to worst, he'll wiggle out of his responsibilities and come out smelling of lilies. Politician."

"I see, "Snape said, "but that should ensure he'll never think of betraying you. Politician or not, he shares your ideas about muggles and muggle-born wizards and witches."

"Mudblood sits too heavy on your tongue?"

"Not at all," said Snape, putting a suspicion to the touch, "but it's rather childish, Lord. I have outgrown it. To me, 'muggle' is insult enough."

Voldemort was surprised into another laugh. "Let's not be childish, by all means," he said. "Lucius may share my ideas, but to him I am but a mean to his ends. He'll do his utmost to bring me to power and then he'll do his utmost to see that the power I hold will be passed on to him, or his child. His absolute devotion to the family name is so passé! It's amusing to see how it blinds him. He can't perceive that it'll be his downfall. That brat of his..." he pretended to search his memory for the name and waited.

"Draco," Snape said, dryly.

"Of course!" Voldemort smirked. "The child is a pupil of yours. Your favourite, I'm told?"

"He's good at potions. Or better, he would be if he didn't lose so much time and energy playing pranks on his... enemies."

"Potter and his lackeys, yes. Arrogance and spite will be the downfall of the Malfoys. The boy lacks discipline." Voldemort dismissed the boy with a wave of his hand. "But that doesn't matter, he doesn't matter. What matters, my Snape," Voldemort's voice became icy, "is that he'll do as he's told. For all the wrong reasons, but that's immaterial. He'll break for it and be destroyed. And that... that, my Snape, is how my pretty Lucius will get his comeuppance. No heir, no family name to elevate to glory."

"And I would betray you why?" Snape asked. "In your estimation, I mean, Lord."

So this is the tune that will make you dance, my Snape? The boy? I wonder what has prompted this affection… no, too soon. Let's prod this other sore, first.

"For justice," Voldemort said, calmly. "Injustice pushed you to me and justice may yet push you to them. Oh, I know how much you hate Potter, the bully's son. Not half as much as you hated the Side of Light when you discovered there was no justice in it, though. You could have let matters rest, if your tormentors and would-be killers had been adequately punished for it, but they weren't, were they? Injustice made you hate, and hate made you bitter and finally a stone. You came to me to have justice. Are you surprised that I understand the concept, my Snape?"

"Yes, Lord," Snape said. No use in lying when the truth was plain on his face, for once. "I foolishly thought you were all for revenge."

"But what is justice if not revenge?" Voldemort asked. "Society's revenge on the enemies of society, those who would disrupt it into anarchy?"

"Yes, Lord," Snape said slowly, clearly organising his thoughts, "but discriminating, disciplined revenge. Society must find the guilty, make sure of their guilt, and then punish them according to their actions. Thus is revenge made justice."

"And justice is what I apply against society itself," Voldemort said quietly. "Society is guilty of all manners of crimes and I intend to punish it according to its actions. I have sure proofs of its guilt," he added with sudden intensity. "I have sure proofs, the surest that wizard or man can have." His eyes blazed in response to Snape’s flicker of reaction. "Pay attention," he said sharply. "Men is what they call themselves and man I called myself until I was told I was a wizard, far superior to mere men, but far superior than mere wizards because I was forged by men’s society at its most guilty."

"So you yourself are the proof of society’s guilt... and there are others, a well?"

"You were paying attention, then, my Snape," Voldemort said, relaxing. "Yes, I am one proof of many. You are another and so is your protegé. But Harry Potter is the surest proof any judge would need, don’t you think?"

"Lord..."

"I made the worst mistake of my life with the Potter boy. Am I shocking you? Again?"

"Yes, Lord," Snape said, resigned.

"You shield yourself too much against me," the Dark Lord said, smugly. "You prepare against Legilmens and Crucio, and forget I have a brain and intelligence. Give me your thoughts freely on this philosophical matter. We are poised on the brink of great happenings and we will both benefit by pondering on the causes and effects of them."

Snape seemed to have reached a decision. "Let us ponder, then, Lord," he said. "What was your mistake? Trying to kill him?"

Now the gloves are off, and now you tire of deviousness. You put my profession of amity to the test. So brave... and so clever. So exactly where I wanted you.

"Yes, but not as you conceive of it," Voldemort's voice was like silk, cool and smooth. "I should have taken the boy and brought him up as mine. I should have made him mine. Now he's Dumbledore's weapon against me, but I could have made him my weapon against him. I underestimated Dumbledore's understanding of what makes a truly powerful wizard, if not his ruthlessness."

"I do not understand, Lord."

"Don't you?" Voldemort asked, irony curling around his words like a snake. "Then it's clearly my duty to illuminate you. What makes a wizard truly powerful?"

"Power is innate, Lord." Snape said, not quite testily.

"Oh yes," the Dark Lord said, amused. "But few can fully tap into it. Too many lack the motivation to do so. And that motivation, my Snape, is rage. Not anger that can flare and abate," he explained slowly, savouring the words, "not fury that ebbs and leaves one trembling in weakness. Rage that never stops and is fuelled by its own explosions. Rage that's born in injustice, nurtured in pain and humiliation, fed by the absence of love or care. Rage that consumes and tempers souls, that makes them steel, harder than diamonds and more supple than water. Rage that will push all of a wizard so hard and relentlessly that there is no other recourse but to tap into the power and use it."

