Snape's Initiation
It was a very dark night, darker than any he could remember having occurred before. He stood alone, certainly not for the first time in his life, and allowed the darkness to encapsulate him entirely. He took a deep breath of cold, bitter air which rattled down his lungs and dried the back of his throat. The air was still; so still, in fact, that nothing moved, even the grass on the ground, even the leaves on the trees. Nor his silken robes, nor the hair that hung around his face, white skin framed by curtains of midnight. Everything was as still as a picture, as if someone had frozen reality and captured it in a moment so dark it could barely be seen. No stars were out, no moon shone. Nothing could be heard except for the beating of the man's heart. Although he remained calm on the exterior, his heart was threatening to burst through his chest. He was sure that anyone who came close would here it pounding at a rapid pace.
Without warning, a second man arrived, though to call him a man was to manipulate the word to encompass a being so dissimilar from all other beings to whom the term would apply. He was whiter than chalk, with eyes that burned like coal, and fingers long and thin as legs of arachnids. A cloak was wrapped tightly around him to shield him from the cold night air, as he approached the first man, stood alone on the hilltop.
"Severus!"
The first man turned sharply. He had shown no previous acknowledgment of his master's presence and therefore obviously surprised by his sudden appearance, though outwardly he demonstrated no such reaction. In the presence of his master, however, Severus sunk to his knees and bowed his head to gaze at the floor between himself and the feet of his master.
"I came, my Lord," said Severus. His voice was low and reverent, its usual arrogance relinquished for the occasion.
The second man glared insolently at the man bowed before him. His power, he knew, was as great as it had ever been; his name as famous as any name, and so feared that people dared not speak it. Even his followers, his servants, would only call him the Dark Lord.
"Severus," said the Dark Lord again. His voice was high and cold; each word was uttered uncaringly and mercilessly, without passion or purpose. "Your work has been most beneficial. I am pleased with what you have done."
The Dark Lord paused, leaving the air as silent as if sound had never penetrated the eerie stillness that ensued. The man still bowed on the hard earth drew anothersharp breath of cold night air. He waited for his master to continue, or to give some instruction. He would wait all night unless told to do otherwise.
"I am offering you, Severus, a taste of glory. A sample of organisation. A preview of a world that is governed by a competent being who understands the importance of natural order and balance. I am offering you a position of respect, of authority, a post where those who are against you will fear you, and those who are with you will revere you. Should you accept my offer, you will be marked as others have been so marked before you. You will demonstrate absolute loyalty and obedience to your master, and enforce such measures upon all others around you."
The Dark Lord paused again and raised his slit-like eyes, the colour of blood, to the sky as if searching for some hidden entity in the inky blanket surrounding the landscape. Almost impulsively, he turned his attention instantly back to Severus.
"Do you accept my offer?"
In a voice barely above a whisper, Severus answered his master.
"My Lord, I live only to serve you. Your command be my plight, your wishes my quest and your desires my pursuits."
His master seemed satisfied with this response as the distorted features under his waxy skin rearranged themselves to form what could be considered an expression of contentment.
"Hold out your arm," he drawled in his high, uninterested voice.
The servant did as instructed, and bared the smooth flesh of his left arm, which he thrust out in front of him towards his master. The Dark Lord took out his wand and placed the tip of it beyond Severus's wrist, where a deep blue vein was visible through his skin. Where the wand touched it, the skin began to writhe and blacken as if charring in flames. Though in agony, the servant neither moved nor made a sound. When the sensation stopped, he chanced a look at his forearm and saw a hideous motif of a skull bearing a snake for a tongue etched irrevocably into his skin, which was pink and raw around the perimeter.
"Thank you, my Lord," he rasped, and crawled forward to kiss the hem of the robe his master wore.
"You may stand now, Severus," was the cold reply. "You are now a Death Eater, servant to Lord Voldemort. Serve me well and you will be rewarded. Fail me, and you will rapidly comprehend that I have no time to spare for incompetence."
Without another word, Lord Voldemort disappeared into the night, leaving Severus Snape standing alone on a hilltop in the blackness of the cold night.