This is a blatant mimicry of Lady Erised's Dark Prince collection.
And the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. ________________________________________________________________
Something told him this was all a mistake and he would go home and act as if none of this happened.
The question was, which home was he to go to?
Time would tell. Tonight was his master's night and he would go wherever his Lord wished. There were times when being the Dark Lord's most trusted was a benefit. This was not one of those times.
He had Apparated to the meeting, dressed in full Death Eater regal. It was oddly simple for the Lord's second in command. But then, why be flamboyant when simplicity was all that was needed. When he entered a room, Death Eaters cowered before him. Fear of a name was nothing unless you could support it with fear of a person.
But tonight. Tonight the circle withdrew in fear and watched warily. This man had not come to support the Dark Lord's rebirth. Questions flew along side accusations. He knew the Lord was not pleased with these events. The Lord was never please when a servant dared to ignore him. Oh, he knew he would pay for that misstep. And pay dearly.
But the Dark Lord would not kill his Prince. That would set fire to the ranks. Create a civil war the Lord could not hope to overpower. The hordes would not be competing for his title. They would be after the more coveted one. That of the Fallen Angel, harbinger of death. The blood thirsty lot of them would kill themselves off before a victor was found. And by that time. At that time, the good witches and wizards would have nothing to fear.
No. The Dark Lord would not kill his Prince. Finding a suitable replacement would take too much blood. Not to mention the time to mold him to the perfect killing monster.
He knew he would not die tonight. But that did not keep him from dreading the encounter. He had disobeyed his master and that would be punished.
No one would know by looking at him, standing and walking tall as a conquering hero returning to his king. No one ever saw him any other way. None that is, except the Great Lord himself. Even then dignity was fought for tooth and claw. He was proud. He had never shown any face other than the strength that was expected of him.
A grimace slipped behind his mask.
Not even through the punishments.
He was their symbol. Their idol for worship, for strength. Should he fall then nations would tremble. Tremble in chaos.
He was their example. Not the Dark Lord. Himself. Serve your master, do as you are told, and enjoy murder, mayhem, malevolence.
He would survive tonight. The question was, in what condition?
He stood before the double doors to the room the Dark Lord was currently using as a throne room. It only bothered him slightly that the room was in a house belonging to Malfoy.
No one had made move to announce him. The Lord knew already. He had summoned his Prince. He knew his Prince would arrive.
As according to custom, he opened wide the doors without fanfare, without announcement. It was simply: and he was there.
Nothing moved in the room as he approached the throne. He only vaguely remembered seeing it. Vaguely remembered seeing anyone. His attention was focus solely on his Lord and Master. Their eyes locked as he made the procession through the room. Not a waver. He impressed himself sometimes. He feared this man. He respected this man. To an extent he trusted this man. But he made a show of appearing to trust the others in this group. There was only a small few he didn't suspect of wanting to stab him in the back.
At the customary three feet at the base of the throne, he dropped his gaze and knelt. He had done this countless times. Though those were usually accompanied by an immediate report or praise. Tonight he was silent. He would not ask for forgiveness. He would take what he was given.
"So, you have returned," Lord Voldemort said looking down at his servant. "You are defiant, I wonder why."
Rule number one of the humbling: do not respond unless you are asked a direct question.
He felt rather than saw or heard his master rise. A cool, taunt hand rested on the top of his head, paused then tilted his head until he was looking up at his Lord.
Rule number two of the humbling: never object to a motion that was not your doing and never initiate any movement yourself, unless expressly told to do so.
Red eyes bore holes through his. "You're late." It was a simple statement, said as flatly as possible. Under different circumstances the phrase could have been used in the classroom setting. His Lord removed his hand and he let his head bow once more. "I won't bother with asking you your excuse," the Dark Lord said as he returned to his throne. "You no doubt have a flawless one. And I agree, abandoning the Tri-Wizard's Tournament would have been foolish given your precarious position; however, you are late, nonetheless. Stand!"
He rose quietly. The Lord Voldemort disliked his victims on their knees before the games began. It was understandable that he would want to bring his protege to his knees as punishment for his insolence.
He was ready.
"Of all my followers, I expected you to be by my side at my rebirth." Not a word was spoken but the slender hematite bars gracing his left eye felt heated. He had forgotten he was wearing his mask. The item fit his face so smoothly. "I was sorely disappointed when you did not arrive." The vertical bars seared his skin. "But that night is over and you have yet to settle your lost years of service. You were my Prince. Let us see if you are still."
