The Dark Prince had been summoned to Voldemort's main palace.
It had never been done before.
This meant something serious had happened, something that had never happened before.
It meant the Prince had failed.
Castle Ardennes was standing as proud as it had always been, oblivious to time, weather, or the affairs of men. Dreamlike, but corporeal gargoyles guarded the entrance to the main citadel and beckoned the visitors to beware of what laid behind its gates. Snape studied the looming halls as he entered, searching for any sign of life that would help him discover the purpose behind this midnight summon.
In the darkness, he heard the shadows move. He saw Imre pass in one of the far halls, leaning on his ever-present cane. Behind Imre was the tall, hooded sentinel that had been near the Necromancer since Day of the Dead. Rumors had it that this man was a dead Auror that Imre had imprisoned and enslaved with dark magic but Snape had never given much thought to that. Snape himself had never been near enough to the man to even see his face, yet alone see if it was one of his old sparring buddies.
But the boy in the sentinel's arms, Snape did know. That was the son of Jacqueline Eames, the bastard prince of the underworld he was called. Jackie never brought the boy near Snape, and the boy avoided him on his own; as if both feared what would happen if they came into contact. Snape never really questioned that either because after all, the boy was just another secret that Ardennes held.
The man carrying the boy paused for a moment, and turned slightly. With the hood still drawn, Snape couldn't make out the face but knew the man could see him. They stared at each other for a moment, and Snape broke the gaze first.
Some secrets in Ardennes were
better left untold, Snape thought to himself as he entered the main Throne room.
The Dark Lord was standing, his ebony robes rippling around him like a
dark storm. The years had not been kind to the man Snape has once thought
handsome. Three years, and types dark magic even Snape feared had thinned
Riddle's hair, turning it gray and brittle, it had redden his once simple, but
noble eyes and seemed to make his skin gaunt, pulled over his skeleton like too
taunt artist canvas.
He looked more snake then man, now, as if the magic he used to prolong his life and add to his power was eating away at his very frame. He nodded to the door, motioning for another shadow to move. Behind Snape, Eoin Malone stepped into the light, bowed to both and left. Snape watched him go with disdain. "You called milord?"
"Lucius Malfoy lies near death tonight my Prince." Voldemort said, walking forward and waving his hand over Snape's face.
Instantly, the familiar white pain of punishment began to overtake Severus' senses. Snape was forced to his knees, but made no sound- either to beg for mercy or to ask what had happened. Seconds drew unto hours as Voldemort watched Severus squirm from the pain, half-wondering if his Prince would concede. When he saw Snape was not going to surrender tonight, Voldemort yet up and turned to walk to his throne.
Snape took a few ragged breaths before finding the words to speak. He wanted to tear off his mask but knew better. "What of Chancellor Sorelle?"
"She is enjoying a grand tour of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry from what I hear."
"Then this is the Order of the Phoenix's doing?" Snape asked, already formatting in his mind how he would counterattack. He took no pleasure from the idea a school full of teachers and layman could be any match for him or the Death Eaters.
In truth, Dumbledore's Order was nothing more then a nuisance, succeeding in only edifying people like Sorelle who would actively work to make a difference. Politicians who were backed by the Order could expect the added support of top names within the Wizarding community and therefore be empowered to make wise, if somewhat radical steps to fight the Death Eaters and while so far the Order had done little damage, Snape was wise to fear them.
He knew what a few dedicated fools could do. He was about to say this when he noticed Voldemort staring at him with a cold, calculating stare that made something in him stir. The Prince rose, watching the Dark Lord as he was being watched; getting the nagging suspicion that something more was involved. "…This isn't the Order's doing though, is it?"
"The Order has nothing to do with this." Voldemort confirmed. "I have a source near the heart of the Order, and am keeping it at bay. Dumbledore's Order will never amount to anything more then what they are now."
"My Lord is wise." Snape said, "But if it is not Dumbledore…who else would dare challenge you?"
"He calls himself Saint Michael." Announced Eoin Malone as he reentered. Glancing at Voldemort for permission, Eoin walked to Snape and reached into his coat to pull out a necklace, handing it to Snape.
Snape took it into his hands and twirled it in his palm. A simple silver chain held an oval pendant that was emblazoned with the figure of an angelic warrior who had a spear poised to destroy a snake that was pinned under his feet. Snape narrowed his eyes and forming a tight fist around the necklace.
"He left this for you." Voldemort said. "It was left around the neck of one of my Death Eaters, after he had been killed by Aurors."
"He's an angel, is that it?"
"Poetic isn't it?" Eoin asked.
"How so?"
"He named himself, and it is a direct attack on you. Saint Michael, the angel who threw Satan out heaven." Eoin smiled, smugly. "And war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought with the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they did not prevail, nor was a place found for them in heaven any longer. So the great dragon was cast out…"
"Muggle bedtime stories," Snape dismissed, although he had the nagging thought that somehow Eoin knew more about this then the Kaga would ever say. "I was called Satan so the people could have a name for the demon that haunted their nightmares. This…Michael is trying to capitalize on that." He attempted a smile. "Maybe I should have copyrighted it."
"Whatever the case, Michael is responsible for every major information leak within the past two years. He's recruited spies within my Death Eaters!" Voldemort said, his precious control slipping in anger. "This man who dares finds traitors among my ranks."
Snape was playing with the necklace. "He puts the Jack the Ripper to shame, doesn't he?"
