A/N - This is a Dark World Flashback chapter. Dark world events are dark, so there may be potentially triggering things. This chapter is pretty tame, but the next is not. You are forewarned!


Chapter 26

What happens to Blood Traitors


Sev jolted awake and grabbed for his wand.

"It's me," his father said, putting a calming hand on his chest as he lay in the bed, blinking up sleepily. "Get dressed, smart dressed. Quickly."

"What's going on, Dad?" he asked in a frantic whisper as he got out of bed and went to find clothes to put on. Not the summer holiday sort of clothes, smart clothes.

Even in the relative darkness, his father's face was grim with tension.

"Blood Traitors were discovered."

He had a momentary jolt until he realized that would hardly be what his father would say if it implicated them. "…What's that to do with me, sir?" He pulled on a grey shirt and started buttoning it.

"It is the Clarksons."

He thought the reason for his father's short sentences was now revealed. Ben Clarkson was a year older than him and his other beater on the Slytherin Quidditch team. They were friends. As much as he had friends. He had gone on holiday with them. Scorpius too.

Now they would be tortured. Maybe put up on the Wall at Hogwarts. Dead at some point.

"I…wait…why am I getting dressed, Dad?" He heard the nervousness in his own voice and swallowed. He knew the answer.

"You and your teammates are to partake in their punishment as a test of loyalty."

He suddenly could not find the hole for his belt. It seemed to clank noisily as he tried.

"You mean…we're going to have to torture Ben?" It was work to keep his breathing slow, to keep his heart from jolting out of his chest. "Our whole Quidditch team?"

"Whatever you are asked to do, yes."

Now he understood more of the reason for his father's short sentences. It was one thing to use spells in class when you were all going to be alive afterward and it was just practice, something bloody you had to do, and everybody took some and gave some. You grimly laughed about it later full of teenaged bravado, dreaming of the day you'd be old enough to blast the shit out of Carrow himself.

It was not the same when it was real.

When your friend was going to be dead at the end.

And you were going to have to see their face.

For the rest of your life.

He knew about these things, events, of course. They were commonplace. Anytime there was one, he usually had to help his father make a plethora of potions to keep the poor, unfortunate sods alive.

And he had to think about it like that, without feeling too much. It was not intelligent to sit and stew in the juices of how many people he'd helped torture just by making potions with his father to keep them alive longer.

Tests of loyalty. If you couldn't kill a Blood Traitor after learning all about how to do it at Hogwarts, you were either soft, stupid, or sympathetic.

For most who had to participate, always close friends or family, it was for scaring people into informing on anything they might know, including their own parents; knowing a friend died because of what their parents had done was one thing, but watching it or participating in it was a strong motivator to rat your own family out, lest you be the one eviscerated for it next.

In his case, it was probably less test of loyalty than rite of passage. Torturing a friend who had proved to be no friend at all. Those things were generally some sort of weird celebration if your parents were one of the Dark Lord's original Death Eaters; like they were special because they had important parents and were being right proper little purebloods following in their footsteps.

His father fixed his collar.

He had to get all his thoughts out now so that he could blank them out later. They could not afford for him to have any errant thoughts when it counted. He had many. He always had many. So, he had to try to fly through them all at once.

Clarkson.

Why Clarkson?

Collar fixed, his father let his hands linger on his shoulders. He looked up from buttoning his cuffs.

"How are you?" his father asked.

It might seem an awfully ridiculous question from someone as astute as his father, but he knew it was not the surface, superficial meaning that was being asked. He was obviously not doing well. How about that.

"I'm thinking it out, sir…" he found his voice was a bit shaky as he replied. "I'm…I'll get there."

"It's unfortunate there's not more time to prepare, but you can do this. You've done it many times before."

"I know you're saying it's an analogous situation to Dark Arts class or the Wall, sir, but it's so far from 'done it many times' it might be in a different universe altogether." He frowned. Then he rather hoped his father couldn't clearly see the scowl he'd given him.

His father could find a huff of amusement in what he said. "Would it help you for me to be catastrophic and histrionic about what is going to happen?"

"Well, no, sir." He needed to fly through his own histrionic thoughts. He didn't need to think about his father's too.

"Then it is no different. The action is no different. It is only the end result that is different. And that end result is not your doing, even if you are the tool of its doing."

He didn't have a choice. He knew. This was happening. Whether he liked it or not. Whether he was ready or not.

His father must have sensed him stuck there. "Listen. Ben Clarkson is gone. There's nothing that changes that. What you do and how you manage this only changes the outcome for you, me, and your other teammates. It isn't a choice. It is a must."

"I know, Dad. I know they're all dead anyway. I know that what little I do will be a drop in the bucket, I do. I just…"

"I know. You don't need to find the words. It doesn't get easier, but you'll get better at managing it."

His father pat his cheek. Strange to think of his father's gentle reassurance being a precursor to him…torturing someone.

"Fix your hair. The intention is not to turn anyone to stone on the sight of you."

It was his turn to huff with amusement. The number of times his father told him off about his hair with Medusa references made it feel terribly mundane for a moment. Perhaps that was the intention.


