Harry Potter 1. When Hell Froze Over Part One

Disclaimer: anyone you recognise is -not- mine, but the brainchild of J.K. Rowling and owned by her. This story was inspired by admiration for her tales. No money is derived from it, no copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Andolyn  
  
  
When Hell Froze Over  
  
  
  
It was cold, in Hell. Very, very cold.  
  
Just his damn luck.  
  
Severus Snape drew his cloak a little tighter round his lean frame. So much for not being corporal in the afterlife. And he was hungry, too.  
  
There was no nightfall here, only some odd greyish gloom, penetrating all.  
  
Dust. Rocks. An overcast sky and no stars. No shadows. Just the endless horizon and the cold.  
  
He wasn't even sure he was dead. Really completely dead and all. Sometimes he could hear voices, carried by the harsh cold wind in his back that never seized, trying to call him home. But they were gone when he turned.  
  
To hear Dumbledore cry- that had been the worst.  
  
This had to be hell. He was suffering from frostbite on the broken lips, his toes held no feeling and when he dared look, two of the fingers of his right hand were turning black.   
  
He should cut them off, really.  
  
But he had no knife.  
  
He had no nothing.  
  
There was nothing, not out here.  
  
Except for this freezing desert.   
  
And a little somewhat darker spec in the distance.  
  
A spec in the distance?  
  
Slightly to the left, so Snape changed course, somewhat. Even if it were the Devil himself awaiting him, he could not care less. Anything was better than this endless nothingness. At least he would find the reason -why- he was here. All those who cared for him had told him he -had- suffered enough. Had paid his due for past crimes. All his friends had told him that. Except for his own conscience. But that had never been a friend, now had it?  
  
Unbelievable, the spec grew! The spec became a wooden shack of planks, primitively hammered together. Where in hell had the person or persons unknown who built it found the wood?  
  
Where in Hell indeed.  
  
And there was a chimney- a brick -smoking- chimney! Warmth in Hell, how ironic. He knew there was a smirk on his face. The same smirk he had shown Voldemort at that last battle. Where he had given the Weasly boy time to escape and get Dumbledore and Harry and the whole heroic lot of them.  
  
Oh he had known it had been too late for him, he had known his wounds were mortal- Well, perhaps if Voldemort would not have picked him up to drag him back to the torture chamber, he might have lived- But that damnable bastard had been dragging him of as a kind of trophy, cackling like mad- snapping Severus's wand in two in his face- not checking if Snape had brought more than one fang into battle.  
  
One scratch with the deadly blade, no larger than his finger, had been enough- It had been his own brew, that poison, so he had known -exactly- how deadly it was.  
  
Instantly the creature had dropped him, fallen to his knees, realising far too late he had severely underestimated his Severus. That Severus had not been fighting to survive, but to get close. Close enough for his small blade to hit the mark.  
  
Just one small scratch.  
  
Voldemort had even died before him, Severus remembered. His last word pitifully unimportant.  
  
"Why?"  
  
The filthy light in those red eyes had gone out with one last blink- and Severus had heard the footsteps of the others- the shouts of still fighting Death Eaters- But it had been too late. Too late for them, lost without their master. Too late for him, without the strength to hold on.   
  
Of all the last sights he had hoped to see of the world, it had -not- been the concerned face of the Potter boy bending over him, while the redheaded Weasly kid kicked the monster's corpse.  
  
On the other hand, that had been somewhat amusing.  
  
Damn those boys. Damn them for falling into Voldemorts trap. Damn them for coming back for him. Damn Voldemort for setting it al up in the first place. Damn him to Hell!  
  
Dead on his feet, well he would be if he had not been dead already, and chilled to the bone, desperate for something, anything different from the grey monotone surrounding him, Severus knocked the door. It swung open. Snape stared up at the man inside, and with wide eyes stepped back, his mouth forming an unspoken -no-.  
  
Tall, skeletally thin, a hairless face whiter than a scull with livid, scarlet eyes and a nose as flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils, there he stood. Before Snape could turn and run, a spidery hand shot out, caught the front of his robes and pulled him inside.  
  
"Fancy meeting you here," said Voldemort. 


	2. When Hell Froze Over Part Two

Disclaimer: anyone you recognise is -not- mine, but the brainchild of J.K. Rowling and owned by her. This story was inspired by admiration for her tales. No money is derived from it, no copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Andolyn  
  
When Hell Froze Over, part two  
  
  
Before he knew it, Snape had been pushed down in a rickety chair, looking as if it came straight from some scrap heap. Too surprised, and quite frankly, too scared to utter a word, he sat like a rabbit caught in headlights. Voldemort looked down on him without expression, shrugged, turned, bolted the door and pocketed a key. Snape's eyes danced through the one room hut- it had no windows. Light came from a steadily burning hearth, a small black and dented cauldron hanging over it.  
  
