Treasa stood trembling in the middle of her parents' drawing room. It was deep in the night and the hastily lit candles cast more shadow than light on the faces around her. The room was nearly full, she noted, though most of the faces were obscured. The one directly in front of her was, unfortunately, all too clear.
"Tell me your name, girl," Lord Voldemort commanded.
She clutched at the collar of her nightrobe, feeling the Dark Lord's eyes boring into her. "Treasa."
Her father cleared his throat and glared. Treasa's gaze jumped from him back to Voldemort. He had pursed his lips, obviously waiting. She bit her tongue, then added, "my lord."
Voldemort nodded in satisfaction at the title. "You have spirit," he said in cold tones that spoke neither of anger nor of approbation. "Take heed that it is well-governed."
"Always by my own good judgment."
Her father broke in with a choking cough, his brogue thick and halting. "A bit high-strung, she is, my lord. She's smart as they come, though. Got all O's on her N.E.W.T.S. Trained to be a mediwitch – just sent off a query to St. Mungo's last -"
"Silence."
The sharp edge to the high voice made everyone stiffen. Treasa's mother was watching her with the same misty-eyed expression she had worn at the Hogwarts graduation months ago. The look annoyed Treasa, cutting through the fear that had been circling her chest. Her parents were supporters of Lord Voldemort, but her own feelings on the issue had never been asked.
"My lord, I beg you would come to the point of your visit," she said formally, inclining her head ever so slightly. "It is late and my mother is fatigued."
Voldemort stepped forward and grabbed her arm, bringing her face very close to his. In spite of herself, a shiver of fear snaked through her body. There was something inhuman about his eyes.
"You have been chosen for a great honor. One of my lieutenants is in need of a wife – someone intelligent, strong-willed, and devoted to our cause. Your parents assure me you are all three of these things." Those horrid eyes were piercing hers, daring her to deny it. He released her arm. "Your qualifications have been confirmed by several Death Eaters… though Bellatrix thinks you are not as dedicated as we would like to believe."
His tone almost made the sentence a question. Her mother gave a rather desperate twitch, her eyes flitting from Treasa to the bone-like wand in Voldemort's hand. She understood the message. The Dark Lord's reputation for killing dissenters was well-established.
Treasa held her tongue and waited.
"She keeps company with the likes of the Longbottoms!" The accusation came from somewhere in the knot of Death Eaters.
"Alice Longbottom has been my friend since the day we were sorted," Treasa said, her voice steady despite the leap in tension. "I do not deny it, nor would I wish to."
"She's loyal to a fault, my lord, and no mistake," her father said hastily.
Voldemort flicked his wand at him, instantly halting the flow of sound. "Ah, loyalty. I can see where you have learned this… admirable quality."
Treasa took a step toward her father, only to have Voldemort block her path.
"Let me make myself clear, Miss Shannon. I require a pureblood witch to marry a Death Eater who has, unfortunately, developed an interest in a mudblood. He is faithful to me and I wish to reward him for his decision – and you are the witch I have selected."
"I am no house elf to be ordered about on a whim!" Treasa snapped, breaking into the brogue she had spent years banishing from her voice. She had no intention of becoming a brood mare for some filthy Death Eater.
The white wand pointed toward her parents. Voldemort smiled. "Quite. But surely a young lady of your intelligence can appreciate the delicacy of the situation you find yourself in. Either you agree to marry my Death Eater peaceably and enjoy a comfortable home and protection for your parents and yourself… or there will be unimaginable consequences."
She bit her tongue again, willing her reason to overcome the fury coursing through her. Her mother's face had gone completely white.
"Surely there are other witches who would willingly take such an exalted position, my lord," she said, doing her best to infuse her tone with humility. "I have only ever dreamed of being a simple mediwitch, and surely canno-"
The words came to an abrupt halt as Voldemort reached out and caressed a lock of her hair. "You have certain qualifications others do not. Besides, you are already familiar with your groom-to-be."
Treasa's focus had been solely on resisting the urge to recoil at the Dark Lord's touch. His words gave her pause. She had noticed Voldemort's omission of a name, and had conjured all sorts of horrid images of dull brutes with the physique and mental capacities of a half-witted giant.
"Familiar, my lord?"
"Yes," Voldemort said, gaze sharpening on her face. "Severus Snape."
Treasa patted Alice Longbottom's wasted hand as the sun-washed ward came back into focus.
"So many years, Alice," she muttered, automatically smoothing the wrinkled blanket on the bed.
Alice smiled, a mere shadow of the brilliant smile Treasa remembered. "Friend," she said softly, covering Treasa's hand with one of her own.
Treasa returned the smile, fighting tears. You will be avenged, my friend. No matter what Severus may do to undermine it – the Order will succeed.
