First Time for the Prince
Severus Snape sat at his home at Spinner's End, lost in thought. He was like this most days now, owing to a large number of unfortunate circumstances. He still couldn't forgive himself for what had happened just over a year earlier, how he had destroyed any hope of a happy life with Lily. He still couldn't believe that. But this night was to be the opening of a new door for him – one that would lead to greatness.
Both of his parents had died in the past year, and Severus now lived alone, occupying himself with thoughts of a love that was lost, of resentment, of hatred and envy. He looked up at the clock on the fireplace mantle and saw that it was nearly nine o'clock. He had been told to be where he needed to be, and that he had to be there at half-ten. With a sigh, he rose, gripping his wand and turning.
With a small pop, he arrived in a small, dark cemetery somewhere in Yorkshire. The only light available was that which shone down from the bright, full moon in the cloudless sky. Severus truly hoped that no werewolf would arrive to spoil this night. He was early and aware of it, but Lucius had said that the Dark Lord preferred early over late, and would kill any who dared to be late in arriving for a personal audience. Tonight was the night that he had awaited since crushing his hopes of being with Lily. He would be earning his Dark Mark tonight, and with it would come the chance to make something of himself.
Severus stared at the headstones nearby, imagining each one as someone who had doubted him and asserted that he was a weak, petulant little child with no chance to succeed. They wouldn't be laughing once he had the Mark, though, and while nothing could fill the void Lily left, this would salve the wound somewhat.
"You are early," a voice hissed from among the shadows, causing Snape to turn and brandish his wand in a moment of instinct. The voice hissed again. "Lower your wand, young man."
Severus wasn't even conscious of his doing it, but as the voice spoke, he could feel his wand arm lowering, as if it had a will of its own or was being pushed down by an invisible hand.
"You are quick to draw your wand. I can see how Lucius thought you might be valuable to me," the cold voice spoke, as Snape looked around nervously for the source of the voice. Suddenly, he felt a presence nearby, and turned this way and that to search for the source of the voice.
"On your knees before Lord Voldemort, Severus Snape," the voice hissed again, this time from directly above. Snape looked up, sinking to his knees as he watched with a mixture of terror and admiration.
Lord Voldemort descended from his spot about twenty feet in the air, his eyes gleaming red in the bright moonlight. His skin gave off a pale glow, it was so white and it seemed enhanced by the moon that shone directly upon his person, and his robes billowed out dramatically as he touched the ground. Severus nearly cringed at the sight of this man, with his slit-like nostrils, but then he felt it. There was an overwhelming feeling of pure power about him, one that said that nothing was impossible when the Dark Lord set his wand to doing it. He felt as if there wasn't anything he couldn't do, even, so long as the Dark Lord commanded it. He could even forget Lily. Severus sat, locked into a reverent bow, as Lord Voldemort regarded him carefully.
"Rise. Snape is not a wizard's name. What use does Lord Voldemort have for the offspring of Muggles that I should not destroy you this moment?" the man asked – his voice cold, calculating, and cruel, as Snape scrambled to his feet at Lord Voldemort's command.
"My mother was a Pureblood, Master. Eileen Prince, last of her line to bear that name," Snape answered nervously. He would not die this night, not when he had worked so hard to be good enough to become a Death Eater, not when he had given up everything else he ever cared for.
"Noble stock, Severus Snape. I know of the Princes, and perhaps your mother's indiscretion can be looked over. What say you to my testing of your mettle, a test of the strength in your mother's blood? Crucio!"
Severus writhed in pain, felled to his knees and finally onto his back, twitching in agony. He did not let slip a scream, a howl, even a whimper, lest it draw the Dark Lord's ire and cause him to view Snape as worthless. A thousand knives laced in a thousand acids pierced his skin again and again, drawing no blood, providing no means of escape through death. And suddenly, after what seemed like hours, it all stopped, and Snape was allowed to drag himself back to his feet.
"Some of our greatest family trees need to be trimmed once in a while, so as to not allow them to be overrun by weeds and parasites. You are half-blood, but you recognise the folly of consorting with the Muggles. You do not allow pain to distract, to weaken you. You are truly unlike the Muggles, who only think of fleeing or of suicide when they are in pain. No, you carry your mother's strong, pure blood, and your mettle has proved acceptable. For this I deem your blood worthy," Lord Voldemort said, his words comforting but for his voice. The red of his eyes seemed to intensify as he spoke. "You are to come with me. I have a task for you to complete before I brand you with my Mark."
"Yes, Master," Severus replied as he took a halting step toward the man he called Master. Lord Voldemort put a finger to Snape's shoulder, before vanishing them both in a cloud of smoke. Moments later, the two arrived in front of an old orphanage in southern London. It was situated only a few miles from King's Cross Station, with suburban London not too far to the south. The town of Little Hangleton was very close nearby, maybe ten miles or so south.