Voldemort bowed over the kettle, stirred, took a small wooden bowl and filled it with a pale substance. He reached over to Snape.  
  
"Want some?"  
  
Snape pulled back as far as the chair would allow.  
  
"Oh for crying out loud, it's just a bowl of soup! Did you think I would -poison- you? And even if I could, what would you do? Die from it?"  
  
Snape, not one to show weakness for long, accepted the bowl with the hot fluid. It smelled vaguely after something he recognised.  
  
"I don't know- We're not supposed to be hungry either, now are we." Daringly, hungrily, he took a sip. The liquid tasted ghastly and he screwed up his face.  
  
"It is supposed to be chicken soup, but I do not believe that cauldron has ever seen more than two feathers."  
  
Snape coughed. "Where did you get it from. And since when did you became so domestic!"  
  
Voldemort sat down on the only other piece of furniture available, a squeaky bed with a thin mattress and something akin a blanket.   
  
"The -er, landlord, gave me -all- of this, including the soup." He made a sweeping gesture as if indicating a kingdom. "Haven't you met with her yet?"  
  
Snape looked a bit surprised over the edge of the bowl. As distasteful as the stuff was, it was warm and filled his growling stomach.  
  
"I was under the impression Hells Master was a 'him'."  
  
"When 'it' feels like it."  
  
"Well, -it- then, made you quite at home."  
  
"Yes, welcome to my castle. My own personal corner of Hell!" Voldemort said bitterly, with sagging shoulders giving the impression of a completely defeated man without hope.  
  
Snape looked at his hand and the two dying fingers. They didn't hurt anymore- he was surprised at the lack of smell. There should be some kind of stench.  
  
"I can't do anything about those," Voldemort said. "I have no magic here. There -is- no magic, here."  
  
Tiredly Snape looked up. "Why would you want to help me in the first place? I put you here."  
  
Voldemort shook his head.  
  
"No. I put myself here. To me, this place contains the worst torture imaginable. Look at me, Snape! I was ready to conquer the world and look at my empire now! A shaggy hut and some dust! I strove to conquer death- now look at me."  
  
Snape chuckled malevolently. "Oh how the mighty have fallen. Feel sorry for yourself, now don't we?"  
  
Voldemort shrugged.  
  
Snape put down the bowl at his feet and sat back, crossing his legs and tenting his fingers.  
  
"If this is -your- personal Hell, what am -I- doing here!"  
  
"My, my, there still is some fight left in you, now is there. Think of it, Severus. What would be the worst imaginable place, or company for that matter, -you- could spent eternity with!"  
  
Snape stared at the floor a moment. Again hearing the howling wind, voices riding it. Voices of people who had placed their trust in him, people who against all odds cared for him. The pain of hearing them vainly calling cutting through him.  
  
"I must admit, this -situation- here ranks high. But please, don't be so arrogant as to believe -you- are my worst nightmare!"   
  
"No?" Voldemort stood and started pacing, with slow, tired strides. Three steps to the right, three steps back, three steps to the right… He stopped and looked down at the other man.  
  
"My -landlord- told me he had some admiration for me, in how I handled my toys… How he might sent me some to treat as I wished. To amuse him with the results-"  
  
Snape tensed in the chair, unconsciously grabbing the armrests, ready to fight, to flee-  
  
But Voldemort stepped back, chuckling again.   
  
"Relax. You should have realised I have no power here. And I think physically we are about as strong right now- or weak, whichever way you please. I could not handle you, even if I wanted to."  
  
Snape pretended to relax. "Than why lock the door."  
  
"Because your first reaction at seeing me would not be to chat cosily and eat my soup, but to flee like a bat out of hell, figuratively speaking, that is. And you owe me an answer!"  
  
"I owe you nothing!"  
  
"You betrayed me!"  
  
"You killed me!"  
  
"Well, you killed me first, so we're even on that one."  
  
Not quite, thought a brooding Snape. He had used a very potent poison, mercifully quick. Voldemort's henchmen had nearly broken every bone in his body to prepare him for his death, and before that, the Cruciatus Curse had done it's work on him. More than once.  
  
"Ask your question," hissed Snape, more out of curiosity than anything else.  
  
"Why." Stated the still towering Voldemort.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Didn't you hear me?"  
  
"I heard you fine, I heard you the first time as well. Not exactly impressive, as last words go."  
  
"Why did you betray me, Severus."  
  
Snape looked up at the other wizard, stood and walked to the door.  
  
"Let me out of here."  
  
