-October 13 1991-
If Little One had been traumatized before, he was utterly shattered now. After Voldemort's breakdown (and dammit, Voldemort is a Dark Lord, but he's still entitled to mental breakdowns every now and then!) he refused to leave Little One's bedside. The Inferius was going to be asleep for a while, as Voldemort wanted him to get as much sleep as possible after the traumatic event, but Voldemort didn't want to risk leaving him alone.
This was the second attack against his son, in his own home and Voldemort would not stand for it.
After Little One woke up the next day, he turned into Voldemort's shadow. The child refused to be away from Voldemort---at all. Which made for some very uncomfortable bathroom breaks---and Nagini was a full-time babysitter. To be honest, Voldemort didn't mind it that much, as it made it much easier to keep an eye on the child. Voldemort knew that until the traitor was caught, everyone was going to be on high alert. The most recent attack against his son was brutal and horrifying, and it would look tame in comparison to what Voldemort was going to do to the traitor when he found him.
The most worrying thing, however, was the way Little One had completely drawn in on himself. Before the attack, Little One was incredibly shy, more so than usual, but he wasn't outright terrified of his Death Eaters. Now, however, the word terrified was an understatement. Little One was completely and utterly petrified of anyone wearing the traditional Death Eater garb.
Voldemort knew that it was probably because the traitor had been wearing a mask when he attacked Little One. The thought made Voldemort even angrier. It was like the traitor was mocking him by attacking his most precious disguised as his most faithful.
It had now been three days since the attack, and Little One had not given out a single flower in that time. Not even to Voldemort. It was terrifying. The persistent thoughts of what if he doesn't get better never left, and the thoughts were starting to seem more and more true with each passing day. All Voldemort wanted was for his son to get better and for the traitor to suffer for the next eternity. In that order.
Voldemort let out a regretful sigh. He slowly tidied up the mess of paperwork on his desk, meticulously arranging his things in the way he liked it. He then stood, the movement startling Little One out of his place in the armchair by the fire, and began to make his way towards the door. Little One tripped over his feet in his hasty attempt to match Voldemort's strides. Voldemort's eyes softened at the Inferius and leaned down to pull Little One up onto his feet. The child blinked at him before his hand reached out to grip the hem of Voldemort's robes.
Voldemort never thought he'd miss Little One's beaming smile as much as he did right now.
Voldemort made his way across the castle to his meeting hall, walking slower than normal so Little One could walk comfortably. Voldemort knew that it would be easier if he just carried Little One---and he really wanted to carry Little One. His child was safe in his arms. Nothing could hurt him while he was in Voldemort's arms. Nothing---but lately, Little One flinched if he was touched suddenly. Voldemort's chest always felt tight whenever it happened, so Voldemort made a point to ask Little One before he touched him.
When Voldemort entered his meeting hall, he walked elegantly to his throne. As he sat down, Little One moved to sit with crossed legs by the side of his throne. From this position, Little One had a good view of the door, and was still able to play idly with the hem of Voldemort's robe.
One by one, his Inner Circle entered. They all made their way towards their designated chairs, each of them standing in front of them, their heads bowed in a show of respect. The last to enter, Severus Snape, walked briskly to his chair, his hair smelling of potions. At his feet, Little One exhaled a soft breath of air before he stood and awkwardly climbed into Voldemort's lap.
Voldemort shifted so that Little One could burrow his face into Voldemort's chest. One hand came to rest on Little One's back, keeping the child from slipping, while the other rested on his throne regally.
"Sit, my followers," Voldemort commanded. His Inner Circle bowed before they sat in their respective chairs. "Lucius, report."
Lucius stood. "My Lord, there was no magical signature at the site of the attack. We've had no luck with tracking the traitor through that angle."
"And the other angles?" Voldemort asked, his eyes narrowing.
"The people in the Castle have shown no sign of discomfort," Lucius said, his tone hesitant as he took in the growing rage on Voldemort's face. "As you suggested, we did not inform them of Little One's attack, and no one has been acting out of character."
"Bellatrix." Voldemort said, turning his attention towards the mad woman. She lit up at the sound of her name, and she stood with excitement. "Have you fared better than Lucius?"
Her face pulled with a frown. "Oh My Lord!" she cried. "They scream and beg for mercy, but they don't say anything about a traitor!"
"Have you used legilimency?"
"Yes My Lord!" Bellatrix said, her curls bouncing wildly as she nodded her head vigorously. "None of the worms I've tortured know anything about a traitor."
Voldemort frowned, the hand holding Little One beginning to rub up and down his back in a soothing, mindless gesture. If none of the usual methods were working, it was time to get down to business.
Originally, Voldemort had intended to let the people who had been in his castle that night stew, and hopefully, the traitor would devolve from the constant anxiety of being caught. The traitor would crack and Voldemort could use him as an example and a way to weed out anymore unfaithful. It would take longer than any other method, but Voldemort was likely to find more spies this way.
But then the traitor attacked his son.
Now it was personal.
Feeling Little One cower in his robes, Voldemort made up his mind. It was time to get serious. If the traitor wanted a fight, then a fight he shall get. Voldemort's face hardened and he turned to face Severus.
"Severus." he said calmly. The potions master stood, his face bowing for a second before the deep onyx eyes came up to meet his.
"My Lord?"
"Has the Order contacted you recently?" he asked.
