A Son for the Dark Lord

by: Serenthia

Chapter 1: Drisella Snape

Leaning back in his throne-like chair, Voldemort surveyed the woman that he had sent for. She was sitting in a dark leather armchair, her face hidden behind a mass of filthy, black, greasy hair. The hands that rested on the arms of the chair were black with grime, dirt, and potion ingredients. Even her robes were filthy and she reeked.

Voldemort rarely ever called Drisella Snape to him. She was useful, very useful, knowing more about the Dark Arts than even Voldemort had managed to learn, but she had one serious character flaw. She was completely out of her mind.

"Ickle sonny wants food!" she sang, she never talked, she sang.

Voldemort reached a hand out to snag some moldy cheese from a plate on the table by him and handed it to Drisella. She took it with a chuckle and reached under the table to give it to her son.

The boy was why Voldemort had called her in. Drisella had done what no human had ever done before, she had paired with a Dementor and produced a child. Disgusting as the thought was, the child was the first half-dementor in existence and Voldemort was determined to raise such a dark creature.

"I know who the boy's father is," Voldemort said softly.

Drisella's dark brown eyes flickered to the only source of light in the room, a fire in the fireplace, and then to Voldemort, a grin on her face.

"You know!" she half-sang, half-laughed. "You only one! Daddy comes to see ickle sonny many times. Ickle sonny loves his Daddy."

"May I see the boy," Voldemort asked, never having gotten the privilege.

He had just found out several months ago that Drisella had had a child six years ago. The woman was good at keeping her secrets.

Drisella waved to the fire with a greasy hand. "Hates light! Hurts eyes! Ickle sonny is fragile!"

Voldemort sent a spell at the fire and it went out. Needing to see, he sent a round white ball to the ceiling that cast a very dim and silvery light on everything. It didn't hurt the eyes any.

"Ickle sonny!" Drisella called. "Come!"

The boy crawled out from underneath the table. He looked like Drisella. Black, matted, greasy hair that went to his hips, robes that looked like they had never been off him, and dirty swallow skin. He crawled into his mother's lap and clung to her robes, glaring at Voldemort over his shoulder with cold beady black eyes.

He looked human enough to pass for one, albeit a nasty looking one. Perfect. That would suit Voldemort's purpose even better.

"What's his name?" Voldemort asked, curiously.

"Ickle sonny has no name," Drisella said. "He will name self."

"Can he talk?" Voldemort asked, reaching a hand out to touch the boy's hand.

His skin was thick and rough underneath the dirt and grease. The boy didn't seem to mind Voldemort touching him.

"Not yet!" Drisella laughed. "He is six and no talk!"

"I'd like to keep him," Voldemort said.

Drisella snatched her son's hand away from Voldemort as she held him close to her body. "No! My son! No! No! No!"

"You can have others," Voldemort hissed. "I want this one."

Drisella's eyes narrowed underneath her hair. "You kill me if I refuse, yes?" she hissed, her voice no longer singing.

Voldemort felt a chill run up and down his spine. She had never not sang in his presence.

"Yes, I will," Voldemort told her. "I have people waiting to do so. Either give me the boy or you won't make it out of here alive. And he might get killed in the fight," Voldemort added as several people stepped out of hidden places, their wands pointed at Drisella.

"Take boy," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Voldemort reached out and picked the boy up. He was surprisingly light, but he looked like he ate enough. Voldemort quickly existed the room, not wanting his prize to get hurt in the upcoming fight, for Voldemort, despite Drisella's usefulness, wanted her dead. She would never rest until she got her boy back from him.

"Bath first," Voldemort decided, wrinkling his nose at the horrible odor coming from the child as he heard the first screams of the fight.

The boy was absolutely filthy, his entire body black with grease, grime, bits of insects and potion ingredients. Voldemort chopped the boy's hair off at the shoulder, unable to untangle it. The boy was humming to himself, not seeming to care what Voldemort was doing to him, or that he would never see his mother again. Then again, the boy seemed to be barely with it.

"I shall name you..." Voldemort thought of suitable names as the boy sat in the tub, looking severely at the water faucet, poking at it with a finger.

"Severus!" Voldemort said. It fit.

Four baths later, when Severus was finally clean, Voldemort let him stay in the bath. He sort of seemed to be enjoying himself. Severus wasn't smiling or laughing but he seemed content as he moved his arms around in the water, watching the patterns he created.

The door banged opened and a man limped in, blood pouring out of a gash in his head. "She got away," he wheezed. "She had a two knives, two wands, knew Muggle martial arts and her clothing repelled our curses, even Avada Kedavra! Which isn't supposed to be able to happen!"

Voldemort had half expected Drisella to get away. "Very well. We shall break camp, everyone scatter tonight before she can come back with help. I'll contact everyone later."

"All this for a child!" the man spat.

Voldemort looked at the blank face of the little boy. "Oh yes. If it all works out, the first child of an army I shall create."

The man spat again and hurried away to attend to his wounds. Voldemort was going to have to work on his discipline when he had the time.

"Severus," Voldemort said, grabbing a towel, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear this this towel until I have the time to get some robes for you."

He wrapped Severus up in the towel as he pulled him out of the water. The child started to hum again. Voldemort dissapparated and apparated several times until he landed back in merry old England.

"It's time to get serious," Voldemort laughed as he hugged the boy closer to him and surveyed the countryside around the small hill he was standing on. "My Death Eaters should have been busy during my vacation. Let's go see what they have done," he told the sleeping child.

He wouldn't tell any of them he was back yet, he wanted to see how well they did his biding when they thought he was away.

"When the cat is away the mice will play," Voldemort informed Severus.

Severus moved a bit in his sleep, probably chilly, he was still only wearing a towel. Voldemort apparated into a wizard clothing shop for children and grabbed a handful of the darkest robes he could find. Severus was too somber to wear the bright colors that must children preferred.

His apparating had trigged the alarm and a spell prevented Voldemort from dissapparted. Laughing at the pathetic spell, Voldemort broke it and left.

Severus sighed in his sleep.

Raising a half-dementor was going to be easy, Voldemort chuckled to himself as he tucked the boy into an extra bed in his isolated mansion.

The next morning, Voldemort found out how wrong he was.

Coming up

Chapter 2: Sev's first words