The pain increased suddenly. Three red hot pokers blazed into his eye. It did not torture as the Crucaitus Curse, but it was far more painful to the single point of agony. The mask was also not a torture device. It was merely a sign of control. A mark of property. Ironically, he had created the thing as a gift to his master. The Lord had wanted something different for his Prince. Something other than the Dark Mark. He had fashioned the mask. Infused it with many of the spells. Including the one trying to burn his eye out. He had placed it there knowing his Lord would find fault with him. Instead of debasing him and using the Crucaitus.
The bars flared and suddenly he was on his knees. Clenching his fists from tearing the alabaster white mask off his face. It wouldn't stop the curse entirely, but it would lessen it. He did not remove his face because that was what a Prince in favor would do. He was not in favor.
He was on his knees before the most powerful wizard in existence. And that was the position the Lord wanted him in.
"Relinquish your mask, Severus. Let your brethren see your penance."
So that was it. His punishment was to be defaced and debased before the Death Eaters. Silently and still with dignity, he removed his mask. Placed it face down at Lord Voldemort's feet. Without his face, he was a Death Eater no better than Crabbe or Goyle.
Everyone in this room knew who he was. They knew long before the first fall. This was not the only time he had been de-masked. The mask was just a subtle symbol of what he was. A reminder that he WAS a small step above the rest, and that he could be forced to step down at any moment.
With the contour fitting cover removed, the cold air tingled the oozing blood. The marks wouldn't last long. The blood would stop, the burns lessen, and eventually everything would fade away. That was how the charm worked.
"Lucius, take Severus down for discipline." He clenched his teeth. He was being debased further than ever. He hated it.
Rule number three of the humbling: never object to your punishment, your master knows what he is doing.
Snape felt two pairs of hand grasp him by the shoulders. He had seen and participated in many of the discipline sessions. Peers punishing peers. And he was nothing more than a peer. At least by the rules. They were going to enjoy this brief moment of the humbling.
"Bring him back to me at midnight, Lucius. Then I will finish it." Severus saw the Lord's hand reach down an lift the Prince's mask from the floor. "I will keep this safe until my Prince is fit to wear it. Go."
He knew he wasn't going to die tonight, but that did not stop the dread filling his stomach. He let the two Death Eaters drag him to his feet and further to his punishment. Why struggle against the inevitable. He could have walked proudly to this torture chamber, but why disappoint his jailers.
He wondered how many hours he would be here. How many hours there were left until midnight.
Then the beating began. Physically and magically. But this was nothing new. He could easily tolerate the pain. And he took it all soundlessly.
His master was a god. He was a demigod. And gods did not suffer.
He wanted to smile. His jailers were terrified of him and wanted to kill him. But they were becoming more terrified as the night wore on. The more they bruised and battered him, the more he appeared a god.
He wanted laugh. His Lord knew what he was doing. Into the crucible and come out stronger. Even Lucius Malfoy who had accompanied him down, gleeful of the chance to repay his Prince, was once more a little frighten ferret. These worms of men thought they could harm him. He laughed. It was a cold sound, chilling everyone in hearing distance. After hours of silence, laughter was the last thing they expected to hear.
Then they let him go. All scurrying to find a safe place to hide. Did they fear his wrath? Likely.
Standing tall, he lead the procession back to his Lord's throne room. Still smiling. He reminded himself that he needed to find a gift suitable for thanking his master. Once again the followers of Lord Voldemort trembled at the slightest hint of his title. It had only taken a few hours in their care to remind them why HE was the Dark Prince.
He looked a mess, and knew it. But his Lord wanted his presence at midnight, and here he was once again kneeling at his Lord's feet. Still smiling.
"Your apologies, Severus?" Lord Voldemort asked the prostrate servant.
"My Lord, I am and forever shall be yours. I present myself to you as your loyal servant. And humbly request to lay my apologies at your feet, for being late."
The Dark Lord laughed softly at first as though amused by the thought. Humbling never required one to loose his wit. "You are forgiven, Severus. You may take your place in the circle."
"My Master is gracious," he said softly.
Rule number four of the humbling: too much flattery will send you further back than no words at all.
