It takes only a little force, in the scheme of things, to get the Dark past his surface, his skin, to the point where he opens, invites it to surge and boil in his blood. And it does, burning like fire, curling at its crest, a tidal wave crashing over his heart. The silver sword with the rubies set in its handle does not avail. It sweeps to and fro, laying a line of fire before the wave. But the wave drowns the flame, and the sword with the canny wisdom of its owner goes dark and still. It will survive, as it has survived for centuries, to ring out in battle another day.

The silver doe is wiser still. She finds a niche deep in her conjuror's soul, safe from the wave of darkness, secluded from the tumult, and curls up there, in hiding, overlooked. Her conjuror never spares her a thought. He cares nothing for the sword's bright fire, nothing for the scintillating silver of the doe. He wants, craves, draws into him only the Dark, from the agony branding his left forearm to the wave flooding his heart.

Severus woke, breaking the surface of sleep, gasping for air like a drowning man thrusting his head above the water.

"Ah, there you are," said Lucius Malfoy.

Severus stared at him, feeling as if he had been jolted from the stupefaction of a Stunning Spell to full consciousness.

"How do you feel?"

Severus didn't answer. He looked around him--at the crisp white sheets of the bed, at the sunlight flooding through the window onto the carpet, at his left forearm covered by the sleeve of his nightshirt. Beneath the sleeve he felt a burning itch, as of a healing wound. Slowly he pulled the sleeve up to his elbow.

There it was: the storied Dark Mark, described in so many lurid Daily Prophet articles detailing the arrests of Death Eaters, a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. But instead of "jet" or "pitch" or "Dark as the evil magic that put it there," it was red and rather shiny, like healing skin.

"Don't worry, it will fade," said Lucius. He pulled up the sleeve of his own robe, to reveal a mark like Severus's, etched in faded lines. "In a few days, it will look like this. Unless he calls. Then it will turn black, and you'll feel it. Though not as you did last night. The worst of that should be over."

Severus barely listened. Looking at Lucius's arm, he remembered the last time--the first time--he had seen Lucius's Dark Mark, one year ago in the wintry garden of Malfoy Manor. He had just come from Azkaban after watching the Dementor suck out Olaus Ruskin's soul. Fleetingly and for the very first time, he had entertained the thought of joining Lord Voldemort. One year ago, a few steps away from where he lay right now.

"I won't say Olaus would have been proud of you. He wasn't stodgy enough to be proud of people. But he always did say you'd come around."

Severus looked up. Lucius smiled at him. "I won't say I'm not relieved, either. It looked touch-and-go for a bit, I'll be frank. I was afraid you'd end up in a mess on the floor, like an Auror."

The darkness is like thick fog too, rolling across the sun, smothering shafts of light.

"But you managed," Lucius went on. "The Dark Lord says you have Light magic in you, but you're no Auror. You're not like anyone else. You can subdue it. You took the Dark Mark. You're one of us now."

Severus looked at him and said nothing. He was still full of the turbulence of whatever had passed the night before. He glanced again at the angry red mark on his arm. It hadn't been a dream: that much he knew.

"Congratulations," said Lucius.

"Thank you," Severus said after a moment. He paused again, collecting himself, returning to the everyday world of sunshine gleaming on the polished floor, warming the carpet by his bed. "Have you been here all night?"

"Oh, no. Dobby took care of you. Not that I wasn't concerned, but he's better at that sort of thing."

Severus felt his head growing clearer. "What happens next?"

"You're one of us now," Lucius repeated, and Severus realised he was exactly right. The Dark Mark they both bore made him more equal to Lucius than he had ever been before.

"We'll be meeting here on Tuesday night at nine," continued Lucius. "We always meet here, so I'm having the fireplace in your flat connected directly to Malfoy Manor. In case you're kept late at work, I'll give you Floo powder for use in the hospital fireplaces which will bring you directly to the Manor. You want to make sure you get here on time. The Dark Lord doesn't like tardiness, and your only excuse for missing a Death Eater meeting is death. Your death."

Severus took that in. It was easy to feel mesmerised, enchanted in the Dark Lord's presence. He'd felt that seduction just last night, before the Lord had laid his hand on the inside of his left forearm. He remembered that. But he also felt fear wriggling in the back of his mind.