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying the fact I am made a fool of by this…"
I admire this man's gall."
"Let me make this painfully clear, my Prince, find this man and all his contacts inside the Death Eaters. Bring me his head or I will have yours."
"As you command, it will be done." Snape bowed.
"Be careful you do not make false promises." Eoin warned, "Michael has been able to thwart every attempt I've made to discover his identity or that of the Death Eaters that are working for him."
"Maybe you haven't looked in the right place." Snape said, lightly although he felt none of the assurance that was in his voice. Malone was a powerful Death Eater, probably second to only himself and Voldemort and his lack of success on this mission could only mean that Michael covered his tracks well. It also made him wonder why he hadn't been asked to step in before, usually a mission of this importance would be reserved for the Prince alone. "Do you know how he gets in the information in and out?"
"He uses letters, although we can never catch them being sent to him directly. Every time I've found a letter it was already en route to Hogwarts or Hecate Compound, sent sometime by Owl, sometimes by personal courier. Letters are written in different color ink, probably one color is assigned to each different writer."
"How do you know this?"
"Because some are signed the colors they use. Blanc, Noir, Gris…" Eoin lifted his head, pausing briefly. "Rouge."
And now, Snape knew why he hadn't been assigned to this before.
"I marvel at the fact your former Auror alias has made it to the list of traitors."
Snape narrowed his eyes, taking a step towards him. "Are you implying something, Malone?"
"I am merely stating the facts as they are, sire. A power surfaces in the underground, which bears the name of the Dark Prince's nemesis. He's able to find spies for himself inside our ranks and he uses your old names for one of his contacts." The man smiled, tilting his head. The softest whisper of contempt blew over the man's gray eyes. "It's…unusual."
Snape sneered at him but said nothing. "I will find your Angel," He whispered sinisterly. "And he'll burn."
"What you do, do quickly." Eoin countered, his voice equally low as he pushed open the doors for Snape to leave. Voldemort was resting in his throne; content to watch the two Hecate prodigals bicker.
Snape forced himself to remind silent, turning to retreat back into the Ardennes forest, but not before hearing Eoin's aside.
"And after all, my Prince, you know something of betrayal."
Melanie was waiting for Severus when he returned to Akel Dama. He had stopped by the Looking Glass before coming home and the brandy he drank was thick on his robes and in his gait. Snape crossed to her, legs weighed down by guilt and liquor. He called to her in a breaking voice, ripping on his mask and falling to his knees in front of her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his swollen, burned eye into her stomach, desperate to feel her against him again.
He didn't know why the name Rouge had sent him into such a state but it did. Once Eoin had uttered that damnable name, three years suddenly meant nothing. He was no longer the Dark Prince, a man who made the nations tremble. He was now a Judas and nothing more. Hecate and the dark dreams that accompanied that place were no longer the nightmares he could dismiss, they were now real memories, and real scars that Snape could trace over and recognize.
St. Michael had brought them back. He had dared dreg up the Prince's darkest secrets and put them on display, to mock Snape and ridicule him.
And to tell him, he couldn't hide from them much longer. For three years, Snape had ignored Hecate, Day of the Dead, and all the other sins he had committed. Now, Michael dared bring back memories.
"Severus?" Melanie called, her voice concerned. "What's wrong, my love?"
"He'll try to kill me." Snape muttered as Melanie wrapped her arms around him. "He'll kill me and it won't be in battle. He'll drive me mad…"
"Who?"
"St. Michael…this bastard who dares wears a Angel's name. He's declaring war on me."
"Severus, that's impossible."
"Why?" Snape asked, pulling away far enough to look up into her eyes. "Why don't you believe me?"
"St. Michael isn't a fighter, Severus. He traffics information, he works for Voldemort."
Some of the booze that had held Snape captive escaped but left a numbing, twisting pain in his stomach. "What do you mean he works for Voldemort?"
"He's a sells top secret information to the highest bidder. He approached Voldemort about two years ago, right before Day of the Dead and offered the names of undercover Aurors within England. He offered that list to Hecate too…only Hecate didn't think Michael was for real. Voldemort bought the list and had Jacqueline and Valkyries hunt down the spies and kill them. That's how come Hecate had no idea we were coming…"
Snape was beginning to regret all that Brandy as he listened to Melanie. Michael was a trafficker, not a warrior, not an avenging angel. He was a scavenger, a creature that held no loyalties and no qualms about betraying people who were willing to fight- and die- for a cause. A sort of deep, seething hate began to fill Snape's senses, overpowering the drunken haze and replace with it a sort of righteous anger.
After all, for all his sins and regrets, he had chosen a side. He had chose to abandon his Auror past to forge a new future with the Death Eaters and had devoted the same zeal and loyalty to them as he had once with his squad. He had fought by the rules of war and knew that, win or lose; he had fought with honor.
Michael knew nothing of that. This 'angel' had no sides, no loyalties and he didn't care for the loyalties of others. He would betray you without a second thought if the price was right and that enraged some part of Severus, the part of him that was still Auror, still good.
The part of him that wanted to desperately believe that when he died, he would die an honest man.
"Tell me everything you know about him, Melanie." He whispered, feeling in his soul the fire of someone with a cause once again in his heart.
For a number of reasons he couldn't explain even if he wanted too, he made the war against St. Michael personal. He had something to fight for again, another Judas to hunt down and destroy…
Another way to make amends…
And he was willing to make war on Heaven to see this completion.