***

Metanoia: The Conversion of Severus Snape

Chapter 2: Conversations
Some important decisions are made by Snape.

Snape stared at the parchment on his desk as he twirled a quill absent-mindedly. He could not turn this down. He knew that. And yet… he was getting in over his head. Even the owl who had delivered the letter seemed haughty, not deigning to wait for a response or even a treat. He smiled wryly. Considering just whom Malfoy likely tended to correspond with, it would be prudent for the bird to decline any food that might be offered. Definitely, in over his head. “Would it be worse to decline… or to accept?” he asked the empty room. To decline would be to do nothing. To slam shut the door of opportunity that was being opened for him. But accepting was just as dangerous – maybe even more so. If he declined, he would only offend Malfoy. But if he accepted, he might offend any number of people. He had never done something like this, and it would show. He would likely make a fool of himself. “I mean, really,” he informed the room, “I haven’t the faintest idea what to wear.” He glowered at the offending note, then jabbed the quill into the ink well.

L. Malfoy,

I would be delighted to attend your Halloween party.
S. Snape

***

Snape arrived at Malfoy Manor shortly after 9 PM. He knew it would be foolish to be among the first to arrive – after all, he intended to rely on observing others to get through the evening. But he could not afford to come too late; he had to work the next day, though undoubtedly many of the other guests did not. He scowled. The Ministry observed the holiday on Monday, to give everyone a long weekend. But what true wizard would celebrate Halloween on the wrong day? Honestly….

His thoughts broke off as the house came into view. He had Apparated to the gate, and intended to walk the short distance to the house. It would have been a decent plan, too, except for the detail of the rain. His hastily conjured umbrella had done a tolerable job of keeping him dry, but his shoes were now wet and muddy. Just perfect. He spared a glance at the house. Usually, it was probably imposing, but at the moment, it was a welcome sight – dry and well lit. He hurried up the steps. Once he was out of the rain, he Vanished the umbrella, and dried off his black robes. One of the horse statues at the top of the steps stretched its wings and turned to glance at his queer behaviour before returning to its untroubled sleep with a brief stamp. Thankfully, the robes were self-ironing, so they looked none the worse for wear. He quickly cleaned his shoes, hoping no one would be able to notice. Then he rang the bell.

The door was opened by an obsequious house-elf, who nodded and bowed and bobbed many times in the process of ushering him into the entrance hall. The creature held out its hands for his cloak, which Vanished with a snap of its fingers. “Yes, right this way, Master…?” The elf looked up questioningly, never having met him before.

“Snape. Severus Snape.” He didn’t mean to sound so irritated; he would have to cut that out.

“Master Snape, please follow me.” The elf bowed yet again, and led Snape into what could only be called a ballroom. Malfoy Manor was an imposing mansion from the outside, but the inside bore some resemblance to a palace. Understatedly ostentatious, Snape thought. The Malfoys didn’t need to flaunt their wealth; they exuded it. Marble floors, intricate hand-carved furniture, opulent furnishings…the entire place spoke of having been decorated by aristocrats for generations uncounted. He paused, and took in the crowd. Smaller than he had feared; good. There were about thirty or forty people milling around. He took in their dress; he was not too noticeably out of place. All black had been a prudent decision, then. What he was wearing would not look out of place at a wedding, or a funeral, or, apparently, a pureblood party. He scanned the crowd again, this time looking at faces, to see if he knew anyone. At the very least, he should find Malfoy.

No one he knew. He recognised a few faces, but did not feel inclined to introduce himself to anyone. He stationed himself off to the side, trying not to look awkward, and continued to study the crowd. It was only a matter of time before Lucius would appear, and if not, he would fall back on his other plan and seek out the food. He now had the leisure to look at the room more closely. The gilt sconces along the painting-lined wall contained lamps of golden flames, bathing the room in a warm light. A large window at one end undoubtedly overlooked the grounds, though in the darkness outside he could only make out the stone pavement of a patio. He resisted the urge to look up; he would not be caught gawking at the ceiling as though he had never been here before.

