Chapter Text
Severus would never remember how he made it through the next day. He probably turned in an absolutely dismal performance on his remaining O.W.L.
But he would also never forget the handsome, expensive-looking owl that winged its way through the breakfast crowd the last day of term, making its way to him, of all people. He frowned. No one wrote him, ever. He did not correspond with his parents, of course, and the only other two people in his entire life worth talking to were usually at Hogwarts with him.
He slid the envelope open and unfolded the parchment. It was an invitation to spend the summer at Malfoy Manor—signed, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Severus contemplated it, blinking rapidly. He knew, with a deep, searing certainty, that Lily would not be quick to forgive him this time, would not come hang out with him in Cokeworth this summer. Rosier had mentioned that Malfoy’s father had passed away from dragon pox, and Malfoy was now in charge of what must be a great estate. With a rush, Severus realized he had missed Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, so much it almost hurt. They had watched over him as he tried to make a mess of his life, and helped him wherever they could. Slytherin had not been the same without them.
Severus scribbled a reply of Yes please, thank you! Then he worked on a letter to his mother, letting her know that he’d be staying with Lucius Malfoy this summer. If she wanted to reply, he would be at Malfoy Manor.
***
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were the perfect hosts. They loved having Severus there, and they were delighted by his interest in their house, their grounds, their library, their potions laboratory—basically everything.
Lucius was frequently away on business. Lucius seemed to appear at every public event happening in the Wizarding world, danced attendance on countless Ministry officials, and frequently met with people Severus knew full well were other Death Eaters. Lucius received a lot of visitors that Severus tried to avoid running into, but some of them were invited to stay for dinner. Severus memorized faces and names and didn’t say much unless he had to. Lucius made Severus try out his collection of broomsticks, and Severus found himself actually enjoying it. The brooms were a breeze compared to school brooms, and no one was laughing at him.
Narcissa, for her part, seemed mostly idle. Severus found he did not envy her life. She liked to read, but she did not read the sort of books Severus did. She was not pouring over advanced tomes on obscure spells, but consumed Muggle fiction at an alarming rate. Severus caught her reading a silly romance with a ridiculous-looking cover photo (a cover photo that did not move!), and tried to never look at what she was reading again. Severus soon learned that the Malfoys owned a house-elf—a strange looking creature with enormous green eyes—and Narcissa had almost nothing to do in the way of domestic duties. She ordered around the house-elf and the groundskeepers, made decorating and design decisions, and chose what to serve for meals. The highlight of her week was disappearing to a Tuesday afternoon tea hosted by various other rich, idle pure-blood ladies. Severus listened to her descriptions of these teas with patience, but he thought he would rather cut off a hand than attend one every week.
She was happy to sit with Severus and talk if he wanted to, but she did not intrude on his company when he wanted to be alone, and he valued her for it. She invited him to make himself at home anywhere in the manor, including the library and the potions lab, and Severus found himself going through very advanced potions described in his N.E.W.T. textbook. Every recipe could be improved here and there, and he enjoyed brewing potions almost as much as he had back when he and Lily were partners in class.
***
Lucius burst in on Severus in the library without warning one afternoon towards the end of July.
“Come,” he panted at Severus, “downstairs.”
Very taken aback, Severus nonetheless put down his book and followed.
Hurrying down the flight of stairs, taking the steps two at a time, Lucius said in one quick breath, “You should address him as ‘my Lord,’ but not ‘Master,’ that’s for Death Eaters only, be respectful, answer all his questions fully and truthfully, he just wants to talk.”
Lucius rushed through the reception hall and down the brightly lit hallway. Just outside the door of the sitting room, he straightened Severus’s robes for him like a nervous mother hen. “You should bow. Yes,” he added sternly at the look on Severus’s face. “I wish I’d given you more warning, but it can’t be helped now.”
He didn’t give Severus a chance to say anything, but immediately turned and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Lucius bowed deeply from the waist when he entered, and feeling horribly awkward, Severus imitated him. Severus did not have a clue what to expect when he straightened back up.
A slender man was sitting in the large armchair in the far corner of the room. The light from the windows fell on either side of his face, making it look sharper than it might ordinarily look. He was pale—much paler than anyone Severus had ever seen. His nostrils were narrow slits in an oddly flat nose, and his features seemed waxy, distorted. His pupils were also slits inside red irises, and the red seemed to leak into the whites of his eyes. He was bald; his skull was as white as the rest of his skin.