"I want an answer!"  
  
"Oh stop whining! You'll get it. Outside! I'm beginning to feel cramped!"  
  
"Now who's whining."  
  
"Sod off."  
  
Voldemort took the key and unlocked the door.  
  
"You know, this place is so shabby, one push of your shoulder and you would have flattened the door."  
  
Calmly Snape went outside. The cold hit him instantly, but he welcomed it this time. It cleared his mind. Even in Hell there appeared to be less foul places then others- It felt -better- outside.  
  
"I'm waiting, Severus."  
  
Snape turned.  
  
"When I was young, you promised me power! Acceptance."  
  
"I gave you power. I did accept you."  
  
"You gave me orders to kill harmless innocents. You made me a murderer!"  
  
Voldemort circled the smaller man, loomed over him so close his lips nearly touched his ear. Snape wanted to step away, create distance, but Voldemort took Snape's shoulders in his hands and prevented the escape from his nearness.   
  
"You desired it! Don't deny it! I have seen your face glow in the radiance of a home -you- set fire to. I saw the hatred you were allowed to set free when you murdered Aurors. You -enjoyed- the feeling of holding a life in your hands! I saw you strangle a man with your bare hands, Severus. I saw the glimmer in your eyes, the sneer on your lips- You needed it! You needed it, Severus."  
  
Snape trembled, but not with fear. Or even anger. He hated being so close to his nemesis, but he made no effort to free himself.  
  
"You made me into a monster! You told me I would gain knowledge I had never dreamt of!"  
  
"All my spell books were available to you. You were the most brilliant student I ever taught."  
  
"You needed my potions to prolong your existence! All you were ever interested in was how to prolong that miserable life of yours! You would have destroyed us all, in your relentless quest!"  
  
"You were mine, in those days." Voldemort's left hand slipped from Snape's shoulder to his left forearm and it touched the Dark Mark.  
  
"Mine!"  
  
Snape finally had had enough and shook himself free, stepped away a few paces before turning.  
  
"Yes, I admit I was!"  
  
Voldemort closed his eyes at the words, as if physically struck by them.  
  
"Then why?"  
  
"I told you why. Once I had realised what you were leading the Death Eaters into- what you were leading -me- in to! You would have made every Muggle a slave- You would have killed all the Mudbloods- And all the future Mudbloods. I realised what we were doing. I realised what I had become. I realised I did -not- want the blood of so many on my conscience!"  
  
"You resented the other wizards, what they had done to you, what they had made you -feel-."  
  
"My feelings were no excuse for my deeds."  
  
"When did you betray me, Severus. After I fell?"  
  
Proudly Snape raised himself. "I was Dumbledore's spy long before you attacked the Potters! Both my remorse -and- my loyalty to Dumbledore were -real-!"  
  
The red eyes glowed dangerously. "So, Lucius was right about you, all along."  
  
Snape crossed his arms and faced the deflated evil defiantly.  
  
"Than why did you take me back?"  
  
Voldemort shrugged. "You are a good liar, Severus. And a fair actor too. I believed you when you told me you had wiggled your way into Hogwarts to await my return. That you thought you'd be useful to -me- there."  
  
Snape smirked. "O come off it- you have always been a lot of things, but gullible was never one of them. My story was flimsy at best."  
  
"I believed you. I needed a potion brewer and you were always the best. I had a use for you. I thought you were -my- spy!"  
  
Severus smirked sceptically, but the wind brought the men a terrible panicked and horrified scream and saved Voldemort from giving a retort.  
  
"What was that!" asked Snape aghast.  
  
"My faithful Lucius, I wager."  
  
Snape's wide eyes unconsciously begged more of an explanation.  
  
"Shot down in full flight. Perhaps even by his own son, whom you turned quite nicely, I must say. Although it is more likely it were some resentful Aurors. The young Malfoy would not have cursed to kill."  
  
"Always nice to know your neighbours. I take it -his- personal hell is over there?"  
  
Voldemort nodded. "I believe it is almost a one day walk. His kingdom here consists of a dark pit, filled with snakes and bugs and scorpions. Did you know Lucius was actually afraid of -snakes-? Practically phobic. He's been thrown into that pit, you see. They eat him alive and when he is mere bone, he's lifted from the pit a few minutes. His flesh regrows itself. A painful process, I believe. First the organs return, muscles next, then the pulsing veins- I have never witnessed it tough, can't reach the place. Beyond my borders."  
  
Snape shook his head in disbelieve. "I do not understand."  
  
"What?"  
  
Snape answered hotly. "How is it possible that one of your followers, even if it -is- Lucius, is punished so much -harder- than you!"  
  
