Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I don't.
A/N: For my friends Miranda, Glo, Susan, Brittany, Jen, Julia, and Kara.
Snape's Visitor
"Monsters are real. Ghosts are real, too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win." -Stephen King
Setting: Before the first war…
Severus Snape never had visitors.
So when the loud, sharp knocking on his door came at ten o'clock that night as he sat in the armchair in his den reading The Evening Prophet, he felt a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
Who the hell would come to call on him, let alone at this hour? he wondered.
Perhaps whoever it was would just go away if he ignored him or her. He'd come to prefer his own company, anyway.
A brief pause came and then the visitor knocked again—this time more persistently.
Snape suddenly got the feeling—he didn't know what brought it on, he just somehow knew—that this person knew he was home and was not going to leave until Snape saw him or her.
So, reluctantly, he folded up the newspaper, arose from his armchair, tossed the newspaper onto the armchair, and then crossed from the den, through the kitchen, and to the front door.
He was then overcome by another feeling just as he placed his hand on the doorknob—perhaps he should just ignore whoever it was after all. Perhaps he should just leave this person standing on his doorstep until he or she finally got the message that Snape wasn't interested.
But he never had visitors…
His curiosity ended up winning out—or getting the better of him—as he gripped the doorknob more tightly and opened the door.
On his doorstep stood a hooded figure. The shadow cast by his hood combined with the darkness of the night concealed his face from view, yet his eyes, oddly enough, were gleaming.
"Evening, Severus," said the visitor.
His voice was high and cold.
Snape didn't know whether to be fascinated or disgusted. He then thought he should probably be afraid—but he wasn't.
"How do you know who I am? How did you know where to find me?" he asked.
"You and I have mutual friends—several mutual friends, in fact," the visitor replied. "Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Walden Macnair, Augustus Rookwood, to name a few…Why, even Bartimius Crouch Jr…Crouch Jr.—good old Ministry hero and champion of all things good Crouch Sr. is in for quite a shock, I daresay. But I digress. This is about us, Severus. This is about what you and I can do for one another. I truly believe we can help one another out. You see, I'm starting a little movement—a movement for change, you might call it. I see what our world is, but more importantly, I see it for what it could and should be. Oh, I'm certainly quite powerful and clever, yes—but I cannot bring our world to greatness and prosperity alone. I need the help of the best and the brightest—and that, Severus, is where you come in."
"It's you," Snape said, realization sweeping through him. "You're the one they're talking about in Knockturn Alley. And the disappearances—that was all you…"
"Indeed," the figure replied. "And soon, they'll all be talking," he added as an aside to himself. "Your friends tell me I could use you. They tell me you have the qualities I seek in people to join me," he continued to Snape. "Now let me see—"
As soon as the figure began to do it, Snape knew exactly what he was doing and immediately tried to stop him, immediately tried to clear his mind.
"Ah, and he knows Occlumency—and Legilimency, too, no doubt," the figure observed. "Now those are rare skills. I'm impressed. But I must advise you not to shut me out. You don't even want to shut me out."
"What do you mean?" Snape asked lamely.
"Your use of Occlumency just then was dreadfully half-hearted—not remotely close to what you are truly capable of. Do not lie to me, Severus. You can't. The fact of the matter is, you want me to see into your mind. You want to be understood," said the figure.
Snape said nothing because he knew his visitor was right.
Throwing in the towel, he looked up and met the figure's eerily gleaming eyes, allowing him to see into his mind.
"My, my, my," the figure said after a few good minutes of probing Snape's mind. "No wonder you're so angry. No wonder you harbor so much resentment—so much loathing. The bullying at Hogwarts—the sickening ways in which they mortified and degraded you, especially when they pulled your pants down like that. How utterly demeaning! And they never had to pay for it, did they? Because Albus Dumbledore worshipped the ground they walked on. He didn't see them for the heartless filth they were...And you had not a single friend to turn to…Watching your heap of Muggle filth of a father beat your mother as you cowered in the corner. Allow me to venture a guess—she knew that because she was a witch, she could have easily overpowered him, but because of the guilt your father manipulated her into feeling, she was too afraid to curse him the way she should have—to make him suffer, to make him feel a fraction of the way he made her feel. And again—you had no one to turn to. My, my, my…No one has ever truly cared, have they, Severus? No one has ever truly stood by you. And those who did, well—where are they now? They eventually abandoned you, as well, did they not? Of course you are angry. Because no one could ever be bothered to give a damn about all the hell you've suffered in your life. You know—I can sympathize."
Pain shot through Snape's hands, making him realize he'd had them clenched into fists. He also noticed he was shaking.
"You—you can?" he then said.
"Oh yes. My father was worthless Muggle garbage, as well. My mother was a witch, too. When she told my father what she was, he left her. He abandoned her, worthless coward that he was. He abandoned both of us—and my mother died shortly after giving birth to me. So I grew up entirely alone. Like you, Hogwarts was my true home…We have a lot in common, Severus. We truly do. I, too, have always been fascinated with magic. I, too, constantly read up on new spells and invented many of my own. I, too, perfected certain lessons described in school textbooks. And I, too, researched the Dark Arts. I know them quite well, in fact. And if you join me, I will teach them to you. Part of you has wanted to learn them for a long time. If you join me, that will no longer be just a wish. I will make it reality…I know what you want, Severus. I know precisely what you want. You want revenge. You want to be recognized for the great wizard that you are instead of being overlooked due to favoritism for those who are more popular but less talented than you. You want to quit being taken for granted. You want to be valued, appreciated—respected. Oh you will be, Severus. You will be if you join me. I can give you all of that. And all I ask is just one thing in return."
Snape couldn't deny it—his visitor was right. He was right about everything. Snape was tired of all the bullshit and no one giving a damn. He did want revenge. He did want respect. It was about damned time for the tables to turn—hell, it was beyond damned time.
"What do I have to do?" he asked.
"All you have to do is give me loyalty—steadfast, unwavering loyalty. Give me that, and you will have your revenge. You will be respected and valued. And no one will ever abuse you again," the figure replied.
"I'm in," Snape said.
Snape couldn't see, but at those words, the figure's mouth curled up into a triumphant smile.
"You have just made a brilliant decision, Severus," he said. "Of course, once I am finished recruiting, I have to make it all official, you understand. Meet me in the Great Hangleton Cemetery at midnight this coming Sunday morning. The others who have decided to join me will be there, as well."
"I'll be there," Snape promised.
And a week later, he was. And, like the others there, he signed his name to a piece of parchment with a quill that used the writer's own blood for ink before he was permanently branded with the Dark Mark.