The world was so thick with Dark magic that moments like these seemed to make the air alive in an unpleasant way. The energy of it was like whisper in your ears.

Over time it had served to help turn off the parts of the elder Severus Snape that needed turned off, but it had not been that way in the beginning. He had learned how to lean himself into it but not far enough to lose himself in it. He had made that mistake too when he was young. The only thing he had to give to his son in these situations was the knowledge of how to do it better than he had early on, stumbling through on quick wits, determination, and powerful magic alone. Until he figured out what he was doing.

There was only one secret to it. Control. The kind of control that was a strength over yourself. Over your fears especially.

Just about impossible to teach to a child. Or a teenager. They were generally the epitome of lack of control and total egocentrism. He had decades of experience to know.

Scorpius Malfoy was the perfect example.

It had been a long, excruciating road to get here with his son, alive, and any guilt he ever felt over his many lessons about control to his child, long before the boy should have had to learn them, faded away in moments like these. That was the burden he had to carry, because he knew exactly what had purchased his son's rather impeccable self-control. Necessity was cruel. And he had been the instrument of necessity many times, in his son's case, out of love.

There were few things worse.

And he had to look in his son's eyes and watch him speed through all the thoughts and feelings that were not going to serve one bit of purpose that evening so that he could shut them out when the time came. His own background fear that his son was not ready for this had to be silenced away. If the boy caught one whiff, he'd doubt himself and that would be that. The road of the evening would become a far rockier one.

His son had enough experience confronting terrible and unexpected situations that he had to trust he could handle this one as well. All the skills were there but putting them together when it counted was always novel; you could not prepare for the minutiae or foresee every eventuality.

Then his son said, "I'm going to go puke. It's going to happen. I'm not doing it in front of everyone," and disappeared quickly.

Some eventualities you could see crystal clear. He couldn't deny it was exceedingly smart to vomit now.


His best friend said nothing to him and nothing to his father when they arrived, looking as if he wished the marbled floor to swallow him whole. Scorpius was so pale he was whiter than his hair. He still had the crease of a pillow across his face from sleeping, but like himself was dressed smartly.

Must be nice and liberating. Scorpius had nothing to hide. Sev did not have the ability to act like he wanted to be somewhere else. Instead of dwelling on it, he took in his surroundings, focusing in on things. He tried to pick things that might be important, but really it was about keeping his mind off what was about to happen and only in that very moment.

Mr. Malfoy came from an adjoining hallway and said to his father, "The others should be here shortly." It was clear from the interaction that they had been together earlier that evening, because Mr. Malfoy had predictable behaviors with his father. Whenever he saw him for the first time, he always infallibly called him sir.

Not copying Scorpius' cowering rudeness to his father, he said politely to Mr. Malfoy, "Good evening…er…good morning, sir."

Why does everyone always pat my head?!

Given what they were about to be asked to do, it was especially ludicrous, and he hated being patronized.

A door opened, and Sev knew it came from where people usually flooed in. He watched the silent procession of his Quidditch teammates and their parents. He felt it in a sharp ball in his chest that made his mouth water with the taste of metal.

If only the ickles these kids tormented on the regular could see them ready to piss themselves right now.

He thought two of his teammates were holding back tears ferociously. One of the two girls on their team and a seventh year. The others were all Slytherin 5th, 6th, and 7th years. They were some of the most vicious in the entire school.

And they were terrified.

Perhaps it should have made him feel more terrified himself, but instead it just made him feel particularly strong that he had not succumbed to the terror of that moment or the terror that he carried around daily. Maybe that was it, and he was simply more used to carrying the baggage.

He looked up at his father and was thankful that was the case, even as his pulse thumped almost audibly from his neck from his heart beating so hard. It was not racing and that was all that mattered.

Nobody on the team said a word. His father moved their parents to the side to say something he couldn't overhear. Mr. Malfoy kept looking at each of them in turn, and Sev was very sure he was looking at his teammates with some Legilimency. His godfather didn't bother with that with him, instead just gave him a wink when those light grey eyes fell on him watching with interest.

His father returned and eyed them all with his harshest and most serious housemaster stare. "Do not disappoint me or bring dishonor on Slytherin or what happens tonight will not be the end of it."

There was a chorus of "Yes, sir" on utter autopilot.

"You will all do everything you are asked to do."

Another chorus.

The anticipation was threatening to burst through the artery in his neck. He looked at the flat stones, following the lines of their mortar, staying in the moment and refusing to let his thoughts wander as his father gave a very boring set of reminders to his 'friends.'

He'd mentally gotten himself beyond all those reminders. He simply wanted to get it over with. Or he wanted it to happen quickly because he was not sure how long he could keep this up. Sometimes, it was hard to know which it was.

The unknown was the worst. He did not want to stand with the unknown for long.


Thank you so much for your reviews! Some of these chapters are more difficult to write than others so your kind words and feedback are much appreciated. It really makes my day!

The aftermath of this flashback will be in the next chapter, and it's already written, so that's good news!