Voldemort shrugged again. "To each his own, Severus. His punishment is no worse than mine. You see, I cannot stop thinking. Not ever. What I had, and let slip. What will never be. I cannot stop thinking. I cannot forget. My torment is inside and I would welcome his pain. It would distract me from my mind- I have no fear of his vermin. Hell, I'd probably start -eating- them."  
  
It was too much. Just too damn much. Snape felt the last of his strength leaving him, his knees buckled and if Voldemort had not grabbed hold of him to drag him back into the shack, he probably would have fainted for the first time in both his life and death.  
  
But as it was, his former Lord and murderer aided him to the poor excuse of a bed and lay him upon it.  
  
"You are exhausted." Voldemort closed the door, but did not lock it. He hung the key from a nail in the wall, visible to Snape.  
  
"Take off your boots, try to get some sleep."  
  
Snape struggled to get up. "Are you out of your mind!"  
  
"For you to trust me I would not harm you while you slept? Again, Severus, think of it. What -is- the worst I could do to you, powerless as I am now. And what is the worst Hell you fear. Do they compare? If not, have some rest, you need it."  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes. "Why would you care? Why -do- you care!"  
  
For a moment, there was silence. Then, in a slow, measured voice the fallen Dark Lord answered.  
  
"Time works differently here. Have you not noticed? It seems to me as if I've been here for an eternity already. Even your company is welcome after such an ordeal."  
  
Snape stared back, a moment passed. He made a decision, sat up, took off his boots as Voldemort had suggested, pulled the thin blanket over himself and turned on his side to face the wall.  
  
Voldemort sat back on the rickety chair and waited until he was sure slow, regular breathing indicated sleep. He rose, walked over to the bed and almost gently pushed at Snape's shoulder, until the unconscious man turned on his back. He did not wake from his exhaustion.  
  
The tall creature touched the sleepers face, took the few strands of hair that had fallen over it and stoke them back.   
  
Voices came on the wind. Voices Voldemort had heard before. Voices calling for the sleeper, calling him back to the real world, taking him away. Snape's outline wavered, became thin. Voldemort stared at it, could already almost see through the disappearing form. In the end, he could not control himself and grabbed for the still form- but all he held was the abandoned blanket.  
  
Shivering, he brought the mottled cloth to his face, trying to find any trace of the sleeper- a lingering scent- but it too became vague, grey as the desert outside the shack before it in it's turn disappeared and only the empty world was left.  
  
Voldemort went through his knees, hunching low upon the dust, unseeing, unmoving. Undisturbed by the wind- or the footfalls that neared him. He did not turn to see- he knew who- or rather, what was looming over him.  
  
"Well?" a voice asked. Not quite male, not quite female. Coming from directly behind him, cold and clear, with an echo that rolled over the land and back to the spot where he sat. Voldemort cringed.  
  
"Why was he here! I thought this was no place for the living! Why was he punished like that!"  
  
"Concern? From you?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"That question seems rapidly evolving into a theme with you, now does it not?"  
  
"Has he died?"  
  
"Not yet. But he was close. Very close."  
  
"Why punish him with -this- place!"  
  
"Oh- but your little 'Death Eater' was not here for his own misdeeds and torment- he was here to add to yours."  
  
"He was mine- once."  
  
"And you let him slip away."  
  
"I could have kept him!"  
  
"And you would not have fallen."  
  
"I could have had him-"  
  
"He was very loyal, once- until you pushed him too far. You should have watched him more carefully. Paid more attention to his needs. You came close though. Nobody else had given him so much attention before. But you were blind to anything but your ambition to rule and persevere. And never realised that what is truly important in life. Pithy, is it not?"  
  
"He was mine- if I only…"  
  
"Yes, if you but only… And you will spent the rest of eternity regretting your decisions. I assure you, regret is the worst of pains, the most delicious of tortures."  
  
The voice faded somewhat. Without turning, the kneeling creature called out.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
"Oh well, desperation is a nice and close second. What now?"  
  
"Will he have to return here? Or will you let him be!"  
  
"Ah, concern again- how touching. Your little Death Eater has paid for his past misdeeds. Dearly, I might add. He will pay for them, the rest of his existence. Even if all those around him will tell him it is enough, he will not be able to forgive himself. He is quite out of my grasp, for now. He does not know, but he may count on a long and healthy life. So who knows, what seductions might come his way. He just might revisit you. But knowing those who surround him, I would not count on it, if I were you."  
  
The crouching figure seemed to sink in on itself a little more. The voices, all voices faded. He was alone- totally alone, with the grey dust, the wind, and the horizon.  
  
And the thoughts, of silken black hair brushed away by his fingers, and all that might have been. 


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Drama