“Severus?” said a voice behind him, causing him to tense and then whirl around. Standing behind him was a puzzled-looking Evan Rosier, whose face broke into a smile on seeing him. “It is you!” he practically beamed, shaking his hand. “So good to see you again. I didn’t know you were a friend of Lucius.” Snape didn’t know what to say, so he just stared at the man. While they had been friends in school, Snape had not heard from him in almost two years. Evan was not the least bit flustered, though. “Well, come on, the gang’s all here, I’m sure they’d like to see you again.” He motioned Snape through a door to a drawing room where a knot of people had gathered. Snape knew all of them.

Rabastan Lestrange, a thickset man with a mustache and sideburns, was standing silently behind a mahogany armchair with wine-colored upholstery, on which was seated a pale woman with long black hair and striking features. His brother Rodolphus stood by the fireplace, a slight man in the midst of an energetic conversation with Wilkes, who was leaning lazily against the mantel, holding a crystal goblet. Another man sat in a chair with his back towards them, so only his curly brown hair was visible. He was casually eating hors d’oeurves from a silver tray on the side table.

“Look who I’ve found!” Evan announced, and the group turned to look at him. Avery’s face poked around the back of his chair, revealing his perpetually sour expression. The conversation by the fireplace halted abruptly, and the thin energetic young man came bounding over.

“Severus! I didn’t expect to see you here.” He held out his hand to shake.

Snape took it. “Rodolphus,” he said, inclining his head.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” said Wilkes, sauntering over, “but Rodolphus and Bella are married now.” He seemed amused, and was definitely watching Snape for his reaction.

“My congratulations,” Snape said gravely, inclining his head towards the dark-haired woman this time.

She merely pursed her lips. “If you keep announcing that, Wilhelm Wilkes, I swear I’ll hex you,” she hissed at him. Her dark dress shimmered as she shifted in her seat. Wilkes laughed, but subsided. Bellatrix knew some nasty hexes, and Snape suspected she was not above using them at parties.

“So, Severus did make it, and he’s found all of you,” came a drawling voice from the doorway. Lucius Malfoy stood framed in light from the ballroom for a moment before stepping into the room. His black robes were trimmed with silver, and the silver buttons shone even in the firelight. His boots clicked on the floor until he reached the carpet. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Severus,” Lucius greeted him.

“Lucius, where is your father tonight?” asked Wilkes. “I haven’t seen him.”

“No, he’s in France,” Lucius replied, a hint of regret in his voice. “There’s a race tomorrow. He raises Abraxans in Normandy,” he said by way of explanation to Snape. That explains the statues by the entrance, Snape thought. He wished Malfoy hadn’t singled him out as the clueless newcomer, but at least here he was amongst friends.

***

“Politics isn’t all about the Ministry, you know,” Malfoy remarked, sounding bored with the conversation. Wilkes’ arguments were starting to sound repetitive, and his round face was turning red.

“No, of course not,” Evan agreed. “The media matters, as well. Why, if you can control what is printed in the Prophet or spouted on the Wireless, you can sway the minds of half of wizarding Britain. The media has more power than the Ministry, in a way.”

“That’s an illusion,” countered Rabastan Lestrange, breaking his silence with a rumbling baritone. He had been in Lucius’ class, so was slightly older than the others. “You can manipulate people, certainly, but it works best if you feed them what they want to hear. The paper is the slave of the people, not the other way around. That’s a poor sort of power. The Ministry, though, has the clout to back up what it says.”

“Or at least they’d like everyone to think they do,” said his younger brother Rodolphus with a wink.

