Severus stood in the cold shadows of the Dark Lord's inner sanctum, every instinct screaming caution. He had come to plead a case, but he knew better than to expect mercy. Not here. Not from him.
"Such pretty words for a liar." The voice slithered through the room like silk over steel. Crimson lips curved near his cheek, and Severus shivered despite himself. "What punishment do you think fits a traitor?"
Severus' gaze remained steady, though his pulse drummed behind his ribs. He had nothing but his mind and his knowledge, a currency far too fragile to wager against the unpredictable whims of the darkest wizard of their age.
"I am… nothing if not honest in my loyalty to causes that matter," he said, voice smooth, measured. Every word was a step along a knife's edge. "And I believe—if you allow me—my service may yet prove useful."
Voldemort tilted his head, black eyes narrowing like twin knives. "Useful?" he hissed, amusement curling at the edges of his tone, a serpentine grin forming. "And why should I trust a traitor? Why not simply end your existence now and save myself the trouble of pretending you might serve me?"
Severus' lips curved, faintly, almost imperceptibly. "Because even traitors possess knowledge. And knowledge is power. I can give you more than you imagine—if you choose to listen instead of striking."
A silence fell. The Dark Lord's gaze drilled into him, cruel, sharp, calculating. Every second stretched into an eternity. Severus, for all his outward poise, felt the weight of the gamble he had undertaken. The Order might care, perhaps. Dumbledore… perhaps. But at this moment, he had no guarantees, no shield but his own wits.
Voldemort finally leaned back, fingers steepled, eyes glittering with a dangerous mixture of curiosity and contempt. "We shall see, Severus… we shall see."