The Black Years
Part One
Rated PG
Overall Rated PG-13
My school years were far worse than my years as a Death Eater, or as a spy. It was not Potter but Black that made this reality - he was the one who sat back and laughed, who pushed me against walls, who called me awful names and knew so much about me. He was not the one I scorned, but the one I feared. My teenage years were the Black Years, and I think that I'll always know them as such.
I hated him because I was afraid of him. He and I could have been friends, I think, had he been in Slytherin. Much as I dislike admitting this - indeed, I never have aloud - he would have made an excellent candidate for Slytherin House. He was cunning, and ambitious, he wanted to be known, but he also wanted the friendship of James Potter, something not easily gained, and he didn't know that his friendship was also something sought for.
I hated him because he thought me less than him. He may have hated his family, his pure-blood, honorable family, but he was exactly as condescending as Regulus was, or as his father was. My father always pounded into me how I must uphold the family name when I was a child, how important and influential I could become. I could have. I know I could have.
Instead of choosing to take the position at the Ministry I had once wanted so much, within two weeks after I graduated Hogwarts I chose the Dark Mark. I chose illusionary power over true influence, but the illusionary power did allow me to request one person to be killed, and that was not Sirius Black or James Potter, who had made my life hell. It was my father.
Lucius Malfoy was the one who killed him. I watched from feet away, covering my mother with my wand so she would not interfere, trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted when she screamed at us to stop, when she begged me to stop them. I came very close before remembering what had happened for as long as I could remember. My father would drink himself into a rage, and abuse my mother brutally before me.
In the end, after my father was dead, they also had to kill my mother, because she recognized us. I didn't watch her death, instead choosing to stumble away and be violently sick in the black rosebushes.
I knelt, weakly wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, closing my eyes against the flash of green light and the reality that was falling in pieces about my shoulders. I had tried to save my mother. I had tried to avenge the years of her hurt, and instead I had lead her to her death.
Lucius Malfoy found me shaking there and took my arm, his thin fingers tightening around my new, raw Dark Mark, pulling me to my feet. He reached up with his other hand, pulling my mask off, and then his own, so that he could stare me in the eyes, and then released me.
"You'll do," he said appraisingly after a moment. "Welcome to the Fold, Severus."
Before, I had always been 'boy'.
The next week, I literally ran into Black down Knockturn Alley. Lucius had helped procure me a house and I was trying to find the proper potions for a particular poison the Dark Lord wanted. I didn't think to ask then what Black was doing there. He sneered at me. "I saw in the paper about your parents being killed, Snivellus, did you lead that raid?"
"What do you mean?" I snarled, trying to control the way my stomach had suddenly lurched, trying to control the small breakfast I had eaten. I wasn't sure whether he actually believed that, and I didn't want him to know he had struck home. "Are you afraid that I'm going to end up pointing my wand the wrong way and killing your little brother on one of these raids?" I had seen Regulus, the proper Slytherin Black, at the Death Eater meeting the other night.
Black went white as death and seized the front of my robes. He was still a good three inches taller than me. He shoved me against the wall, and the bricks bit into the back of my head. I felt a trickle of blood. He held me by the upper arms there for a long time, and I fought a wince - the Dark Mark hurt for almost a month after burning, Lucius had told me. Then he released me, still pale and breathing hard. I stood there stiffly, uncertain.
"Don't you dare talk about Regulus," he hissed at me. "If you so much as touch him. . .I swear I'll kill you."
His eyes shone with fervor, and I believed him, but I couldn't leave it at that.
"I've heard that one before, Black. So far you've done a bang-up job."
"I'd hate to see James save your sorry ass again, Snape. He might not be there next time."
I felt my teeth gritting so hard I was sure they'd be duller by the time Black left. "And I'd hate to see him come to save me, too - you never know what might happen when he's around me. I know someone who'd pay a very large price for his head, right now, you know."
Suddenly Black's wand was out and pointed at my heart.
"I don't like being threatened, Snape. You'd better hope you don't see me again before Voldemort -" I'm fairly sure I winced at the name despite myself, just that much was a reminder of the Mark and the pain, "- tans your worthless hide for cowardice, or I'll do it for him."
Two weeks later, I got word that Potter and Evans were getting married by listening to Regulus' spy report. The Dark Lord would wait to make his next move. Potter had escaped him once, and we vowed we would not let him do so again.
We would kill Evans first, and I felt a strange stab of guilt at knowing this. I suppressed it quickly.