There was a silence, thick with emotions unexpressed. For the first time, Snape seemed less unsure as he looked into his lord's red eyes. "I, too, live that rage, Lord," he said softly.

Voldemort recollected himself with some difficulty. What a worthy opponent you are, my Snape. That was too near the bone, your passivity serves you well, I said too much. "Maybe," he said, dismissively. "What matters is that young Potter lives it and it has made him very powerful."

"He did beat you at fourteen, Lord," Snape said dryly.

"Touché," Voldemort said without rancour. "You're right, he did. Isn't Dumbledore the perfect craftsman? By the careful application of abuse and adoration he's created a perfect weapon for his use."

"I see, Lord."

You have thought that already, haven't you? It's rather obvious, after all. And now to the core of the thing, now that you've relaxed a little your perfect control.

"So now think of that everlasting rage turned against you, if the Light should win," Voldemort whispered. It was an obscenely intimate sound in the dark silence and Snape couldn't help shuddering. "Do you delude yourself that betraying me to them will keep you safe, my Snape? The boy loathes you."

"I haven't...!" Snape started, as if from a dream.

"Oh, yes, you have, my Snape." The sibilants cut through the halting words like razors. "Do not deny it, I'm not angry at you for your betrayal. You're a Slytherin, my Snape, I expected nothing else." Voldemort bent toward the Potion Master and added, his voice caressing like a lover: "There was too much blood, too much pain, wasn't there? But my rage demands amends, my Snape. All who tortured me shall pay. All who spurned me shall pay... all but one. You."

At last Snape was openly confused, too shocked to think of his safety, maybe too tired of his life to care anymore. "How?" he asked.

Mine, Voldemort thought, gleefully. Done and undone. Now to push the hook in deeper. "Because you've had Potter in your hands for years, yet no harm came to him. I know you detest the boy, but you won't harm him. Why else than because you're spying for Dumbledore? Why else than because you've espoused the Cause of Light? All those children writing home about their school, all those parents dutifully repeating to me the hundreds of insignificant events that make up a tapestry of truth: how could you hope I wouldn't know what side you think you're really on?"

"Why don't you kill me, then, Lord?" Snape sounded resigned, but his eyes were once again hooded.

Voldemort smiled, brilliantly. "Because you're the nearest thing to a friend I have and the only one of my followers I respect," he said, simply.

Truth kills more than Avada Kedavra. Unexpected truth can win the day when expected lies would only bring defeat. I need you, my Snape, though it's better if you don't know that, and because I need you, I need to win you over. I have no use for retribution when I can use you, even more because you are a spy. Now is the time for the wasp of doubt to lay her eggs into your mind so they can eat it a little at a time.

"When the war is over and I have won, I won't remember your betrayal, if you keep serving me." Voldemort said. "When I rule, you will administer justice and sit at my right hand. Right now you are free not to participate in assaults, free to help your young protégé. I'm granting you real privileges, my Snape, I'm even granting you the freedom to spy for Dumbledore. You understand, of course, you won't be privy to my most important plans, but then, you haven't been for some time."

Voldemort grinned a death's head grin at Snape, whose face and eyes had returned to his customary impassibility.

"I was never motivated by fear or greed, Lord," Snape said quietly.

"No," Voldemort acknowledged easily. "But do you think justice will reign in Potter's hands, should he win this war and annihilate me? Is the boy just and fair now?"

"No," the Potion Master admitted sourly, "but he's very young and he may learn."

"How?" The Dark Lord asked. A hit! A hit! A palpable hit! "All he's been taught is arrogance, hatred and prejudice. Those who adore him and approve of his every word and act are Good, those who don't, are Evil. Is this justice? Will he remember that you never harmed him, that you protected him, that you were tortured for him, that you risked your life for him? Will he learn from you? No," he said abruptly. "Don't answer. What's the use of airing your hopes? You know as well as I do that's all they can be. Hopes, founded on nothing but dreams."

"As you wish, Lord."

"I wish you think about such things, my Snape," Voldemort said. "I wish you think of the fate of your Slytherins in Potter's hands, should he win; to think of the fate of young Malfoy; to think of the fate of the world. Is a young tyrant better or worse than an old political one? Think about it. It's all I ask."

"I will, Lord," Snape said.

Yes, you will, you can't help it now the seed is sown and the wasp has laid her lethal eggs. You can envision sacrificing yourself, maybe, you're brave enough for that; but allowing the ruin of all you hold dear should make you reconsider your options. Dumbledore is as good as dead, that weak boy is clever enough to allow Fenrir access to Hogwarts and Narcissa… If Bellatrix manages not to anger her, Narcissa will force you into helping, I'm sure. With Dumbledore dead, who can control Potter? You'll like what he'll do even less than you do now. You'll come back to me, my Snape. And this time I'll have your heart and soul. I never let what's mine go, you should know that, my Snape. Never.

"You can go, my Snape," Voldemort said softly. "It's been an interesting conversation, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Lord," Snape said. He got up and walked out of the room slowly, head bowed in thought.

THE END