He was not smiling, but the look on his face was intent as he contemplated Severus. Severus blinked rapidly; it was unnerving to meet that gaze.
“So this is young Severus Snape,” said a voice that was high and cold. Beneath the sleeves of his robes, goosebumps erupted on Severus’s arms.
“Yes, Master,” said Lucius.
“Sit down,” invited the man, addressing Severus. “Lucius, you need not stay.”
Lucius bowed deeply again and left without another word. Severus dropped into two-person sofa next to the armchair, equally silent. He had been both eagerly awaiting and terribly frightened by the prospect of this moment. He had no idea what to say.
The man shifted in his chair in order to continue to look at Severus intently. “Lucius tells me you could perform a wordless Imperius Curse by the time you were thirteen,” he began.
“Yes, my Lord,” said Severus faintly, the phrase strange on his lips.
The man’s eyes gleamed, and they seemed to grow redder. “Your mother was extremely talented in her day, did you know that?”
Severus’s own eyes grew huge. “You know my mother?” he breathed.
“Oh yes,” the man said with a slight smile. “Eileen Prince was an awkward, quiet girl who was misunderstood by many. She was exceptionally brilliant at Potions and Transfiguration.”
Severus felt a thousand emotions at once, and he wasn’t sure which was strongest. Shame at what his mother was now; pride at what she had been; awe that the Dark Lord himself thought highly of her; slight amusement that Transfiguration had been one of her strengths when it was his own weakest subject.
The man continued to fix his very interested gaze on Severus. “I almost had her, but I lost her when things went a bit sideways, years and years ago,” he said. “Somehow… I think you will be different.”
Voldemort wanted to hear about Severus’s O.W.L. results, wanted a description of all the spells and curses he’d invented, and wanted to know what potions he was working on in Lucius’s lab.
Finally, Voldemort stood, and gestured that Severus should stand too. "I confess, your presence in this house, with the Trace on you, is a bit inconvenient. May I remove it from you? The Ministry will never know."
Severus nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
"Stand," Voldemort ordered. Severus obeyed, the awkward feeling returning in force.
Voldemort slashed his wand towards Severus, from ceiling to the floor, and muttered an unfamiliar phrase in Latin. "It's not removing the Trace so much as fooling it," Voldemort explained. "The Trace works by monitoring your surroundings and sending off signals to the Ministry if there is magic within its monitoring area. The signals are sent no matter where you are or what you do, although they're completely ignored if they come from Hogwarts or the home of a known wizarding family. My spell creates a thin field around the Trace that simply absorbs the signal when it activates."
"Wow," Severus commented.
“Now," Voldemort grinned. "Cast the Reductor Curse. On me.”
Severus’s eyes went huge again and he swallowed nervously. Attack the Dark Lord!?
“You cannot hurt me,” the man assured him, as though reading Severus’s mind. “I want to see the strength of your spell.”
Severus understood. He carefully drew out his wand and concentrated. It would not do to deliberately tone it down, pretend to be weak. He trusted that the Dark Lord knew what he was doing.
“Reducto!” Severus cried, aiming his wand directly at the man. Voldemort had been correct; the man absorbed the curse without a shield charm, indeed without any visible action on his part at all. He was, of course, not blasted into pieces. But he did take a half-step back, and his eyes gleamed red again.
“Very good, Snape,” he said softly. “I see that Lucius was right about you. Now demonstrate your non-verbal Unforgiveable. The Cruciatus, perhaps.”
“Yes, my Lord,” said Severus. “Er, on what?”
Voldemort smiled. His teeth were white and straight, handsome enough, but something about the set of his lips and the angles of his jaw made them look sharp and dangerous. “On me.”
Severus blinked, but allowed himself no further reaction. He flicked his wand lightly with his wrist, an almost imperceptible movement, and cast the Cruciatus on the Dark Lord.
Voldemort gave absolutely no indication that it had worked. He simply stood there, comfortable and relaxed, his eyes gleaming.
Severus raised his wand after two seconds, lifting the Curse.
“I'm impressed," said Voldemort. "Very few can successfully cast that on me.”
Severus was mildly surprised by these words; there had been no visible indication at all that the Cruciatus had worked.
“How do you do it?" Voldemort continued. "You’re supposed to have to mean it—to want to cause pain—to enjoy it. And wanting to hurt me is the furthest thing from your mind right now.”