“So, in truth, the Dementors of Azkaban have the real power,” Snape interjected, quietly enough. His pronouncement captured the attention of the group, so he elaborated. “Not only can they claim power over wizards’ freedom, but they most certainly enforce it. They lack the pretence of the Ministry and need not rely upon the fickle obedience of an audience. Their obedience to the Ministry is on their own terms.” He stopped abruptly.

“Yes,” agreed Bellatrix after a moment, “but to get that, you have to be a dementor!” She wrinkled her nose, and the others laughed. She was the only woman in the group, but she had effectively passed as “one of the boys” for years. Snape realised suddenly that it was quite odd to think of her being…married. To Rodolphus, of course, but still. He looked at her hand and caught sight of the ring. She had been Bellatrix Black as long as he had known her, and now there was yet another Lestrange – how inconvenient!

Lucius excused himself shortly thereafter, admonishing his guests not to hide themselves away for the entire evening. Not long after that, Evan insisted that Snape join him in what was ostensibly a quest for food, but was really an excuse to show him around the Manor. As they wandered about the large house, Snape noted that there were many more guests than he had supposed. Thankfully, Evan did not insist on mingling, confining himself to merely greeting people that he knew. Evan’s effusive manner could be grating at times, but Snape did not mind him on his own. The food was good, and plentiful, but Snape had expected as much. What he did not expect was the Atrium that they found themselves in. Upon entering, his first thought was that the entire room was made of glass. On closer inspection, he saw that an interlacing framework held the glass in place, but the size of the vault was still impressive. The plants were plentiful, but not as crowded as a greenhouse. He was surprised to note that there were also birds, though these were mainly quiet, given the late hour. Another house elf was on hand to offer them drinks, which they accepted, but Evan warned him away from the mints, saying “There’s something in them,” with some amusement. Snape decided he didn’t want to know. Eventually, they made their way back to the drawing room and rejoined his former Housemates. Snape let his mind wander for awhile, paying only minimal attention to the conversation. He came back with a snap.

“You must visit us this weekend, Lucius,” Rodolphus was saying.

“I’m afraid I’m otherwise occupied on Saturday,” Lucius excused himself. “I will be in Hogsmeade. But perhaps Sunday?” Bellatrix laughed at this, but Snape was distracted. He had just realised two things: the Lestranges (drat! Rodolphus and Bellatrix) were leaving, and it was much later than he’d thought. He was going to regret this tomorrow morning. Strangely, that didn’t faze him at the moment. This gathering had proven to be much less intimidating – and much more enjoyable – than he had anticipated. He smiled wryly – had he really expected Lucius Malfoy to throw a tedious party?

***

He staggered up the stairs, his footsteps too loud in the darkened house. Clumsily, he opened the door to his room. He was still sleeping in his childhood room. He had meant to claim the master bedroom, but somehow that hadn’t happened yet. He made his way across the room, tripping over the furniture. He fumbled in his robe for his wand, so he could have some light. He did not call out or swear – long habit kept him silent, even though he was alone. Glancing out the window, he was perplexed to see the building across the way moving back and forth, sliding in and out of his vision in the light of the street lamp. With a jolt, he realised he was swaying. He sat down, heavily, on the bed, and tried to clear his head. Too tired – he would have to think later. He unfastened his robes methodically. Yes, tomorrow. He could think tomorrow. He knew he would not awaken sharp and alert, but he was too tired to care. He extinguished the lights, and allowed himself to fall back into the forgetful oblivion of sleep.

***

The Malfoy library was unlike anything Snape had ever seen before. The Hogwarts library was probably bigger, but it was built for use. The tables for students, the aisles of shelves – all were utilitarian. But this…it was breathtaking. Every wall, from floor to impossibly high ceiling, was covered in shelves, except for the large bay window that overlooked the lawns. A fireplace at one end and an ornate tapestry at the other filled the only breaks in the shelves. Scattered throughout the room were easy chairs and coffee tables, a desk or two, and display cases. He knew, instinctively, that he could get lost in here for hours.