With an elegant and practiced motion he bent to kiss his master's robes. But he made no move to lift the cloth with his fingers. He knew the rules of servitude too well to break them without cause. He was not in enough favor to touch the hem his master's garment. Instead, he lightly pressed his lips to the floor just shy of his master's boot. He carefully hid his a smirk. Let the highest chew on this. In a situation where the highest would attempt to kiss the robes, the Prince doesn't. We shall see if this example is followed.
Drawing back, he waited for the time to rise. He knew better than to do so without bidding. The allowance to take his place in the circle did not mean to do so. He had not been given an order. This was another rule of servitude the highest continually broke.
"Stand, Severus, and claim what is yours."
He stood. He then took a step closer to his Lord and reclaimed the lost mask. Slipping it on carefully, he knelt once more and reached for Lord Voldemort's hand. Only the highest were allowed to touch the master's robe, but none were allowed to kiss his hand. That was for the Dark Prince alone.
He kissed through the mask and asked in a soft, humble, yet clear voice, "How may your Prince be of service, my Lord?" And he was returned.
"I have a message for you to give Dumbledore, my Prince. Take it without delay."
The Dark Prince accepted the parchment from the Dark Lord and rose. "Shall I return with a reply?" he asked.
"Only a verbal one."
"I hear and I obey." He bowed, turned heel and left. He was his Lord's once more and nothing would change that.
****
The office of Headmaster Dumbledore had far too many people in it for the time of night that was approaching. The three remaining Heads of House, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Alastor Moody and several of his closest Aurors, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, and Albus Dumbledore himself.
Dumbledore lamented on how fewer of the old crowd they could find on such short notice. It wasn't surprising, just disappointing. Many of those witches and wizards were dead. The rest were far away and had yet to be reached.
They were waiting for Severus Snape to return, if he returned. Dumbledore was under no illusions about what could happen. He was staring out the widow at the Forbidden Forest while the others discussed what they wished. He had already spent a good portion of the night explaining Sirius's presence. Luckily, they all believed him. Moody was torn, but in the end accepted. The man wanted Snape's head more.
There was sudden silence as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Minerva staring wide eyed at the apparition standing in the center of the room. Her expression was one of shock and horror. Not at all surprising considering the who it was in the room with them.
Dumbledore glanced at the small host of Aurors. All appeared to be reaching for their wands, none were moving an inch. Moody had both eyes fixed on the apparition. The others were far too stunned to react. He rose from his chair, or at least tried to. It appeared this new 'guest' had cast a form of the pretrificus spell.
"Is this little party for me?" it asked innocently enough. "I'm touched." it bowed slightly. "Truly I am." The thing pulled back his hood slightly revealing the white mask. But at the sight of the slender, unequal, hematite lines drawn over his left eye, the room would have stilled further. "But I come on business, Headmaster."
"Ho- How?" Remus stuttered. So their ability to talk was not taken from them. "You can't Apparate on to school grounds."
"And I didn't, my dear werewolf." The Dark Prince bent down to look levelly into his victim's eyes. "But one thing the book does not mention is how the castle will grant a request if the situation is dire enough. And here I am"
"You were suppose to be dead," Arabella charged. She seemed to be struggling against whatever held them in place.
"Surely you did not think death was possible for me? I was merely biding my time for my Lord's return. Now for business." The Prince reached a gloved hand into his robes and withdrew a stark white envelop. "My Lord bid me bring you this," he said stepping towards Dumbledore.
"So you are nothing more than a messenger boy now," Moody growled. To his surprised, the Prince chuckled.
"I thought even your puny little mind would see that I am the message. Though there is another within for the Headmaster." He held the letter out. When Dumbledore made no move to take it, he added, "I assure you that you can move enough to read the letter."
"Remove your mask," he said. The Dark Prince did not react. "They deserve to know who you really are."
"That was not part of the plan, Headmaster," the Prince chided. "Whether they deserve it or not, it is not for you to decide."
"They deserve to know, Severus." He felt the man before him smirk and he wondered why the Prince would consider that a victory.
"I see you waited to inform your friends." With an elaborate gesture Severus removed his mask and bowed to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, tucking the white face underneath his left arm, still offering the letter. Dumbledore watched as Severus rose. He watched the man's face, it was still as the mask. Complete with the three bar pattern. "And now that they know who I am, what do you intend to do?" he asked, as though Dumbledore had control of the situation.
