A celebration for all. A victory for one.

[lord_mordre]

The Dark Lord sat on his throne, spidery fingers curled around the ends of the bone and ivory chair. He was particularly pleased with how things were progressing. Years of painstaking planning had finally paid off, and he had Severus, of all his followers to thank. And with Lucius in Azkaban and Draco so close to death's edge, he'd finally be

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[lord_mordre]

The Dark Lord smiled faintly at Severus, favouring his new second in command with a look akin to respect. The beaky oily-haired man was not much to look at, but he was powerful in ways most of his followers were not. A pity he could not require beauty for service. A legion of powerful and handsome followers would have made even his grandfather proud.

In many ways, Severus Snape was like him. Embittered. Envenomed. A taint to his blood. And it had been his teachings that made Severus the accomplished Occlumens he was today. He had been right to listen to Lucius's urgings so long ago. Perhaps Malfoy the elder wasn't a complete waste of skin. But that boy of his? That boy was dragon fodder.

He couldn't help but notice the way Fenrir was looking at the boy - feral-eyed and fangs aglint. If the boy disobeyed him again, made even the tiniest of mistakes, he would throw Lucius's only son and heir to the wolf.

The Dark Lord was so involved in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice Potter at his side. So simple minded and yet so fascinating. He had the sudden urge to run his fingers through that unkempt hair. Make his pet purr and hiss and claw.

Through mindspeak he commanded him. Sit, you simpleton. Lay your head in my lap. I have need to touch you.

And speaking of simple-minded fools, he thought, where in Seven Hells was Wormtail?

[prongs_by_proxy]

The cold washed over him again, and his knees buckled. He'd been right; the floor damaged James's knees.

He laid his head against Master's thigh, glad to avoid the stares, but despite his earlier wish the command did not soothe him. James had sat on many laps, mostly when the world had been oversized and the people huge, but he could find no memories of James kneeling so obsequiously, though once James had laid under a tree with his head in Lily's lap.

That would have to serve precedent, he decided, though he didn't suppose Master would take off his shirt later, or let him put James's hands up his robe.

He let his gaze drift out over the gathered servants, and found so many eyes watching him that he couldn't help but press against Master. Then he felt this was the wrong thing to do, for nothing in his memories hinted at this shyness.

James did not hide when people watched him.

He tried to straighten his shoulders, bent as they were to accommodate his head in Master's lap. He imagined James might like all these strangers watching his every move, and surely that was what Master intended, but he wished Master had given him more time. He was still clumsy with James's body, and he didn't want to make a mistake in front of such a large audience. Despite his resolution, he turned his head to Master's thigh again.

[stoppered_death]

Snape had attended many Dark Revels, though never before in such a favoured position. He was familiar with his Lord's and his colleagues' tastes in ...entertainment. He had had time to prepare, mentally as well as physically.

Nothing from wrestling Giants to mating thestrals would have earned the slightest flicker of reaction from him.

So when Snape's prowling stride - its smoothness calculated to make the most of his trailing overmantle and wing-wide sleeves - actually paused, and his usually-expressionless black eyes blinked and widened, these tiny reactions spoke volumes.

Potter? What the fuck?

A stare as focused as a black searchlight tracked the progress of the tousle-haired figure through the hall, cataloguing the marionette-clumsiness of its movements as it knelt by the Dark Lord, assessing the unhealthy hue of skin: even more pallid than Snape's own.

He hardly needed the Dark Lord's command: his curiosity alone would have drawn him closer. As it was, he hastened to approach his Lord's throne, not even sparing a sneer for Pettigrew as he moved.