Not that he had any intention of staying that long. Malfoy had asked him to stop by, and Snape had acquiesced, but he was not staying for dinner. It had been well over a month since the Halloween party, and Snape had started to think the older man had lost interest in him. He wasn’t sure if that thought had inspired relief or regret. Malfoy was no doubt a dangerous man to offend, but he was also quite well connected, even influential. But he wouldn’t think of that now; he returned his attention to the room, trying to ignore its occupant.

The tapestry portrayed a unicorn hunt, and as he watched, the beast surged out of the stream, only to be cornered by the hunters. His eyes strayed to the shelves, and he wondered what books were hidden here. The Malfoy collection was bound to contain some unusual and rare specimens…but he didn’t want to be caught staring. To still his itching fingers, he picked up the nearest knick-knack: a pawn from a chess set. He turned it over and over in his hands, until it squeaked indignantly, “Are you trying to make me sick?” Startled, he hastily replaced the piece.

Lucius looked at him. "Do you play chess?” he asked.

“I know how the pieces move,” Snape answered.

“But do you play?” Lucius asked again.

“I have before, yes,” Snape said, wondering what Malfoy was driving at. He had certainly watched enough games in the Slytherin common room over the years, but he didn't own a set.

“Fancy a game?” Lucius asked.

Snape shrugged. “Certainly.” To be honest, he considered it a waste of time, but he wasn’t about to suggest to Lucius Malfoy that he had anything more pressing than fulfilling the man’s whims. Malfoy moved the chessboard to a nearby table, and gestured for Snape to take a seat.

Malfoy had set up the board so that he was white and Snape was black. Snape was content to let him go first; his strategy was bound to be reactionary at the start, anyway. He quickly forgot the room, and, indeed, the reason for his visit, as he focused his full attention on the board in front of him, trying to recall what he could of strategy from various games he had observed in the past. The opening moves passed in silence; neither man looked at the other’s eyes.

Snape moved his pawns into a defensive stance, while he tried to think what else to do. The knights, at least, could move freely around his temporary barricade. Malfoy seemed slightly amused; that couldn’t be a good sign. Malfoy’s pieces seemed docile and quiet; they gave away very little. His own were a bit more restless, but he would not ask how to make them behave. Snape shifted his plan from defence to control. He moved to control each of the eight avenues on the board. From what he remembered, that had made for strong games. He was startled when Lucius broke the silence.

“I forgot that only pureblood families would be likely to have a chess set.”

Snape immediately bristled. While uttered in the same casual tones with which Malfoy conducted all his business, the comment stung. Not only did it imply that his game was pitiful, but Malfoy had managed to cast aspersions on his family…again. Snape thought they were past that point. “The Princes are purebloods!” he protested uneasily.

“Yes, I suppose,” Lucius replied lazily. “But only for the last hundred years or so. That hardly counts.”

“I don’t see why that should matter,” Snape said with a scowl. It infuriated him that Malfoy could so casually wave aside his heritage. Struggling to keep his focus on the game, he slid his rook forward.

“The Malfoys came to England on the heels of William the Conqueror,” Lucius replied, a hard edge entering his voice. “You must forgive me if I fail to be impressed by the claims of those who do not know the name of their grandfather’s grandfather.” His bishop moved to threaten Snape’s rook, warning him to back down.

“If I am so far beneath you,” Snape asked quietly, “why do you treat me as you do?” He moved his rook forward again, refusing to retreat. The rook, for its part, edged to the very back of its square, surreptitiously trying to look as if it had not moved. Malfoy’s knight was now in a precarious position.

Lucius smiled, and Snape wondered fleetingly if it were genuine – if it was ever genuine. “You are refreshing. Your company is a welcome reprieve from the politics and tedium of my world.”

“Don’t try to placate me, Lucius,” Snape countered wearily. “You know I don’t eat up your flattery.”

