To mary, of course Brandon will get his ass kicked. People like him always do. Be patient my child, as the story unfolds. Here's a lil hint, just cause you said such nice things to me . . . remember at the beginning, when Viola is looking in the crystal ball?
To Courtney, thanks so much for the compliments! I try not to sugar coat much when I write . . . and truthfully, this story had been sitting in my drawer for quite a while before I found ff.net . . .
I never add disclaimers. Before I go to jail, this all belongs to Rowling, unless it belongs to me.
Chapter 13, the master storyteller.
Viola had taken a seat at the worktable across from him, silent tears streaking her face. Severus had deflated. He was slouching over the worktable, head in his hands. He had paused finally from his long narrative, as if to breathe, before starting again, urged by the powerful potion in his veins. His voice was raw and pained, and it hurt her to pay attention to him, but the story was too terrible to ignore, and so she listened anyway.
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It was fully dark now, and the nerves young Snape had been feeling earlier had escalated into complete, mind-blowing terror.
You-Know-Who had arrived.
The only light came from a bon fire in the center of the gathering, throwing grotesque shadows across the ground. Sitting still upon a gravestone, gazing grimly around at his followers, was Voldemort.
Tom Marvolo Riddle was fifty years old, but in his fight to conquer death he appeared to be so much younger, barely older than a Hogwarts graduate. The light breeze ruffled his black hair, but that was the only part of him that moved. He sat in unresponsive silence, his glittering green eyes narrowed and sharp; he seemed to see so much more than what was shown.
"What does it look like?" Snape grabbed Malfoy's arm as the boy started to walk toward his master and held him back. Lucius rolled his eyes and lifted the sleeve of his robe to reveal his Dark Mark.
"There, Severus, just like a tattoo." He said, slightly exasperated.
"Does it hurt?" the annoyance left Malfoy's eyes, and was replaced with rarely seen commiseration. He placed his hand on Snape's shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Only at first."
Not quite satisfied with his friend's answer he pulled the mask over his face and approached the growing circle of people, staying closer to Lucius than was really necessary.
Malfoy took his friend firmly by the elbow and maneuvered him closer to the fire, leaving him situated at the end of a line of seven people. Seven new recruits for Voldemort's army. He gave Snape's shoulder another comforting grasp, wished him luck, and then slunk away into the shadows with the others to watch.
There was a movement to his right, and Severus almost jumped out of his skin. Voldemort had vaulted nimbly off the grave on which he had been sitting, drawing the attention of everyone present. Before anyone had even seen him move, he had his wand out and pointed at the fire.
At the muttering of a few simple words, the fire burst into an inferno of green sparks and swirling smoke. The light it cast over the assembly of people dyed their robes even deeper black, and turned their white masks the sickening color of decay.
The Dark Lord paced the length of the line, looking each of the seven new followers in the eyes. When he got to Severus, the boy started to shake violently, hoping desperately that Voldemort wouldn't notice he was petrified.
He swallowed hard (Don't think oh gods don't think he can smell that you're afraid just breath it will all go away) and continued to look strait ahead.
Voldemort turned away from the recruits finally, and addressed a Death Eater to his left. "You may begin now." He nodded to the man, and stepped aside.
The Death Eater approached the first recruit and stood facing him or her squarely. "Child, who do you serve?" His voice was deep and harsh, and so familiar to Severus Snape.
"The Lord Voldemort." The voice that replied was young and female, sure and without hesitation.
"How will you serve him?" Severus racked his brains to remember where he had heard the man's voice before, but came up blank.
Once again she spoke, still unswerving and positive. "By ridding the world of my Lord's enemies."
"Give me your arm, child."
Snape strained his eyes to see the girl lift her left sleeve and present her arm to the other man. With her free hand she pointed her wand into the sky, murmured the incantation and shot the leering skull symbol into the air above her head. The snake wormed out of the grinning jaw and hissed, before the entire specter exploded, showering her with green sparks. The Death Eater pointed his wand at her pale skin and shouted something, but the words were covered by the sound of her piercing screams.
She had received the Dark Mark, and it sounded painful. Snape heard her fall to the ground, but was too scared to continue to watch the ceremony. The man moved on to the next one to receive the mark, a step closer to a quaking Severus.