The Headmaster reached for Voldemort's letter, ignoring the dozen of faces watching him. Most particularly his Head of Slytherin. The letter was not long by any means. It was a mere two sentences.
~You will have your precious professor returned to you in time for the next school year, as I know you will take him. But for now, he is mine.~
Now he understood why Severus smirked in victory. It was for the last and hardest rule of humbling, a topic he rarely spoke on. Reveal your scars to the enemy so they may fear you all the more.
Dumbledore sighed. The nameless, faceless Fallen Angel had returned. And he was standing before him in all his glory.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked the Dark Prince.
"I am to return with your reply, Professor." Severus was still standing as peaceful as if he were standing in a garden, oblivious to the dangers around him. Though, Dumbledore doubted Severus was oblivious. The man was more likely unconcerned because he was more than a match for any of them.
"Tell Voldemort, he still has reason to fear me. I will stop at nothing until he is erased from this earth."
Severus smiled. The expression did little to lighten his face, if anything it made his visage darker. Then the mask was on. "That is as we had expected and hoped. Until then, Headmaster." The Dark Prince was gone and they were released from the spell.
"Albus," Minerva whispered, "why didn't you ever tell us?"
"I was never certain of it until tonight."
"Let me guess," Moody growled, staring at the place where the Prince last resided. "You were expecting Snape and you got the Prince. The voice was a close match, but meant nothing, right."
"Correct, Alastor. I wasn't expecting this, however," he said handing the paper to Minerva.
"You aren't going to allow him to return, are you?"
"I'm not sure. What Severus does, he does according to his own agenda."
"But you can't possibly trust him after this," Remus lifted a hand to encompass the night's events.
"Oh, I trust him. I'm just not sure what I trust him to do."
****
He was now a conquering hero. Into the lion's den and out. But Dumbledore knew enough to suspect his continuing betrayal of his Lord. Which was what was happening exactly. Except, his Lord knew information had to flow to Dumbledore if he wanted to keep his Prince at Hogwarts.
"My Lord," He announced from the door as was his usual. "I come bearing excellent tidings from the Headmaster Dumbledore."
And so the first part of his gift was given. He was already planning the second.
And the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. ________________________________________________________________
Something told him this was all a mistake and he would go home and act as if none of this happened.
The question was, which home was he to go to?
Time would tell. Tonight was his master's night and he would go wherever his Lord wished. There were times when being the Dark Lord's most trusted was a benefit. This was not one of those times.
He had Apparated to the meeting, dressed in full Death Eater regal. It was oddly simple for the Lord's second in command. But then, why be flamboyant when simplicity was all that was needed. When he entered a room, Death Eaters cowered before him. Fear of a name was nothing unless you could support it with fear of a person.
But tonight. Tonight the circle withdrew in fear and watched warily. This man had not come to support the Dark Lord's rebirth. Questions flew along side accusations. He knew the Lord was not pleased with these events. The Lord was never please when a servant dared to ignore him. Oh, he knew he would pay for that misstep. And pay dearly.
But the Dark Lord would not kill his Prince. That would set fire to the ranks. Create a civil war the Lord could not hope to overpower. The hordes would not be competing for his title. They would be after the more coveted one. That of the Fallen Angel, harbinger of death. The blood thirsty lot of them would kill themselves off before a victor was found. And by that time. At that time, the good witches and wizards would have nothing to fear.
No. The Dark Lord would not kill his Prince. Finding a suitable replacement would take too much blood. Not to mention the time to mold him to the perfect killing monster.
He knew he would not die tonight. But that did not keep him from dreading the encounter. He had disobeyed his master and that would be punished.
No one would know by looking at him, standing and walking tall as a conquering hero returning to his king. No one ever saw him any other way. None that is, except the Great Lord himself. Even then dignity was fought for tooth and claw. He was proud. He had never shown any face other than the strength that was expected of him.
A grimace slipped behind his mask.
Not even through the punishments.
He was their symbol. Their idol for worship, for strength. Should he fall then nations would tremble. Tremble in chaos.
He was their example. Not the Dark Lord. Himself. Serve your master, do as you are told, and enjoy murder, mayhem, malevolence.
He would survive tonight. The question was, in what condition?
He stood before the double doors to the room the Dark Lord was currently using as a throne room. It only bothered him slightly that the room was in a house belonging to Malfoy.