“Pity. I hate to waste it.” The smirk was genuine. Lucius moved his queen, so that it now protected both the knight and the bishop.

Momentarily halted, Snape focused his attentions on the other side of the board. Now was not the time to sacrifice his rook. He moved his remaining knight, and looked up. “So, Lucius, I ask you again – what’s in this for you?” He did not expect a straight answer, but he did want to know why he was here, playing chess in the Malfoy library on a Saturday afternoon in mid-December.

Malfoy’s gaze was directed at a spot somewhere behind Snape’s dark head. Snape fought the urge to look behind him. It was rare that Malfoy was so … unguardedly thoughtful. He spoke after awhile, his voice soft. “I was not lying earlier, about enjoying your company. You are no less ambitious than my other acquaintances.” He unconsciously glanced at the board between them. “But you can not vie with me, and you do not fawn. That is, indeed, refreshing.” Malfoy barely glanced at the board, and then moved a pawn, opening a path for his bishop.

Snape castled to get his king out of the way of Malfoy’s approaching bishop.

“There is something else, though,” Lucius continued. His steely grey eyes met Snape’s as he said, “There’s someone I would like you to meet.”

“Oh?” Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. He had expected Malfoy to wave off his question, or flat out lie. He had not expected him to actually demand something of him. Just whom did Malfoy want him to meet? Uneasily, Snape wondered fleetingly if Lucius fancied himself a matchmaker. But no, that couldn’t be it. The game forgotten, Snape tried to work out this new puzzle; he did not notice Lucius’ move.

“Someone more worth impressing than I am,” Malfoy clarified, interrupted his thoughts. His smirk had returned.

Trying to make a joke of that (surely it was dangerous to respond in any other way?), Snape said, “More impressive than a Malfoy? What, have you found Merlin?”

“Not exactly, but someone just as powerful.”

“Lord Voldemort?” Snape asked, a hint of awe creeping into his voice.

“Why, yes… though we usually call him the Dark Lord.”

“Well, that’s better than “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Snape remarked lightly, though suddenly his mouth was dry. Malfoy’s ‘we’ had not gone unnoticed. Snape digested this new piece of information. Of course, he had suspected Malfoy was involved with the Death Eaters, but up to this point it had just been a suspicion. He vaguely noticed that he was in check, and returned his attention to the game. Or at least tried to. They played in silence, but his mind was whirring with a million things that seemed more important than a silly game. His pieces kept giving him exasperated looks. He was not terribly surprised, then, when Malfoy beat him.

Mercifully, Malfoy did not gloat – too much. He confined himself to a single disparaging comment: “You play well…but you have no mind for the endgame.” This earned a glare from Snape that would have curdled milk, but he did not retort.

***

A knock sounded on the door to Lucius’ study; he looked up with curiosity. The house-elves had alerted him that he had a visitor, and he had instructed that the man be brought in here. He had an inkling what this would be about, but it remained to be seen just how much he had piqued the young man’s interest.

“Come in,” he said after a moment.

The door opened, and Severus Snape entered the room. But Lucius had never seen him like this. He was not distraught…merely…serious. Deadly serious. You would think the fate of the world hung on his shoulders as an unspeakably painful dead weight. Lucius raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He had not offered Severus a seat…yet.

“I have considered your request,” Snape began quietly, “but I find I am in need of some more information, before I can comply.”

“Oh?” Lucius said, in bored curiosity. “Have a seat, then,” he continued, gesturing towards a leather chair. When Severus was stiffly seated, he turned and made the door Imperturbable. Unnecessary, but it would show the young man that he was taking this conversation seriously.

“What is it you wanted to know?” Lucius began, since Severus seemed disinclined to initiate the conversation.

“Quite a few things, actually. But right away, I would like for you to clarify what level of involvement you expect from me. Is this a one-shot offer, or is this something more…long-term?”

“That is not left to my discretion,” Lucius answered quickly. “As I said before, it will depend upon how impressive you are.” He smiled, faintly, realising that Severus was in no mood for jokes.

