Instead, he lowered his head, hoping it portrayed submissions and e\respect, but only expecting it to hide his fear and disgust. Whatever Voldemort read in the action caused him to chuckle, which in turn raised the hackled on Severus's neck. It was a horribly disturbing sound.

"My little Sssseverussss," it spoke in an awful hiss that passed itself off as a voice.

Forcing a a racking shudder under control, Severus only said, "Master." To say anything else, to allow the angry retort that waited on his tongue, would only invite pain or death, neather of which he was eager to embrace. As he told Madam Pomphrey, he was a quick learner, and this had been last week's lesson.

The grating chuckle repeated, followed shortly by a murmered spell he didn't recognize, and a curious thumping noise, as of somthing heavy being dropped. He stole a glance upwards to find the cause. A blood-red throne-like chair had appeared just behind Voldemort, and that white-skinned creature was lowering himself into it. By awful chance, his black gaze happened to met the eerie red orbs that substituted for eyes in that ugly face. Though every instinct told him to drop his gaze, to look away, Severus found that he could not.

"Come here," ordered the compelling hiss, and Severus was standing and two steps on his way before he was aware of moving. He still could not look away, either. This, he decided, did not bode well for his continued independence.

He managed to exert enough control over his own feet to stop a good three feet from the enthroned dark lord. A tight frown from bloodless lips gave him to understand that this was not satisfactory, so he took another step, then another, slightly smaller than the first. Each following step was minutely shorter, but they all brought him nearer. He was less than an arms length away when the creature finally nodded his permission to halt. It was far too close for comfort, and certainly close enough for the monster to see the beads of cold sweat on his forehead.

A hand, cold and rough, reached up to take his chin between thumb and forefinger. Severus tried to keep the defiance out of his expression, but he guessed, by the creature's next words, that he failed. "You don't like me, do you, my child?" Voldemort sounded somehow both reproachful and amused.

Severus had only managed to delay the shiver caused by the cold, inhuman touch, and it swept down his spine now. Unable, still, to look away, he feared the terror and horror in his eyes was all too clear for the thing in front of him. "That's not true, my lord," he denied, despite knowing the other would recognize it for the lie it was. He had tried, anyway. He wondered if Dubledore would give him posthumous points to Slytherin for the attempt.

In a disturbing parallel to his thoughts, Voldemort hissed, "That meddling fool Dumbledore hassss no doubt tried to turn you from your desssstiny."

You did that all by yourself, Severus didn't allow himself to retort. He wasn't quite ready for death yet. He wished the moster would let go of his face.

"I think it besssst to we keep you from hissss unwholessssome idealsss, don't you, Ssssseverussss?"

Not go back to Hogwarts? Panic filled him. He blurted the first excuse to come to mind, "B-but classes, sir!"

That unpleasant chuckle again. "Trussst me, dear boy, you will learn everything you need here." In his voice was the promise of far more knowledge that what was available to a second-year Hogwarts student. Enticing as the offer would have normally been, in inabilty to deny it sapped it of its appeal. At this moment in time, he would prefer Muggle Studies over Dark Arts. What a laugh James Potter would get out of that. Assuming, of course, that it didn't overturn the poor boy's view of the world and leave him shattered. Which was all to say, had James still been a living student.

The awful red gaze narrowed dangerously. "Yesss, I believe a long ssstay with me will benefit you greatly, my Sssseverusss."

Trapped. He had no idea where he was nor how to get back to Hogwarts even if he did. There was nowhere to run to. This possibility had never occurred to him. Death and torture, yes, but not pupilage and brainwashing. He was twelve. He was supposed to be in Hogwarts. Not even the Malfoys were brought into the Death Eaters this young. Not even the older, initiated students were allowed to leave Hogwarts before graduation.

Voldemort must have seen the the cornered rabbit look in his eyes, because he smiled cruelly. He used his thumb to push Severus's head distainfully to the side, breaking the eye contact. Finally released from the gaze, Severus closed his eyes, and lowered his head to ensure that it didn't happen again. If it happened to look like submission and defeat, well, Severus conceeded that it probably was.

"Pitiful child, you will learn your plassse." With his eyes closed, he had no warning of the sudden, strong, tug on his arm that made him stumble forward and fall. He heard a collective gasp come from the gathered Death Eaters that he had almost forgotten were still there. But they remained a distant, unimportant detail as he realized that he hadn't collapsed onto the ground. No, he just wasn't that lucky today.

Voldemort shifted under the sudden weight in his lap, but arms circled Severus, making escape impossible. Severus froze, not even daring to breath. Petrified. It meant 'scared stiff'. He never realized that it could be so literal. That simple fear could freeze him in place as surely as any petrifying charm. He was leaned forward, and his cheek fell against what could only be Voldemort's chest. He was surprised to hear a heartbeat.