No one had made move to announce him. The Lord knew already. He had summoned his Prince. He knew his Prince would arrive.
As according to custom, he opened wide the doors without fanfare, without announcement. It was simply: and he was there.
Nothing moved in the room as he approached the throne. He only vaguely remembered seeing it. Vaguely remembered seeing anyone. His attention was focus solely on his Lord and Master. Their eyes locked as he made the procession through the room. Not a waver. He impressed himself sometimes. He feared this man. He respected this man. To an extent he trusted this man. But he made a show of appearing to trust the others in this group. There was only a small few he didn't suspect of wanting to stab him in the back.
At the customary three feet at the base of the throne, he dropped his gaze and knelt. He had done this countless times. Though those were usually accompanied by an immediate report or praise. Tonight he was silent. He would not ask for forgiveness. He would take what he was given.
"So, you have returned," Lord Voldemort said looking down at his servant. "You are defiant, I wonder why."
Rule number one of the humbling: do not respond unless you are asked a direct question.
He felt rather than saw or heard his master rise. A cool, taunt hand rested on the top of his head, paused then tilted his head until he was looking up at his Lord.
Rule number two of the humbling: never object to a motion that was not your doing and never initiate any movement yourself, unless expressly told to do so.
Red eyes bore holes through his. "You're late." It was a simple statement, said as flatly as possible. Under different circumstances the phrase could have been used in the classroom setting. His Lord removed his hand and he let his head bow once more. "I won't bother with asking you your excuse," the Dark Lord said as he returned to his throne. "You no doubt have a flawless one. And I agree, abandoning the Tri-Wizard's Tournament would have been foolish given your precarious position; however, you are late, nonetheless. Stand!"
He rose quietly. The Lord Voldemort disliked his victims on their knees before the games began. It was understandable that he would want to bring his protege to his knees as punishment for his insolence.
He was ready.
"Of all my followers, I expected you to be by my side at my rebirth." Not a word was spoken but the slender hematite bars gracing his left eye felt heated. He had forgotten he was wearing his mask. The item fit his face so smoothly. "I was sorely disappointed when you did not arrive." The vertical bars seared his skin. "But that night is over and you have yet to settle your lost years of service. You were my Prince. Let us see if you are still."
The pain increased suddenly. Three red hot pokers blazed into his eye. It did not torture as the Crucaitus Curse, but it was far more painful to the single point of agony. The mask was also not a torture device. It was merely a sign of control. A mark of property. Ironically, he had created the thing as a gift to his master. The Lord had wanted something different for his Prince. Something other than the Dark Mark. He had fashioned the mask. Infused it with many of the spells. Including the one trying to burn his eye out. He had placed it there knowing his Lord would find fault with him. Instead of debasing him and using the Crucaitus.
The bars flared and suddenly he was on his knees. Clenching his fists from tearing the alabaster white mask off his face. It wouldn't stop the curse entirely, but it would lessen it. He did not remove his face because that was what a Prince in favor would do. He was not in favor.
He was on his knees before the most powerful wizard in existence. And that was the position the Lord wanted him in.
"Relinquish your mask, Severus. Let your brethren see your penance."
So that was it. His punishment was to be defaced and debased before the Death Eaters. Silently and still with dignity, he removed his mask. Placed it face down at Lord Voldemort's feet. Without his face, he was a Death Eater no better than Crabbe or Goyle.
Everyone in this room knew who he was. They knew long before the first fall. This was not the only time he had been de-masked. The mask was just a subtle symbol of what he was. A reminder that he WAS a small step above the rest, and that he could be forced to step down at any moment.
With the contour fitting cover removed, the cold air tingled the oozing blood. The marks wouldn't last long. The blood would stop, the burns lessen, and eventually everything would fade away. That was how the charm worked.
"Lucius, take Severus down for discipline." He clenched his teeth. He was being debased further than ever. He hated it.
Rule number three of the humbling: never object to your punishment, your master knows what he is doing.
Snape felt two pairs of hand grasp him by the shoulders. He had seen and participated in many of the discipline sessions. Peers punishing peers. And he was nothing more than a peer. At least by the rules. They were going to enjoy this brief moment of the humbling.