My school years were far worse than my years as a Death Eater, or as a spy. It was not Potter but Black that made this reality - he was the one who sat back and laughed, who pushed me against walls, who called me awful names and knew so much about me. He was not the one I scorned, but the one I feared. My teenage years were the Black Years, and I think that I'll always know them as such.
I hated him because I was afraid of him. He and I could have been friends, I think, had he been in Slytherin. Much as I dislike admitting this - indeed, I never have aloud - he would have made an excellent candidate for Slytherin House. He was cunning, and ambitious, he wanted to be known, but he also wanted the friendship of James Potter, something not easily gained, and he didn't know that his friendship was also something sought for.
I hated him because he thought me less than him. He may have hated his family, his pure-blood, honorable family, but he was exactly as condescending as Regulus was, or as his father was. My father always pounded into me how I must uphold the family name when I was a child, how important and influential I could become. I could have. I know I could have.
Instead of choosing to take the position at the Ministry I had once wanted so much, within two weeks after I graduated Hogwarts I chose the Dark Mark. I chose illusionary power over true influence, but the illusionary power did allow me to request one person to be killed, and that was not Sirius Black or James Potter, who had made my life hell. It was my father.
Lucius Malfoy was the one who killed him. I watched from feet away, covering my mother with my wand so she would not interfere, trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted when she screamed at us to stop, when she begged me to stop them. I came very close before remembering what had happened for as long as I could remember. My father would drink himself into a rage, and abuse my mother brutally before me.
In the end, after my father was dead, they also had to kill my mother, because she recognized us. I didn't watch her death, instead choosing to stumble away and be violently sick in the black rosebushes.
I knelt, weakly wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, closing my eyes against the flash of green light and the reality that was falling in pieces about my shoulders. I had tried to save my mother. I had tried to avenge the years of her hurt, and instead I had lead her to her death.
Lucius Malfoy found me shaking there and took my arm, his thin fingers tightening around my new, raw Dark Mark, pulling me to my feet. He reached up with his other hand, pulling my mask off, and then his own, so that he could stare me in the eyes, and then released me.
"You'll do," he said appraisingly after a moment. "Welcome to the Fold, Severus."
Before, I had always been 'boy'.
The next week, I literally ran into Black down Knockturn Alley. Lucius had helped procure me a house and I was trying to find the proper potions for a particular poison the Dark Lord wanted. I didn't think to ask then what Black was doing there. He sneered at me. "I saw in the paper about your parents being killed, Snivellus, did you lead that raid?"
"What do you mean?" I snarled, trying to control the way my stomach had suddenly lurched, trying to control the small breakfast I had eaten. I wasn't sure whether he actually believed that, and I didn't want him to know he had struck home. "Are you afraid that I'm going to end up pointing my wand the wrong way and killing your little brother on one of these raids?" I had seen Regulus, the proper Slytherin Black, at the Death Eater meeting the other night.
Black went white as death and seized the front of my robes. He was still a good three inches taller than me. He shoved me against the wall, and the bricks bit into the back of my head. I felt a trickle of blood. He held me by the upper arms there for a long time, and I fought a wince - the Dark Mark hurt for almost a month after burning, Lucius had told me. Then he released me, still pale and breathing hard. I stood there stiffly, uncertain.
"Don't you dare talk about Regulus," he hissed at me. "If you so much as touch him. . .I swear I'll kill you."
His eyes shone with fervor, and I believed him, but I couldn't leave it at that.
"I've heard that one before, Black. So far you've done a bang-up job."
"I'd hate to see James save your sorry ass again, Snape. He might not be there next time."
I felt my teeth gritting so hard I was sure they'd be duller by the time Black left. "And I'd hate to see him come to save me, too - you never know what might happen when he's around me. I know someone who'd pay a very large price for his head, right now, you know."
Suddenly Black's wand was out and pointed at my heart.
"I don't like being threatened, Snape. You'd better hope you don't see me again before Voldemort -" I'm fairly sure I winced at the name despite myself, just that much was a reminder of the Mark and the pain, "- tans your worthless hide for cowardice, or I'll do it for him."
Two weeks later, I got word that Potter and Evans were getting married by listening to Regulus' spy report. The Dark Lord would wait to make his next move. Potter had escaped him once, and we vowed we would not let him do so again.
We would kill Evans first, and I felt a strange stab of guilt at knowing this. I suppressed it quickly.