“And the consequence if I fail to impress?” Severus asked quickly, not missing a beat.

“Again, I do not control that – but I assure you, you would not be given another chance.”

“I understand, but more to the point – will I walk out of the room?” The frankness was obviously unnatural, even painful to Severus, but his earnestness overruled him.

“You should. I would not have offered to present you to him if I thought he would find you lacking. I told you he is worth impressing.”

Severus let his eyes drop, regathering his thoughts. When he raised his head, he began a new line of inquiry.

“I imagine he must find half-bloods tolerable, or you would not have considered me. But aside from harassing Muggles and antagonising the Ministry, what does he actually devote his efforts to?”

Lucius was a bit surprised. Most new recruits dwelt on their own personal interests much longer (and in more anguished detail) and seldom got around to asking these sorts of questions. But this was easily dealt with. “I am not at liberty to speak of his plans with outsiders, of course.”

“I am not asking for plans, Malfoy, I’m asking for goals. Nothing specific, just some indication of what he is trying to accomplish. The stuff they print in the papers is rubbish written by fools who have never met him, and I can’t afford to get involved without knowing something.”

“Well, what do you think his goals are, then?” Malfoy asked with some curiosity. It would be amusing to see which version of propaganda Severus would be more willing to swallow.

“You tell me, you’re the one who’s met him,” Snape said sourly, but he answered the question anyway. “I can see he is consolidating power, and has been since he declared himself openly fifteen years ago. But I can’t see to what purpose, or how he hopes to use these allies. From all accounts, he is a very powerful wizard to begin with.”

“Indeed he is,” Lucius replied. “The stories you’ve heard are no doubt true. I’ve seen him do things that are deemed impossible by ordinary wizards.” Lucius digested Severus’ answer; not much rhetoric there. He would have to feed Severus the truth, or something very near it, if he wanted to convince him. “He is working to push magic beyond its utmost limits. If he succeeds… he will achieve immortality.” A sharp intake of breath met this pronouncement. If he had expected to find a wide-eyed Severus hanging on his every word, however, he was disappointed. The pale young man had gone very still, but he was still watching Lucius gravely and intently.

“How close is he?”

What blunt questions! Severus must be very interested to let his mask slip this much. “He’d be difficult to kill – he’s demonstrated his protections to us often enough. Only time will tell if he’s conquered old age, of course.”

“Are the Death Eaters involved in these experiments, or merely spectators?” There, he’d said it. His caution was beginning to chip away.

A point of contention indeed, but no need to bring that up just yet. “Why do you think we call ourselves Death Eaters?” Lucius asked rhetorically, keeping his voice gentle. He could save the biting edge for later; now, he needed to convince. He had just admitted his own level of involvement, but surely Severus would have guessed that by now.

“That was a personal goal,” Severus continued, fighting to maintain his composure. “What can you tell me of his…professional goals?”

“Every politician’s goal – a better Wizarding world,” Lucius said sardonically. His visitor was still looking at him expectantly, so he elaborated. “Our world is consistently weakened when we admit ignorant Mudbloods to our society. As a result, true Wizards are forced to endure more and more restrictive rules, to hide our presence from the Muggle world by causing us to blend with it. Another generation or so of this meddling Ministry, and there would be little to distinguish wizards from ordinary Muggles beyond their wands. The Dark Lord…would like wizards to act like Wizards, despite what Muggles might think of it. Needless to say,” Lucius grinned faintly, “this has caused quite a rift between the Death Eaters and the Aurors.”

“So the Dark Lord encourages his followers to use flagrantly powerful magic?” Severus asked, after a moment.

Lucius nodded, his lip curling into a cruel smile. “Precisely.” A strange light danced in his eyes for a moment, though it may have been a trick of the room.

“I don’t suppose he has any qualms about the Dark Arts?” Severus asked hopefully.