"Bring him back to me at midnight, Lucius. Then I will finish it." Severus saw the Lord's hand reach down an lift the Prince's mask from the floor. "I will keep this safe until my Prince is fit to wear it. Go."
He knew he wasn't going to die tonight, but that did not stop the dread filling his stomach. He let the two Death Eaters drag him to his feet and further to his punishment. Why struggle against the inevitable. He could have walked proudly to this torture chamber, but why disappoint his jailers.
He wondered how many hours he would be here. How many hours there were left until midnight.
Then the beating began. Physically and magically. But this was nothing new. He could easily tolerate the pain. And he took it all soundlessly.
His master was a god. He was a demigod. And gods did not suffer.
He wanted to smile. His jailers were terrified of him and wanted to kill him. But they were becoming more terrified as the night wore on. The more they bruised and battered him, the more he appeared a god.
He wanted laugh. His Lord knew what he was doing. Into the crucible and come out stronger. Even Lucius Malfoy who had accompanied him down, gleeful of the chance to repay his Prince, was once more a little frighten ferret. These worms of men thought they could harm him. He laughed. It was a cold sound, chilling everyone in hearing distance. After hours of silence, laughter was the last thing they expected to hear.
Then they let him go. All scurrying to find a safe place to hide. Did they fear his wrath? Likely.
Standing tall, he lead the procession back to his Lord's throne room. Still smiling. He reminded himself that he needed to find a gift suitable for thanking his master. Once again the followers of Lord Voldemort trembled at the slightest hint of his title. It had only taken a few hours in their care to remind them why HE was the Dark Prince.
He looked a mess, and knew it. But his Lord wanted his presence at midnight, and here he was once again kneeling at his Lord's feet. Still smiling.
"Your apologies, Severus?" Lord Voldemort asked the prostrate servant.
"My Lord, I am and forever shall be yours. I present myself to you as your loyal servant. And humbly request to lay my apologies at your feet, for being late."
The Dark Lord laughed softly at first as though amused by the thought. Humbling never required one to loose his wit. "You are forgiven, Severus. You may take your place in the circle."
"My Master is gracious," he said softly.
Rule number four of the humbling: too much flattery will send you further back than no words at all.
With an elegant and practiced motion he bent to kiss his master's robes. But he made no move to lift the cloth with his fingers. He knew the rules of servitude too well to break them without cause. He was not in enough favor to touch the hem his master's garment. Instead, he lightly pressed his lips to the floor just shy of his master's boot. He carefully hid his a smirk. Let the highest chew on this. In a situation where the highest would attempt to kiss the robes, the Prince doesn't. We shall see if this example is followed.
Drawing back, he waited for the time to rise. He knew better than to do so without bidding. The allowance to take his place in the circle did not mean to do so. He had not been given an order. This was another rule of servitude the highest continually broke.
"Stand, Severus, and claim what is yours."
He stood. He then took a step closer to his Lord and reclaimed the lost mask. Slipping it on carefully, he knelt once more and reached for Lord Voldemort's hand. Only the highest were allowed to touch the master's robe, but none were allowed to kiss his hand. That was for the Dark Prince alone.
He kissed through the mask and asked in a soft, humble, yet clear voice, "How may your Prince be of service, my Lord?" And he was returned.
"I have a message for you to give Dumbledore, my Prince. Take it without delay."
The Dark Prince accepted the parchment from the Dark Lord and rose. "Shall I return with a reply?" he asked.
"Only a verbal one."
"I hear and I obey." He bowed, turned heel and left. He was his Lord's once more and nothing would change that.
****
The office of Headmaster Dumbledore had far too many people in it for the time of night that was approaching. The three remaining Heads of House, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Alastor Moody and several of his closest Aurors, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, and Albus Dumbledore himself.
Dumbledore lamented on how fewer of the old crowd they could find on such short notice. It wasn't surprising, just disappointing. Many of those witches and wizards were dead. The rest were far away and had yet to be reached.
They were waiting for Severus Snape to return, if he returned. Dumbledore was under no illusions about what could happen. He was staring out the widow at the Forbidden Forest while the others discussed what they wished. He had already spent a good portion of the night explaining Sirius's presence. Luckily, they all believed him. Moody was torn, but in the end accepted. The man wanted Snape's head more.
There was sudden silence as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Minerva staring wide eyed at the apparition standing in the center of the room. Her expression was one of shock and horror. Not at all surprising considering the who it was in the room with them.