Severus shrugged. “I learned to cast it on someone who is very dear to me. I just—borrow, I suppose—the feeling of wanting to hurt someone else and channel it into the spell. That the target I want to hurt is not before me is irrelevant.”
“Clever,” said Voldemort, and Severus felt a surge of pride. “How long can you keep it up?”
“I’ve not tried to go for longer than ten seconds on a human,” said Severus. “I’ve tortured animals until they died… about three minutes for spiders, ten minutes for mice.”
“Cast it again,” instructed Voldemort. “And continue until you cannot manage it anymore.”
Severus obeyed. He held his wand steady, this time, and did not move. It was the strangest sensation—casting the Cruciatus with no visible indication that it worked. It was not like the Imperius; there was no connection between spell castor and victim. You knew it worked if, well, your target started screaming in pain.
Voldemort did not move, did not tell him to stop, said nothing at all. He just stared into Severus’s eyes. Severus stared back, refusing to let his concentration break, and held his wand steady.
Severus lost track of time, his world narrowed to his wand and the Dark Lord’s eyes. Without him actually realizing it, everything went black.
He gradually became aware that his eyes were closed and registered that he was on the ground, before he remembered that he was supposed to be demonstrating his skills for the Dark Lord.
Severus let out a yelp and bolted upright, his eyes flying open.
“Ouch! Severus, don’t do that,” said Narcissa’s voice, sounding breathless.
When the room stopped swaying, Severus saw that she was standing next to him, arm held out bracingly as though to stop him from harming her.
Severus flushed. “What happened?”
“You passed out,” said another voice from behind him.
Severus whirled around. It made the room spin again. He had to gasp for breath.
“You have a virtually bottomless pit of hatred for someone,” continued Voldemort, but he sounded amused. Severus blinked a few times and the fuzzy blurs focused and consolidated into the figure of the Dark Lord. “If you are willing to suffer unconsciousness before you are willing to let go of the hatred fueling your spell.”
Severus thought he might faint again, but Narcissa was an angel, and her braced arm became a gentle touch on his shoulder, helping him stay upright. “I don’t know,” Severus managed. “I’ve never tried something like that before.”
“You held the curse for thirty-eight minutes,” said Voldemort, and he was grinning. Actually grinning, in a manner that made him look delighted rather than demented. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You are brilliant.”
Severus had a million questions—but he swallowed them all. He realized he had lived his whole life waiting for an authority figure to tell him in such an unreserved manner, with no caveats, that he was brilliant. Because he was, he was brilliant, but he was so strange and ugly and unrelatable that no one had ever cared whether he was brilliant or not.
“Thank you, my Lord,” said Severus, managing a delighted smile of his own.
***
After that day, Voldemort wanted to speak with Severus nearly every time he visited the Manor. Severus came to live for these visits. Voldemort spoke of power, of immortality, of the freedom that resulted from being beholden to nothing and no one. He wanted Severus’s opinion on obscure magic, some of which Severus had heard of and most of which he had not. He assigned Severus reading—some of which was in books he gave to Severus and some of which was available in Lucius’s library—and sometimes consented to answer Severus’s questions. Severus never dared to ask many, but he did once ask what went wrong in his mother’s life.
“Hmm,” said Voldemort, as though trying to decide how much to tell him. “Her fiancé died and she went—a bit wild, as they say. Then, as you know, she married a Muggle soldier.”
Despite that, he assured Severus, his blood was as strong as hers had been.
“You are a half-blood,” Voldemort told him, “but you are a half-blood Prince.”
Severus was intrigued by the news that his mother had been engaged to someone else before marrying his father, but something in the Dark Lord’s expression prevented him from asking any more questions about Eileen Prince.
Severus did not even notice when his Hogwarts owl came with the letter for his sixth year, but Narcissa dropped a load of shopping off in his room one day. She had purchased him new versions of all the textbooks, a brand-new set of school robes, a pair of dress robes, and a fresh round of potions supplies. He thanked her, and meant it—Narcissa’s grace and easy manners managed to make it feel less like charity and more like a favor Severus was allowing her—but he kept the secondhand potions manuals he had bought with Lily last summer.
Towards the end of August, Lucius kept his word and invited the Rosiers and the Averys over for dinner.