"Is he here now?" asked Severus.

"The Dark Lord, you mean? No, he left last night. He's been quite busy lately. He has plans coming to a head, I'm sure of it." A slow smile spread across Lucius's face. "We're winning, you know. I feel it. And I see it in his eyes."

Severus understood about seeing things in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"They're frightened of us now. Bagnold, the Ministry. The Wizengamot. Reid, the Warden of Azkaban. Even St Mungo's, eh?"

Severus recalled Galen Sage working on Auror Dawlish, trying and failing to mend the rents of Sectumsempra in Dawlish's flesh. He remembered Lily Potter emerging white-faced from Room One, shutting the door on the corpses of the Prewett brothers. "They're aware of us, at least."

"They're not immune--to put it as a Healer might. Not immune to fear. The only place that thinks it's safe is Hogwarts. The only wizard who doesn't fear the Dark Lord is Albus Dumbledore. Every other witch and wizard in the land who has the sense for anything has the sense to fear the Lord. Even his Death Eaters. Even I." Lucius gestured safely above his Dark Mark, careful not to touch it. "He can reach us through the Mark, make it very uncomfortable for us if we do not instantly obey his command to come to him. And when we do come to him, he can read what is in our hearts. No one can hide the truth from him--except, perhaps, Albus Dumbledore. Ironic, isn't it? Dumbledore, the only person who can hide things from the Dark Lord, has no reason to, because he couldn't care less what the Dark Lord thinks of him.

"But we who wear his Mark--we do fear him. Or we should."

Severus looked down at his Dark Mark. "But if I feared him more than I wished to rise with him, I wouldn't be here."

Lucius gave a small smile. "We should all look upon it as you do."

"I didn't have to take the Dark Mark. He gave me a choice. I chose him."

"Oh, of course. So did I. So did we all. But some change their minds. Who knows why? Perhaps they don't have enough of that healthy fear. Or enough fear to keep them healthy. The point is, some think they can back out, abandon the Dark Lord and his service. That is impossible."

"Yes. The Dark Lord made that clear to me before I agreed to join him."

"He always does make it clear. At some point," said Lucius. 'And yet there are those who have thought they could desert him. A few have even thought they could betray him. That is insane. Ours is a job for life. You don't back out. You don't resign, you don't get sacked. If you fail the Lord, he punishes you. If you abandon him, he kills you. If you betray him--well, let's just say you will wish he would kill you a little faster."

So those stories weren't hysterical, at any rate. "I have no intention of doing any of those things." Severus paused. "You didn't think I would, did you?"

Lucius shifted to gaze directly at him. He was, Severus realised, actually pondering the question. "I didn't when I suggested you to the Dark Lord," he said presently. "I also didn't think, after all you've done, that you would actually retain enough Light magic to make it difficult for you to take the Dark Mark. I can't imagine where it all comes from. But the Dark Lord esteems you as highly as he can esteem anyone, and I trust his judgement. So no, I don't think you'd do any of those things. You're not mad enough to destroy yourself."

"Not quite."

Lucius grinned. "Encouraging." He got to his feet and looked at his watch. "Dear, dear. I must run, but stay as long as you like, won't you? There's breakfast in the morning room." He returned the watch to his waistcoat pocket and went to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned. "And don't forget: the meeting's here on Tuesday at nine o'clock."

"I won't. Thank you, Lucius."

As soon as Lucius left, Severus all but leaped from the bed, bathed quickly and threw on his clothes. He'd make some excuse, any excuse, but he was not staying for breakfast. He'd eaten here before, he'd lived here before, for weeks. But the brand burned in his arm. He wanted to look long at his new Dark Mark, but he knew that when he did, the red fire and black smoke would roll again across his vision, the thunder pound anew inside his head. He couldn't eat a thing, he told himself. What he meant was he couldn't stay at Malfoy Manor for another moment after what had happened to him last night. He couldn't return until he had comprehended what had happened to him. So he left quickly, saying something to Narcissa about a queasy stomach and too much work at the hospital, forgetting in the next moment what he'd said, or that he'd said anything at all. All he thought about was getting away, so that he could take in that he had become a Death Eater, so that he could understand it before his first Death Eater meeting, next Tuesday at nine o'clock, at Malfoy Manor.