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A soft laugh escaped the Dark Lord’s throat.
One pale, knuckled finger tapped Jiang Fengyue lightly on the nose.
“Stand up, lead serpent of Slytherin.”
Stand up.
Jiang Fengyue rose obediently and took his place behind the Dark Lord, like a blade beside the throne.
He lowered his eyes slightly, a faint flicker of amusement passing through his gaze.
That finger, which held the power of life and death over countless people, had tapped his nose with casual intimacy.
He understood what lay beneath those words.
The Dark Lord was giving.
Showing this trace of difference.
It had not been wasted, all these days of careful probing, of casting stones to test the water.
Voldemort’s gaze shifted away from him, dropping to the figure huddled into a shadow on the floor.
His eyes held the indifference of someone looking at something that only existed at his sufferance.
“Go fetch the boomslang skin,” the Dark Lord said flatly.
“Then go back.”
The moment he spoke, Snape hunched even lower, as if trying to sink into the floorboards.
Jiang Fengyue’s lashes fluttered faintly.
Voldemort, an absolute tyrant who ruled through terror, considered fear far more reliable than any honeyed words.
The handsome face and winning charm that had once helped him build his kingdom were long gone.
The Dark Lord who now held absolute power regarded all life with indifference.
He only cared whether his tools were sharp enough to use.
And yet, faced with that cold indifference, Jiang Fengyue exhaled quietly.
He knew.
The Dark Lord had agreed.
He bowed with elegant economy, crossed to Snape, and steadied him with one hand so the boy wouldn’t stumble disgracefully.
He picked up the Dreamless Sleep potion from the cabinet in passing and led him out the door.
Snape tried to walk on unsteady legs, and immediately felt a firm hand press down on his shoulder.
He turned back, pale-faced.
The platinum-haired youth was smiling at him.
“So, Snape.
Why did you come looking for me in the middle of the night?”
“Selwyn in my dormitory.” Snape nodded jerkily, as if finally pulling himself together.
“Witt Selwyn.
He’s been asking around about you for the past two days.
He found out somehow that you and I are connected.
He questioned me again today.
I said nothing.
Then he went out in the middle of the night.”
Snape’s words came out uneven, disordered.
“When he came back, I smelled the owlery on him.”
His instincts had told him something was wrong.
He had come straight here to say so, but Jiang Fengyue wasn’t in his room, so he could only wait at the door.
Selwyn.
Jiang Fengyue nodded slowly, patted Snape’s back once in reassurance, and tucked the potion and the key into the boy’s robe pocket.
He said softly, “Go back.
Nothing is going to happen.”
Snape gave a stiff nod, and then Jiang Fengyue pulled him into an embrace.
His breath caught.
He felt warm air against his neck.
That quiet, steadying voice settled beside his ear.
“Don’t be afraid, Severus.” Jiang Fengyue patted his back gently.
“You know I’ll protect you.
In Slytherin right now, you’re the one I trust most.” Snape stared at him, struck silent.
“Call me Lucius, Severus.”
He let go, gave a small wave, and watched Snape walk away looking like a man moving through a dream.
Then he turned and went back inside, and stopped.
The Dark Lord, who had been seated, had lifted his hand.
He was examining something.
Jiang Fengyue looked closer.
A small black snake lay docile in the Dark Lord’s grip, pinched just below the head at its vital point, its dangling tail tip too afraid to twitch.
The Dark Lord didn’t lift his eyes.
He rubbed the little snake’s head with unhurried interest.
“Is this your snake?”
“I transfigured it during Transfiguration class.” Jiang Fengyue walked over quickly, eyes dropping to the snake in Voldemort’s hand.
The thing had started as a feather and ended up with a pair of scarlet eyes.
He had been foolish enough not to undo the spell, and had brought it back to his dormitory on a whim.
“What did it do — crawl out and offend you?”
The Dark Lord studied the little snake’s head for a moment, then said, “The eyes are rather pleasing.”
Jiang Fengyue paused.
He looked at Voldemort’s face — that sharp, handsome face — and the deep scarlet of those slit pupils, swirling with dim light.
“You like snakes?” the Dark Lord asked, almost idly.
“A snake this small is no use to you.”
Jiang Fengyue’s mouth curved.
“The greatest power in this world is right in front of me, my lord.”
The Dark Lord laughed, low in his throat.
His vein-mapped hand tensed slightly, and the magically-formed snake snapped back into a clean white feather.
Then an irresistible force seized him.
Jiang Fengyue’s vision flipped.
The dark green carpet and the amber candlelight wheeled and blurred.
He was pressed down into the armchair, a short, involuntary grunt leaving him before he could stop it.
The Dark Lord, who had been sitting a moment ago, now had him completely pinned.
That cold, sharp presence poured into his senses.
The chair dug into his waist.
Jiang Fengyue looked up through the pain.
Those scarlet vertical pupils filled everything.
He was fully grown now, and he could still feel the condescending madness looking down from behind those eyes.
Then a conquering, consuming bite arrived.
For one instant, the world stopped.
He felt nothing except what was happening to his lips.
Voldemort’s lips were as cold as the rest of him.
That sharp, cold presence surged through his mind like something that had been waiting to break loose.
Jiang Fengyue stared up into those scarlet pupils, they never closed, and a breathless, almost laughing sound escaped his throat.
His fingers tightened on the man’s collar.
Only the madness existed.
It trembled somewhere deep and bloomed there.
Breathing stopped making sense.
HISS!
Something grazed his waist.
His shirt was brushed up.
He had assumed it was Voldemort, but then a rough, hard texture pressed against his bare ankle without any warning at all.
Jiang Fengyue’s eyes snapped open.
He wrenched back from Voldemort’s hold.
The Dark Lord, displeased, pressed a hand to the back of his neck to pull him in again, and caught a raised hand blocking him.
“My lord.
Wait.”
Jiang Fengyue looked down.
A dark green serpent’s tail was looped loosely around his waist, and the massive body it belonged to was draped lazily beside his ankle.
He had seen this snake before.
It had crushed him until he bled.
“That’s Nagini.
You’ve met.” The Dark Lord exhaled a quiet laugh.
Pale fingers found the shell of his ear and kneaded it with idle possessiveness.
He began to lean back in, and a hand pressed flat against his chest.
“Nagini.” Jiang Fengyue blinked.
“How is she here?
Was she in the Black Lake?”
“No.” Voldemort’s voice was low and rough, threaded through with amusement.
“I found her a playmate.”
Nagini hissed twice.
Her head swiveled toward Jiang Fengyue.
She lifted it, forked tongue flickering in and out in silence, as if she was considering coming closer.
Jiang Fengyue looked from her head to the tail still loosely circling his waist.
Loosely.
Not gripping.
A laugh slipped out of him.
He greeted her with perfect politeness.
“Long time no see, Miss Nagini.”
“Hiss hiss.” The tip of her tail shifted, brushing against the inside of his arm.
The skin there tingled.
Jiang Fengyue instinctively pulled back, then thought better of it, and reached out one finger to touch her tail lightly, a reasonable gesture of goodwill.
Above him, the Dark Lord lowered his head.
Those scarlet pupils fixed on Nagini.
A low, fluid hissing sound came from his mouth.
Nagini dipped her head.
Her tail tip lingered against Jiang Fengyue’s waist one reluctant moment longer, then she uncoiled, climbed the wardrobe, and settled there.
Jiang Fengyue was still finding the whole picture faintly ridiculous when his chin was caught and lifted.
The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and held him there, studying him, long enough that it actually began to hurt.
Then, with deliberate ease, he released him, turned, and walked into the prefect’s bathroom.
➤ Next: The House Banner