Severus was extremely pleased to see his friends, although the pleasure was short lived when Rosier introduced Severus to his parents. Mrs. Rosier, a short, dark-haired witch with skin that was almost translucent, shook Severus’s hand politely enough. Mr. Rosier—a very tall, hollow-cheeked, forbidding-looking man with the same sandy hair as his son—stared down his nose at Severus and gave him a look he would recognize anywhere: it was how very hardline purebloods looked at someone with a Muggle for a parent. And Mr. Rosier did not condescend to introduce his daughter—a small child who was standing right next to Severus.
Severus did not engage, and turned to the Averys. Mr. Avery was a hearty, hale but slightly overweight man with blond hair and ruddy cheeks. Much more polite than Mr. Rosier, he shook Severus’s hand and said he’d heard a lot about him, all of it good. Mrs. Avery was a tall witch—taller than her husband—with sharp, high cheekbones and hollow cheeks that made her look very severe. It was a sharp contrast with the kind smile she was wearing and the warmth in her light brown eyes. She did more than shake Severus’s hand; she took his outstretched hand in both of hers and squeezed them gently. She told Severus it was lovely to finally meet him.
It was an ordeal not to discuss his summer with his friends throughout dinner, and as soon as they were released from the company of their elders to explore the grounds, Severus started gushing about the Dark Lord.
“Woah,” said Evan Rosier, looking at Severus with a respect Severus had never seen on his face before—including the first time Severus had successfully cast the Cruciatus on Rosier. “You’ve really been spending all summer with him? When he stays at our house, he never wants to talk to me….”
“Not all summer,” corrected Severus, “a few visits here and there. But he has so many ideas for how we should be spending our last two years at school—it’s incredible how much he knows, about everything!”
Russel Avery was also impressed. He had grown even more this summer and now looked to be over six feet tall—and was progressively more muscular to match. “He’s never had time for me, either,” said the boy. “Father has always said not to worry about it until I finish school. You’re so lucky!”
After they were driven back inside by the growing darkness, they found that the women had sat down to cards, with the small Rosier girl observing. The men had sat down with drinks in the sitting room. The boys joined the older men and the Malfoys’ house-elf pressed drinks on all of them. Severus had never had alcohol before, but he did not like to say so. He sipped at the firewhisky, doing his best not to grimace at the—well—fiery taste of it.
Lucius discussed politics with Mr. Avery and Mr. Rosier, while the younger boys pretended to listen carefully. At least Severus pretended; he did not know anything about the people and events they were discussing. His dormmates may not have been pretending, but Severus did not ask them.
As their guests were leaving, Lucius took Severus aside with the Rosier and Avery boys. “Listen,” he said in a low tone, “I don’t want to hear another story where Severus is facing a bunch of Gryffindors by himself, all right?” His voice was harsh. “What good are you two, if you keep letting that happen?”
Likewise, before Severus left for school, Lucius extracted a promise from Severus to spend the Christmas holidays at the Manor. It was not difficult for Severus to agree. As he’d predicted, his mother had never even bothered to reply to his owl explaining where he would spend his summer.
***
Four months later...
Severus was inordinately pleased to, for the first time ever, get out of Hogwarts for the holiday. The atmosphere at Malfoy Manor for the holidays was just as festive, and a lot less lonely. Narcissa decorated every inch of the house, and Lucius threw a huge holiday party in the ballroom. Severus had finally started to recognize the people that attended Lucius’s gatherings. It was a strange mixture of Ministry officials and Death Eaters. The recently elected Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum, was there himself, along with junior officials like Cornelius Fudge and Millicent Bagnold. Severus gave them a wide berth the entire evening.
Severus recognized and even spoke to Rodolphus Lestrange; Severus met his new wife, Bellatrix Black (although she was not a Black anymore, of course). Her personality was intense, and Severus quickly extracted himself from that conversation. Bellatrix and Narcissa’s parents were there, but they looked so snobbish that Severus did not even try speaking to them.
His old, hated Dark Arts professor was there—Professor Carrow—along with his large family, of whom Severus only recognized an old enemy from his earliest school days, Alecto Carrow. Severus did not speak to any of them either.
Wilkes, who had finished Hogwarts last year, was there with his parents; Mulciber and his family; Regulus Black with his parents (but not, Severus noticed with satisfaction, his elder brother); Liam Selwyn, looking miserable and unhappy to be there, surrounded by a great many relatives; their classmate, Selena Greengrass, and her huge family. Severus recognized many of them from school and had polite greetings for his fellow students, but did not spend any time visiting with them.