Dumbledore glanced at the small host of Aurors. All appeared to be reaching for their wands, none were moving an inch. Moody had both eyes fixed on the apparition. The others were far too stunned to react. He rose from his chair, or at least tried to. It appeared this new 'guest' had cast a form of the pretrificus spell.
"Is this little party for me?" it asked innocently enough. "I'm touched." it bowed slightly. "Truly I am." The thing pulled back his hood slightly revealing the white mask. But at the sight of the slender, unequal, hematite lines drawn over his left eye, the room would have stilled further. "But I come on business, Headmaster."
"Ho- How?" Remus stuttered. So their ability to talk was not taken from them. "You can't Apparate on to school grounds."
"And I didn't, my dear werewolf." The Dark Prince bent down to look levelly into his victim's eyes. "But one thing the book does not mention is how the castle will grant a request if the situation is dire enough. And here I am"
"You were suppose to be dead," Arabella charged. She seemed to be struggling against whatever held them in place.
"Surely you did not think death was possible for me? I was merely biding my time for my Lord's return. Now for business." The Prince reached a gloved hand into his robes and withdrew a stark white envelop. "My Lord bid me bring you this," he said stepping towards Dumbledore.
"So you are nothing more than a messenger boy now," Moody growled. To his surprised, the Prince chuckled.
"I thought even your puny little mind would see that I am the message. Though there is another within for the Headmaster." He held the letter out. When Dumbledore made no move to take it, he added, "I assure you that you can move enough to read the letter."
"Remove your mask," he said. The Dark Prince did not react. "They deserve to know who you really are."
"That was not part of the plan, Headmaster," the Prince chided. "Whether they deserve it or not, it is not for you to decide."
"They deserve to know, Severus." He felt the man before him smirk and he wondered why the Prince would consider that a victory.
"I see you waited to inform your friends." With an elaborate gesture Severus removed his mask and bowed to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, tucking the white face underneath his left arm, still offering the letter. Dumbledore watched as Severus rose. He watched the man's face, it was still as the mask. Complete with the three bar pattern. "And now that they know who I am, what do you intend to do?" he asked, as though Dumbledore had control of the situation.
The Headmaster reached for Voldemort's letter, ignoring the dozen of faces watching him. Most particularly his Head of Slytherin. The letter was not long by any means. It was a mere two sentences.
~You will have your precious professor returned to you in time for the next school year, as I know you will take him. But for now, he is mine.~
Now he understood why Severus smirked in victory. It was for the last and hardest rule of humbling, a topic he rarely spoke on. Reveal your scars to the enemy so they may fear you all the more.
Dumbledore sighed. The nameless, faceless Fallen Angel had returned. And he was standing before him in all his glory.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked the Dark Prince.
"I am to return with your reply, Professor." Severus was still standing as peaceful as if he were standing in a garden, oblivious to the dangers around him. Though, Dumbledore doubted Severus was oblivious. The man was more likely unconcerned because he was more than a match for any of them.
"Tell Voldemort, he still has reason to fear me. I will stop at nothing until he is erased from this earth."
Severus smiled. The expression did little to lighten his face, if anything it made his visage darker. Then the mask was on. "That is as we had expected and hoped. Until then, Headmaster." The Dark Prince was gone and they were released from the spell.
"Albus," Minerva whispered, "why didn't you ever tell us?"
"I was never certain of it until tonight."
"Let me guess," Moody growled, staring at the place where the Prince last resided. "You were expecting Snape and you got the Prince. The voice was a close match, but meant nothing, right."
"Correct, Alastor. I wasn't expecting this, however," he said handing the paper to Minerva.
"You aren't going to allow him to return, are you?"
"I'm not sure. What Severus does, he does according to his own agenda."
"But you can't possibly trust him after this," Remus lifted a hand to encompass the night's events.
"Oh, I trust him. I'm just not sure what I trust him to do."
****
He was now a conquering hero. Into the lion's den and out. But Dumbledore knew enough to suspect his continuing betrayal of his Lord. Which was what was happening exactly. Except, his Lord knew information had to flow to Dumbledore if he wanted to keep his Prince at Hogwarts.
"My Lord," He announced from the door as was his usual. "I come bearing excellent tidings from the Headmaster Dumbledore."
And so the first part of his gift was given. He was already planning the second.