"Child, who do you serve?"
(Don't think Severus for god's sake don't think who is he that damned voice . . .)
Another skull shot into the sky, and more shrieks tore through the night air.
(It will be worth it Severus this is your revenge you'll scream but he will scream louder by the time you are finished . . . Don't think about it think about revenge . . . )
He repeated the words in his head like a feral mantra until they were no longer words, just sounds and sensations blurred together in terror that was almost agonizing. Voldemort was watching his new disciples writhe and cry on the ground with unwholesome restitution. By the time the man stood facing Severus, the other six were senseless from the pain.
The young man felt his insides twisting, the little food he had eaten at the graduation ceremony was being violently rejected, but he was too tense to even be sick.
"Child, who do you serve?" The deep, booming voice was softened slightly, drifting out form behind the eerie mask.
"The Dark Lord and his legion." He replied, his words surprisingly steady, not betraying any of the horror he was suffering to control.
The man nodded slightly, as if in approval. "How will you serve him?"
By doing whatever it takes to have my revenge. "By ridding the world of the filth who oppose him." By ridding the world of my father so no one can hurt me ever again so I can have my retribution before I die. "And by giving my life to my Lord's cause."
Another favoring nod, and the man spoke the last words of the rite. "Give me your arm child."
Slowly and carefully, Severus rolled up the sleeve of his robe, and without any indecision he extended his pale forearm to the man, who lightly gripped his wrist and pointed his wand at the soft skin below his elbow. With his free hand, Severus pointed his wand into the sky, summoned up every bit of hatred and resentment in his young mind, and let everything happen on its own.
"Morsmordre!" He yelled, cringing at the bright light that shot out of his wand. He didn't see what he had conjured, though. He was oblivious to the Dark Mark bursting above his head, showering him with sparks. He was staring instead at his arm.
From the tip of the Death Eater's wand came hundreds of tiny tendrils, creeping around under his skin, tingling slightly. As the black threads swirled into the shape of a skull, beaming and formidable, the tingling sensation escalated to white-hot pain.
Later in life, Severus would compare the feeling of receiving the Dark Mark to that of cruciatus. He thought he was dying. Surely it would kill him, his blood was on fire, his muscles were searing around cracking bones, and if that didn't kill him, his insides were liquified, pouring out of his mouth onto the ground. He had never felt anything so profoundly horrible, and he ground his teeth to keep from screaming like the others had.
Gasping in between ragged breaths, he fell down to his knees on the ground, reeling as lights flashed in front of his eyes.
"Stay on your feet, Severus!" The roaring voice commanded, still pointing his wand at the prostrated youth.
Each breath was like a war to draw in, and his throat was raw and burning. The world was spinning violently around him, and he started to pitch forwards.
Before he could fall, the pain began to recede and he was able to heave himself into a very unsteady standing position, his limbs asleep and shaking. He stared, dumbfounded, at the collaboration of vomit on the ground between his feet and started to laugh. It was a dead, hollow sound, half laugh and half cry. The kind of laugh that comes after shock, when nothing is funny.
His ears started ringing from the applause before he actually heard it. The Death Eaters who had been watching the ceremony had cut loose with wild howls and ovation, rousing the other youths, who pulled themselves up and looked around them expectantly.
Lucius was overcome with admiration for his best friend, and rushed forward to steady him with a supportive arm around the shoulders, laughing heartily.
"Sevvie, you little bastard! You did better than I could have imagined!" He crowed. "I've never seen anyone stay standing like that! You should have seen me when I got mine, I was out cold for . . ." he trailed off, losing fervor as he found himself gaping into the face of Voldemort.
The Dark Lord turned his gaze from the now silent Lucius Malfoy and looked instead at Severus.
The boy was a wreck. His vomit ( which he had mistaken for his guts in the act of disintegration) was streaked down the front of his robe, and his nose was oozing blood through the holes in the mask. Nevertheless, he seemed to have proven himself greatly in their eyes; no longer scared, he looked levelly into his master's eyes.
"Very well done." Voldemort gave him a cold smile. "I can tell even now that you will do great things for my cause."