Lucius just laughed at him.

Severus abruptly turned away. “And you… you are willing to take me to meet him?” Hope and fear, desire and incredulity, warred in his voice, but he kept it even.

Lucius had never seen the younger man so vulnerable since they had renewed their acquaintance. “Yes, Severus, of course. I will take you to him, when you are ready to join him. He doesn’t fancy visitors, you know. For now, you still have time to choose.” Lucius leaned back in his chair and watched his guest through hooded eyes. Severus did not speak or meet his eyes. After a time, he stood up, a bit stiffly, and walked to the door. He turned to face his host, and simply said, “Thank you,” before turning to leave. Lucius half-expected to hear him stumbling down the halfway. He smiled to himself; he knew he would hear from Severus Snape very soon.

***

The rain came pouring down in sheets, making for a dark and rather dismal Christmas. No more than we deserve, thought Snape as he looked morosely out the window at the dilapidated and tired houses of his neighbours. He swirled the drink in his hand, and took another sip. For some reason, thinking of the dying town reminded him of his father. He could not abide thinking about that man. His own house reminded him of his mother, which was tolerable. She had stayed at home most of the time, but it was his father who went out into the town – to work, to drink, to talk to other men. He pulled the shade and turned away from the melancholy sight.

A fire was burning in the small grate, keeping the room warm enough, but not bright. He lit a lamp, then seated himself in a chair before the fire. He picked up an old school book, well worn and frequently reread. He flipped through it and sighed. He would find nothing new in here. Perhaps someday, he would write his own book…but that was unlikely. He didn’t have the patience for such projects. He put the book down, glanced at the newspaper, and picked up his drink. What was wrong? He had a decent job, his own house, even. Why was he so discontent and restless? Surely, they would eventually give him more interesting projects at work. All the new people had to do piddling things at first. But it’s been four months now, a voice in the back of his mind answered. How long do you have to wait? And this house…his lip curled as he looked around the tiny room. Not much of a prize, eh? It was as tired looking as the other houses in this neighbourhood; old and dusty and best forgotten. He frowned. He didn’t care about the milestones they announced in the Prophet – engagements, weddings, births, anniversaries. He sneered; the only announcement that mattered was deaths, and he wasn’t hoping for that any time soon. What was he missing? His fingers itched to do something, to have an impact of some sort, leave his mark in the world.

And that brought him back to Malfoy’s offer. Did he want to meet Lord Voldemort? He was not eager to be answerable to someone else; having a boss was bad enough. At least He-Who…the Dark Lord was not an idiot, from all accounts. He could respect that, he thought. And if what Malfoy said was true, there was much to be learned. Last he’d checked, Hogwarts didn’t give much practical instruction in the path to immortality. Nor had any of their string of incompetent Dark Arts teachers taught him anything he didn’t already know by the age of ten. At least it would be something. On his own, he was in no hurry to defy the Ministry and be chased by Aurors. But if he joined the Death Eaters…new possibilities would open up. He smiled, and took another sip of his drink.

***

The entry room of the old house was dimly lit, but clean. Snape discarded the Portkey, and took in his surroundings. The house seemed quiet and empty, but Malfoy had instructed him to go up the stairs and take the first door on the left. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but he had not needed Malfoy to tell him the importance of appearing confident and open to any suggestions from Lord Voldemort. This would not be a casual meeting; an oath was expected of him.

Snape paused in the doorway, involuntarily brought up short by the sight of the silent masked and robed figures in the room. He was painfully aware that he was the only one whose face was visible. Not the only one, he corrected himself as he stepped into the room. He forced himself to cross the room quickly, not breaking stride until he stood in front of Lord Voldemort. He was aware of the dozen or so Death Eaters, but all of his attention was focused on the man in front of him. He made a slow, shallow bow, and then looked up into those shockingly red eyes. The Dark Lord was taller than he had expected.