It wasn’t until he found Rosier and Avery that he stopped to actually make conversation. Severus pretended to exchange polite greetings with his friends’ parents; Mr. Rosier was no more polite to Severus than he’d been during the summer, while Mrs. Avery was very pleased to see Severus, and as warm as ever.
Social niceties out of the way, Severus, Rosier, and Avery were free to spend the rest of the party together, drinking by the fireplace in the antechamber, making their own plots and ignoring the rest of the gathering. The two boys and their families stayed very late—Mr. Rosier and Mr. Avery were engaged with Lucius in his study for a long time after everyone else left.
All in all, Severus felt decidedly spent when he woke up on Christmas Day. Mercifully, the Malfoys did not try to give him any presents, but over the course of the day, Lucius kept pressing firewhisky on him until even Severus felt festive.
He realized he was feeling a little bit tipsy when the Dark Lord appeared in the Manor’s sitting room.
All three of them leapt to their feet and bowed. Severus felt sobriety wash over him as though he’d stepped into a cold shower.
“Happy Christmas,” said Voldemort gravely.
“Happy Christmas, my Lord,” said Lucius, the only one of the three brave enough to reply.
“I wish to speak to Snape,” Voldemort announced.
Lucius bowed again, took Narcissa’s hand, and led her out of the room.
Severus stayed standing where he was, a little stiff. He had not yet learned to imitate Lucius’s easy grace when in the Dark Lord’s presence.
“Well?” asked Voldemort. It was as though he were reigniting a conversation they had recently discontinued, although Severus had no idea what it was about.
“My Lord?” he replied hesitatingly.
“Do you wish to join me?”
He did not hesitate this time or trip over his answer. “Yes, my Lord.”
Voldemort smiled at him, a benevolent, powerful smile that promised the world. “Do you swear to obey me in all that I ask of you, to serve me, to give me your eternal loyalty and everything you have?”
“I swear,” Severus whispered, his eyes falling to stare at the hem of Voldemort’s robes. His heart was beating wildly.
Voldemort extended one long, pale finger and tilted Severus’s chin up so that their eyes met. Images, memories, and feelings flooded Severus’s brain. Voldemort was a thousand times more skillful at this than Rosier—he elicited not only flashes of thoughts and memories, but all the feelings and emotions that ever accompanied them.
Severus’s desire to do great things, to overcome the weakness in his blood… his longing for a less painful childhood, a father who was not angry at a mother that had hid her witchcraft before they married, or a mother who would not have faced Azkaban for using magic to protect herself from an abusive husband… his bitter hatred for Albus Dumbledore, his victim-blaming and his blatant Gryffindor favoritism… his shame over the empty, closed Gringotts account of Eileen Prince, and her filthy housekeeping… his steady conviction that of course wizards were superior to those who lacked magic, and why should wizards live as though afraid of Muggles… utter contempt for the Ministry and its rules, which were draconian and did not even protect those they were supposed to protect… his longing for the day when he was of age and so powerful no one would dare to challenge him… his determination to murder his father, Potter, and Black the minute he finished school… his thrill of excitement and anticipation as he learned that it was not only purebloods who were allowed to join the Dark Lord’s cause… his admiration and greed for everything the Dark Lord shared with him over the summer… and finally, his fierce, nearly overwhelming desire to protect Lily Evans, which had survived despite her telling Severus that she was done with him.
When Severus surfaced from these emotions, he felt like he had been drowning. He gasped for air. Voldemort, however, was smiling; he approved of what he had seen in Severus’s mind.
“Say your oath back to me.”
“I swear to obey you in all that you ask of me, to serve you, to give you my eternal loyalty and everything I have, my Lord,” said Severus, as solemnly as he had ever said anything in his life.
“Lift up your sleeve—the left sleeve,” Voldemort ordered.
Mystified, Severus obeyed. Voldemort pointed his wand at Severus's skin. There was a flash of black light, and then there was pain. The skin of his inner forearm burned, shriveled, twisted; fire spread through his veins. Something buried its way inside the flesh of his arm, wrapping itself around the muscles and blood vessels underneath the skin, and settled there, a watchful and waiting presence.
Severus was not a stranger to pain; he stood still, closed his eyes, and let it wash through him. When he opened his eyes, he had imprinted on his arm a miniature version of the Dark Mark that hung in the sky over the site of crimes committed in Voldemort’s name. Rather than green and glittering, it was jet black.
“Welcome to the fold, Severus Prince Snape,” said Voldemort.