"Anything, my Lord." It hurt his throat to speak.
"And when the time comes, you are sure to be rewarded."
Severus was beyond exhausted, and could only nod, grinning weakly. He would help that vile piece of shit, and in turn the Snake would help him strike down Cyrus Snape. The plan was coming into complete focus now, delightfully clear, and now he knew it would soon be reality.
"Come on, my friend," Lucius started leading his friend away again as soon as Voldemort turned his attention elsewhere. "It's high time we were getting drunk, don't you think?"
Pushing the fatigue into a far corner of his mind, Severus nodded. "Might as well get started." His legs were finally losing that awful rubbery feeling, but he still had to lean on his friend to walk.
"This is going to be quite a party, Sev my boy. Tell me, how does extacy sound to you?"
"Sounds like the next few days are going to be rather blurry?" He ventured playfully, clinging to his sense of humor as a way to cope with the situation he had just slung himself through.
"Excellent."
At that point, Severus Snape was still very much a boy. Childishly naive, he thought he was on top of the bloody world. Things would only get better from here, of course, because there just wasn't any room for error. This blind trust was a tool used by Voldemort on his followers, it was manipulative and effective, he could make them do anything with a few simple promises.
Much later in his lifetime, Severus Snape found himself wondering how Voldemort would have lured so many supporters, using only this one method. His conclusion was this: all these people were exactly the same.
Snape was identical to his friend Malfoy in the sense that they both needed to be a part of something large. Lucius, despite his good looks and sharp mind, was not well liked in school because of his elitist upbringing. He was equal to the other adolescents in the line of recruits for the same reason, they all needed to be accepted somewhere. Voldemort targets these loners, these desperately low and lonely individuals, and promises them an end to it all. A solution, where they wouldn't have to be shoddy souls, rejected by everyone around them. They couldn't be categorized at school? Send them to the Death Eaters, where everyone fits! Every time a parent asks, "what am I going to do with you?" to their son or daughter, Voldemort has his nose pressed against their window, prepared to take that child into his arms and give them another way.
Voldemort knew their insecurities, and that's where he got his power over them. He knew how to nurture the instability, keeping it so elegantly precarious, while at the same time pretending to help them. In return for a few small favors, of course. Loyal service to one Leader is a small price to pay for acceptance. For tolerance among peers.
Strangely, right before Severus nearly lost his grip on reason completely, he felt like he was the luckiest guy alive. A blissful sort of feeling that masked the guilt of what he had just done. The kind of feeling that couldn't last.
"Severus!" Shouted that dark, deep voice which had moments ago tortured Severus an inch from insanity.
"How do you know his name?" Lucius asked, turning around to face the enshrouded man.
"Shut up you fucking sod," he dismissed Lucius with a biting remark, and for Severus, time stopped.
The voice, the tone, the obscenity, everything about this man was betraying his identity. The noisy crowd surrounding them was muted, everything seemed to slow down as Severus was pummeled with recognition.
The man pulled off his mask, revealing the face Severus knew was underneath (oh gods all for nothing you stupid shit ), and it was all over. There would never be any revenge ( you sold your soul ) for him now, no retribution, nothing good would ever come out of this terrible action. He noticed a dull ache had settled over his left arm, reminding him, as it would remind him for the rest of his life. His soul grew unbearably heavy and suddenly all he wanted to do was run to Nicola and cry like the child he used to be.
But that could never happen now, of course. That life was gone.
Severus approached his father, his mind screaming. His hands itched to wrap themselves around his arrogant neck and . . . No.
"I'm proud of you son," Cyrus Snape said.
Severus embraced his father tightly.
"Thanks, dad," he said. And though he never showed it, the young Severus Snape lost his grasp on his identity. To put bluntly, he snapped. It was that moment, rather than before when he received the Mark, that he became a Death Eater.
Severus hugged his father.
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And thus ends that little story . . . next chapter will be back on track with the main plot. By the way, it started snowing again a couple weeks ago. All rise for the singing of the Canadian National Anthem, and flee south from Wawa. Happy Halloween.
Thanks for reviews, I love you all very much.
Jeni
XOXOXOXO