His position was terribly uncomfortable, but he dared not move. After a few moments, the choice was again taken from him as his back began to complain loudly about its unnatural curves. Slowly and carefully, he resettled himself on the monster's lap, huddling like the frightened child he couldn't help but admit that he was. Again, the harsh chuckle, but this time it seem it surround him. He felt himself shaking.

That awful hand stroked through his hair in a horrible parody of a parent's comforting embrace. His shaking trebled, but instead of trying to pull away, he found himself burying his face into the monster's robes and sliding his own arms around the dark lord's waist. His mind screamed against this self-betrayal, but his subconscious needed whatever comfort offered itself. He felt Voldemort stiffen breifly in surprise. Ha! he thought triumphantly, taking the small victory where he could get it. But then the laugh came again. Severus was quickly growing to hate that sound.

"Who do you belong to now, my Ssseverussss?" It was definitely amused now. On the plus side, it didn't look like he was going to be killed in the very near future.

"You," Severus whispered into the robes. The most terrifying thing was that he didn't think he was lying anymore.

"Wormtail!" he felt the dark lord shift as he snapped his fingers imperiously. To his right, he heard someone squeak, and shuffle forward. "Take the boy to his rooms. Then we have business to see to."

Severus was lifted from the dark lord's lap by the wingardium leviosa charm, and set down beside a chubby, nervous looking man who set a hand on his shoulder and apperated them both away.

It was a dark and spartan room. One table, one unlit candle, one chair, one pot of ink, one piece of parchment, one bed, one window, one door. Breaking the one-theme, were three books, sitting atop each other on the table beside the parchment. Severus approached them and read their spines. Essential Curses, A Guide to Dark Potions, and Dark Rituals: the Basics. He was reaching out to touch one when a pop sounded from behind him.

Spinning around, he found that he was alone. He ran to the door, but it was locked. Pulling out his wand, which he had forgotten he'd had on him until it was in his hand, he tried the alohamora spell, but that just got absorbed. The window, too, would only open a few inches. Not nearly enough to escape. His eye fell on the ink and parchment.

A letter. But the parchment would be missed. A blank page, from one of the books, might not be, though. He flipped through them quickly, finding what he was looking for at the back of the Rituals book. Using a severing charm, he sliced it out neatly so it wouldn't be noticed, then he split that page across the middle. He might need to send another letter, and it would be best to have paper ready for it. He slid one of the halves under his mattress, and set the other on the table.

He unstoppered the ink, and tapped the feathered end of the quill against his lips as he considered what to say. Or even who to send it to. Dumbledore, he decided. He could get him out of here if anyone could. Now what to say. Something cryptic. Didn't want anyone intercepting it to know who it was from or what it was about. But Dumbledore would need to recognize it as his. Something short. Who knew if the level of ink was being monitored. Short, cryptic, to the point. Explain the problem. Details could be sent later when he understood more of what was going on.

Something that if Voldemort found out about, he couldn't get too upset over. He didn't know how or when he'd be able to send the thing. Someone had forgotten to provide him with a convient owl.

He looked at the door nervously. Who knew when they'd be back, either. Best think of something quickly. He dipped the quill into the ink, hoping inspiration would come. As his first stroke of luck for the day, it did. He grimaced and hastily scribbled out two words. Figure that out, Aurors, Death Eaters. Ha. Dumbledore would get it, though. He was sure of that. He put returned the quill and ink bottle to their original states and places, and blew on the two words to dry them. He folded the paper and secreted it away in a pocket of his robes. Unoriginal hiding place, but temporary.

His eye fell to the books. Essential Curses. His father had the same book. He vaguely recalled some fairly useful stuff mixed in with the simply horrific. Something about birds and a lesser form of Imperious . . . Voldemort wouldn't even be upset if he found out he'd used it recently. He might be curious about why, but that could be explained as practicing a new spell from the books so thoughtfully left for him. (Just how long had Voldemort been planning this?) The chirping was irritating me, Master, so I sent the annoying creature away. Would you show me how to do it to people . . . Away from the red eyes and given the opportunity to regroup his nerves, he realized he had handled the night's meeting all wrong.

He knew what to do now. One couldn't expect to learn how to be a proper spy without some trial and error. He'd made his errors, found his mistakes, and, most importantly, knew how to fix them. Fortunately, he hadn't been a total Gryffindor and completely fouled up.

He could probably even pick up some new curses and less-than-totally-legal skills in the meantime. This wasn't looking nearly as horrible as it originally appeared. It was all a matter of mind-set.