“I am honoured to meet you, sir,” he spoke, breaking the silence. The raspiness of his own voice surprised him. He dared not brush away the stray clump of hair that had swung into his face.

The Dark Lord smiled. The sight of the thin lips pulling back to reveal white teeth raised the hairs on the back of Snape’s neck and caused his pulse to race. “The pleasure is mine,” he insisted quietly, his sepulchre voice doing nothing to calm Snape’s nerves. “Malfoy has told me so much about you,” he continued, inclining his head towards one of the hooded figures. Then he fixed his gaze on Snape, so that the room swam around him for a moment, while only the red eyes remained clear. Startled, Snape took a step back and swung an arm up in front of his face, palm outward. Several of the Death Eaters laughed at this. Stung, Snape lowered his arm and returned that intense stare; his face remained inscrutable. Though his stance was not defiant, the laughter ceased. The Dark Lord raised an inky eyebrow, shocking against his pale white skin. “Indeed, you may be more than acceptable. So, tell me, what do you do?”

“I..I work at the Ministry,” Snape said, swallowing. “I am an Unspeakable, working on counter-curses.”

“And do you… enjoy your work?” The voice was polite, though Snape noticed the long fingers twitching impatiently.

“It is the only way to study powerful curses at the Ministry. It…passes the time,” Snape replied, with a shrug that was far more casual than he felt.

“Perhaps I will be able to find a more worthy way for you to pass your time,” the Dark Lord answered. “But then, one may hear many interesting things at the Ministry.”

“Yes…” Snape replied uncertainly, unconsciously glancing at Lucius. Was that a question? “Just today, my supervisor was explaining to me the new plans to monitor the Floo Network,” Snape said, in what he hoped would pass for a conversational tone.

“Indeed,” said the Dark Lord, his lips slowly twisting into that feral grin again. “Would you like to join us, Severus Snape?”

His heart was racing; he no longer trusted his voice, so he made a brief, jerky nod.

“Kneel,” the Dark Lord commanded, and wordlessly Snape dropped to his knees. “Hold out your hands.” Snape glanced at those narrow red slits of eyes, luminous like a cat’s, but much more knowing, and placed both his hands within the Dark Lord’s. As the ageless man’s hands closed around his, Snape instinctively flinched, but he set his jaw and held his hands steady. “You will swear loyalty and obedience to me forever.” Snape looked up into the face, so near his, and tried not to think about the touch of those cold fingers on the backs of his hands. “I do swear it.” The Dark Lord’s expression was inscrutable; the air fairly crackled around them. He then took hold of Snape’s left arm, and turned it palm up. Delicately, almost lazily, the Dark Lord reached out his long, pale fingers and flicked back the sleeve of Snape’s robe. In one fluid motion, the Dark Lord lowered his wand to touch Snape’s bare forearm. No word was spoken, but suddenly he felt his arm burning. In fascination, he watched as burning snakes emerged from the wand tip; golden, molten, writhing snakes that spread outwards and left welts in the shape of… with a strange thrill, he recognised the skull and intertwined snake of the Dark Mark. He was now unmistakably marked as a Death Eater. The Dark Lord removed his wand, and the snakes vanished. Snape let out his breath in a ragged gasp. He hadn’t noticed he’d been holding it.

“You are now…marked as mine,” said his new Master, his cold high voice almost soft. Almost. “You will find that I reward my friends well. Faithful service with power…and failure with pain.”

A silent gesture from the Dark Lord brought a Death Eater to his side, albeit slowly. He took the heavy black robes and white mask, then handed them to his newest servant.

“Rise.”

“Th-thank you,” Snape gasped, wondering at his own breathlessness. He got to his feet uncertainly. He felt light-headed, almost dazed. What had just happened?


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Author's Note:
Thank you for reading! All comments are appreciated. This chapter takes place in fall and winter of 1978. Further Author's Notes will appear at the end.