Severus blinked in obvious confusion at the subject change. "No, My Lord," he said. "I have not heard from them since Little One was returned."
"Do you think the attack on Little One was ordered?" Voldemort asked.
It was silent for a few seconds as Severus's eyebrows drew together in concentration. In his arms, Little One trembled. Voldemort ran his hand up and down his back in a comforting and possessive gesture.
"I don't believe so, My Lord," Severus said finally. "Had the Order orchestrated this, it would be an act of war."
"Indeed." Voldemort drawled. "The traitor clearly works for the Order. If the traitor went rogue, I will not decimate the Order and all it's resources. However if there is even the slightest inkling that the Order was in on this..."
The threat was left hanging in the air, but based on the uncomfortable shifts of his Inner Circle (and excited bouncing via Bellatrix) they got the picture. Voldemort smirked as his thoughts began to trail down a dark path of torture and retribution. He was going to make them pay for hurting his most cherished.
"Our methods are taking too long," Voldemort said, breaking the tense silence. "It is time to get more aggressive with our approach. Severus." Voldemort turned to face him once more.
"Yes, My Lord?"
"How long will it take to brew enough Versitarium to use on everyone in the castle?" he asked. Severus gave the slightest of twitches as the man thought.
"A week, My Lord," Severus said. "A week and a half if you intend to include the Inner Circle with the questioning."
Voldemort frowned. A lot could happen in a week and a half, but Voldemort wanted to be absolutely thorough. He had no doubt that everyone in his Inner Circle was faithful, but he wanted to appear fair for everyone else in the castle so as not to draw up unnecessary drama.
"A week and a half, then," Voldemort said with a dismissive wave of his free hand. "I want it done in that time and not a second more."
Severus bowed his head. "It shall be done, My Lord."
Voldemort smirked. "Perfect."
Soon, he thought, bringing his hand up to tousle Little One's black hair, the traitor will be caught and his precious will be avenged.
And Voldemort couldn't wait.
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.............
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This was bad.
Really bad.
If the Dark Lord tested him with the truth potion, all was lost. There would be no hope for Severus to live. There was no possible way that Severus could survive this. The Dark Lord may be more focused on the traitor that attacked Little One, but he didn't know that the traitor wasn't the one to kidnap Little One. This was going downhill so fast.
Severus growled in frustration, his hand coming up to pull at his greasy hair. Was there any way he could get out of this? Any at all?
Perhaps he could make a faulty batch---no, the Dark Lord would know he tampered with it instantly. Severus Snape does not make mistakes. Then perhaps he could have the antidote on hand? Carry a small bit with him so that when he was questioned, he could nullify the truth serum before it took effect---no, the Dark Lord would search his person for the potion. He was very thorough and with Little One on the line, the Dark Lord would not take any chances.
There was truly no hope, was there?
"So that's it, then?" Severus asked nobody, his eyes searching his empty potions lab for any sign. Anything to tell him that it wasn't over.
But there wasn't one. And Severus knew that it was over. There was simply no way to get around the Dark Lord's order without outing him as a spy, yet the Dark Lord's order would out him as a spy regardless.
Was this... was this karma?
Was he getting what he deserved? Severus had never been one to believe in such silly superstitions, yet as he sat here lamenting over his past choices, it seemed all too real. Severus had somehow managed to assist in the kidnapping of an innocent child---the child of his dead love, no less---and remain complicit while he was held captive against his will.
Severus had no part in the attack against Little One, had no idea anyone could be so cruel, yet somehow Severus felt guilty for that too. The traitor worked for Dumbledore, but could Dumbledore have really ordered a hit on Little One? That was the son of two of his followers! It just didn't make sense.
Nothing did.
Severus wished he knew who the traitor was, more so now than before. If he could somehow find out the identity of the traitor who attacked Little One, he could trade that information to the Dark Lord in exchange for his life.
Severus sat up, his eyes wide.
That... that could work!
Severus knew that that was a gamble, and there was a fifty/fifty chance that it wouldn't work. The Dark Lord was very erratic when it came to Little One and his safety. But Severus also knew that if he didn't, then he would have a one hundred percent chance of being murdered on the spot.
Severus preferred the former odds.
Hopefully Severus could get the traitor's identity. If he did, he could get revenge for Little One and possibly keep his life all at once. Killing two birds with one stone, as it were. Severus sighed, his face pulling into a sharp frown as he dragged his hands down his face.
Severus was exhausted.
Seeing Little One always made him exhausted. The child was afraid of him now. Severus should count himself lucky that the Inferius hadn't told the Dark Lord of his involvement---the proof being that he was still alive---but seeing Little One flinch away from him always made his chest grow tight.
When Severus entered the meeting today, Little One's face had paled dramatically at the sight of him, and Severus forced himself to remain indifferent as the child crawled into the Dark Lord's lap for comfort. Watching the toddler take comfort in the Dark Lord's arms whenever he was in the room was such a struggle.
More than once, Severus found himself wishing that he could go back and change things.
More than once, Severus felt the sharp pain of guilt as he looked into the traumatized emerald eyes of Lily's son. His only friend's son murdered and tortured, all for the sake of some war.
It made him sick.
Severus lifted his head up to stare at the ceiling before he slipped his eyes closed, using every ounce of willpower to stop the tears from flowing.
Oh Lily, forgive me.