It was lunchtime at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore, Remus, and Harry were not in the Great Hall. Instead, they sat around the Headmaster's desk looking at each other, the floor, the worried-looking past Headmasters, or the office's other knick-knacks. Everywhere except the note lying open on the desk. The note with only two words scrawled in a shaky hand that only the Headmaster recognized as Severus's. The note with only two words that any of the room's occupants would have known came from him, regardless of the handwriting. The note that with only two words proved that they should have stopped the former spy from resuming the role for which he was so obviously inexperienced now.

Two words that made each of them feel sick and guilty. Two tiny little words that expressed so much. Capture. Defeat and despair. And maybe a silent plea for help.

I'm his.

"I should have stopped him," Remus said, not for the first time. "He would have listened."

Harry wasn't so sure. He had seen the fire in the black eyes whenever he spoke of his mission. In those moments, Harry could almost see the potions master in the young face. Stubborn. Determined. Angry.

"He made his own choice," the Headmaster said sadly.

Harry looked up, surprised by the anger he felt by the implications of this statement. "But he made the right choice this time! He was going to spy!"

Remus narrowed his eyes at this new turn of the conversation. He turned abruptly to the Headmaster. "Do we know that? He was a very good liar, as I recall."

This was too much. Harry looked to the Headmaster to straighten out the werewolf's misconception. But the Headmaster only sighed. "He seemed genuine."

Harry frowned. The Headmaster was supposed to trust Snape. That's what he had said last year after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. And that was the mean, greasy Snape who had voluntarily been marked. Severus's evil twin, as far as Harry was concerned. They weren't the same person at all. Severus was not like Snape. Not yet, anyway. "He was genuine!" Harry burst out, surprising them both.

"Harry, you didn't know him when he was young," Remus said gently. Harry thought he knew him quite well, thank you very much. He was polite, a little scared, a little scary, but good over all.

"A minute ago you were all but mourning his death! He trusted you, why can't you trust him?" That Severus had approached and talked to Remus at all, Harry thought, proved a lot in his favor.

Remus looked away, not in shame for his unfounded mistrust, but in sadness. "Severus is a survivor, Harry."

"What's that to do with anything?"

"Everything. He adapts." Remus tapped the note as proof.

I'm his. Something Harry thought Severus would never admit. The first doubts began to niggle against his belief, but he surpressed them forcefully. "Then why send the letter at all?"

"Warning? Taunt?"

Harry looked at the shakily written words and couldn't believe that. "Cry for help, more like."

A clearing throat reminded them that the Headmaster was still in the room, and they both turned toward the sound. "Ah, yes, the letter," Dumbledore said as if that question was the last thing spoken. "The first question we must ask is, did Voldemort know it was being sent?"

Remus and Harry exchanged baffled looks.

"At a guess, I'd say no, since the message is so short and hastily written," Dumbledore continued. "It also came by an ensorcelled sparrow rather than by owl. What does that tell us?"

What was this, a lecture? "Severus doesn't have access to owls, and didn't think Voldemort would approve of it," Harry answered, uncertainly. A plea for help fell neatly in that category. But so did a warning. "He also had at least a little alone time to find the paper, write the note, enspell a bird, and send it on its way. He's still got his wand." He realized suddenly. That didn't look good for his argument with Remus. By the frown on the DADA professor's face, he realized it, too, but wasn't any happier about it than Harry was.

"For five letters, it is a very informative note. What else does it tell us?"

"He's alive." That had been Harry's first relieved thought upon learning of it. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"He's with Voldemort," Remus answered. "At least physically, possibly by allegiance as well."

Harry gave his favorite professor a glare, though he was glad for the 'possibly's presence. "He's out of his league and needs help," he re-interpretted.

"He's surviving."

"He's drowning," Harry returned quickly, more to Remus than to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster nodded slowly. "I believe you are both correct."

Harry couldn't understand how. They were on opposite sides.

"I believe Severus will survive as long as he needs to. However, the sooner we get him out, the better off he and the rest of the wizarding world will be. I expect a rescue sooner rather than later will grate less on his temper."

Harry blinked, momentarily stunned out of his glare on Remus by the world's largest understatement.

Remus huffed a startled laugh. "That's one way of putting it."

"Where do we start?" Harry asked, glad to know a rescue was in the works.

Dumbledore frowned, ever so slightly. "First we must locate where he is."

"How?" Harry and Remus asked together. Remus continued, "He's with Voldemort who keeps Untracable charms around himself at all times."

"We will start with the sparrow and any leads the Aurors have, and work from there. With luck, Severus will write again with more details."