"I have a special assignment for you, Severus Snape," Lord Voldemort said, sneering at the orphanage with contempt that almost seemed personal to Snape. "You see before you this orphanage, where the unwanted children of the world are dumped. Undoubtedly, there have been or will be magical children who are left here, and who are never adopted."
Snape wondered what the Dark Lord was getting at. Surely they weren't going to go rescuing a child from this orphanage, not with a war to be fought against those impure ones who would bring down the natural order of the world.
"Even I can accept that, in a situation like this, that an orphaned wizard is better raised by Muggles than not raised at all. But you see with your own eyes that the Muggles avoid this place, and ignore their children," the concern in Lord Voldemort's voice seemed almost genuine. "Their lack of compassion towards their own kind is astounding. You could say that they are nothing like us at all. For every drop of magical blood that is spilled, I regret it, but I understand that those who are resistant to progress must be made to understand. The Muggles do not have compassion. They lack feeling. Tell me, does this not ring true in your ears, Severus Snape, son of a Muggle?"
"He used to beat us," Snape found himself admitting. He could see now that this was not a problem isolated to his drunken father, but an epidemic among Muggles. "How can we right these wrongs, Master?" he asked, feeling rage seethe within him.
"I have been watching this place today, and I watched a couple go in to look at the children. They came back with none, and I knew that they had only gone to inflate their egos and feel as if they'd contributed to the world by looking at orphans," Lord Voldemort explained, his plan becoming less foggy. "I have heard that you are an adept young man who creates his own spells. I'll show you where these people live. You will kill them with one of your spells, and you will do it in a creative fashion, so that you may claim your Dark Mark this night."
"I'll do it, Master," Snape said, immediately trying to work out what would be the most creative use for Sectumsempra. "You will not be disappointed."
Lord Voldemort laughed, then, a high pitched, cruel sound that chilled Snape to his very core. He reached out again, touching Snape lightly on the shoulder, before Apparating them both away silently. They arrived, moments later, in front of Number 16 Grimmauld Place. "They are inside," the Dark Lord said, gesturing toward the house with his hand.
Snape looked at the place, wordlessly jabbing his wand at the house as he walked forward, placing a Silencing Charm on it to silence the screams that would emanate from within. He continued, unlocking the door with nothing more than a light flick of his wand. He stepped inside, watching as a middle aged man with dark hair stepped out into the hall. Snape shot a stunning spell at the man, who crumpled to the floor. He would kill the woman first – he would have his creativity with the man later.
He stalked the house, searching for its other occupant. He saw her, in the master bathroom, setting her scarlet hair into curlers, bright, pale green eyes examining her work. Severus felt something well up inside him, something furious at this woman who was nothing more than a mockery of Lily Evans. One swipe of his wand and she would be done with that; one swipe of his wand and he'd be able to forget. However, the Dark Lord told him to be creative. So he put her in a Full Body Bind, leaving her rooted to her spot, unable to move. Her eyes filled with terror, then, as she could no longer move, a silent scream undoubtedly filling her throat. With another flick of his wand, he thought Levicorpus. An invisible rope seemed to snag her ankle, pulling her upside down and banging her head against the sink. He guided the floating woman toward the toilet, into which she dripped a bit of blood from her forehead, and deposited her headfirst into the bowl. She would drown soon.
Severus made his way back to the hallway where he had left the man, finding him still unconscious on the floor. Kicking him onto his back, he conjured restraints and magically affixed them to the floor, solidly holding the man in place. "Rennervate," Severus gestured at the man, who blinked slowly.
"Who are you? Where's my wife? What are you doing?" the man blubbered, struggling against the restraints. Severus jabbed a Silencing Charm at the man, shutting him up.
"Your wife is currently examining the contents of your toilet. As for you, Muggle," Severus spat, slicing the man's shirt open with his wand, "I have a special punishment in mind for you."
Severus concentrated, holding the image of the Dark Mark in his mind, tracing over the lines in his thoughts. His arm followed, drawing these same lines over the Muggle's exposed chest. The man watched, fearful, as his eyes followed the strange stick held by the young man who was muttering incomprehensibly under his breath. Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he saw a look of intense hatred in the young man's eyes.
Slowly, the lines Snape was drawing over the man's skin started to appear, skin ripping apart and blood flowing freely. The Muggle man's eyes were wide with terror and pain, and his body convulsed, futilely struggling to break free from the restraints. The Dark Mark etched into the man's skin and filled with his crimson blood stared back at Severus. This was why he was here tonight – to earn his Mark, to become great and move on from Lily and to go on to greater things, things in which he could take pride. And this – this he could be proud of.