"Young Snape will be invaluable to us," the Dark Lord hissed. "He possesses great talents." He sat in a room in his filthy and unkempt mansion, conversing with one of his newer recruits to the Death Eater ranks.
"He does have great skill in potions," Lucius Malfoy agreed.
"That and more, young one. That and more. He bears many hollow places in his heart for us to fill."
"Excuse me, my Lord?" Lucius returned.
"He is like a great sponge for attention and adulation. Haven't you noticed?"
Malfoy believed that Severus was more of a loner, but dared not contradict Voldemort. Instead, he nodded in agreement.
"Father cruel, mother useless, friends few and far between, enemies effective in wrecking him. He tried to kill himself in his despair," the Dark Lord smiled, "Twice that I know of. Our dear, darling flawed little boy - a potions expert and he got it wrong! Fortunately for us, Malfoy. Fortunately for us. I like despair in a Death Eater. It builds character!"
Malfoy nodded once again.
"The Dark Arts visited upon him from an early age, abuse since the cradle, humiliations at the hands of his classmates. Those suicide attempts and his commitment to St. Mungo's by none other than his Headmaster! Our boy, Malfoy, is ripe for the taking! All we have to do is pay attention to him."
"Not many have, my Lord."
"I know that, you dullard! All he needs is love. Was that a Muggle song, idiot? I do believe it was. Severus clings in desperation to that old fool Dumbledore, which is lucky for us. Soon, he will realize who his true friends are."
"I have often told him that," Lucius commented.
"Contact little Severus and tell him to be here Friday next at midnight. I have a task for him."
Lucius Malfoy prostrated himself before Voldemort, and then Disapparated.
As usual, Malfoy's skin crawled with anxiety after such meetings. Being around the Dark Lord felt like standing next to one of those Muggle high-tension electrical towers. An odd thing, electricity! Wizarding folk got along quite well without it.
Too bad about Snape, the young man thought as he made his way into the manor.
But better him than me.
-
It was a Seventh-Year Defense against the Dark Arts class, duly taught by Paschasius Radbertus. His mother, a convert, had saddled the gentleman with the name of an Eastern Orthodox Christian "father of the faith". Most people just ended up calling him Ol' Packy, though not to his face.
Ol' Packy was presently reviewing boggart-handling for his pupils. All of the students had disposed of boggarts dozens of times during their Hogwarts years, including Severus Snape. So why did the Slytherin boy feel such apprehension?
Oh gods he'll release the damned boggart and it will show the Dark Lord and I'll be lost because so few have made his acquaintance and everybody will know I've seen his face so pass me by, Packy ol' boy!
It was a further continuation of Severus Snape's lifelong bout of rotten luck to be the very next student called upon to confound the captive boggart.
Severus pulled his face in its usual sneer that denoted disgust with one's fellows without disclosing what he truly felt. "I've done this before, sir," he said, crossing his arms.
"And I'm sure you did a superlative job, Mr. Snape, albeit - alas- not in my presence. I would be ever so grateful if you would oblige me."
Damned Ravenclaws. Think they know everything.
"Just suck it up, Snivelly," Sirius Black crowed.
Snape's upper lip curled.
"Do it for MEEEEEEEEEE, Sevi, for MEEEEEEEEEEE?" Pettigrew snickered.
James Potter would have shot him a look, but James was through with being kind to Severus. Twice burned, twice shy, the Gryffindor boy thought to himself.
Lily Evans sat next to Potter, her face solemn.
Just look at him, she thought. All of a sudden Severus had turned from a friend into the very stereotype of a Slytherin – sly, treacherous, and heartless. Poor Asenath Paroo had ended up at St. Mungo's in a depression brought about by the abrupt end of her first love affair and her parents' remorseless onslaught of admonishments at her having chosen so poorly. Lily hoped the girl would be back after a few weeks of counseling, but frankly doubted it.
Damn you all to the Seventh Level of Hell, Severus thought in near-panic. Of course, his face showed nothing. Learned to do that when Dads was in a beating mood; didn't want to give the old bastard the satisfaction of seeing me suffer.
There was no way he could pass it off now.
"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Snape," said Paschasius Radbertus. "Kindly open the jar and do your best."
Severus walked to the front of the class and looked at the earthenware jar that stood up to thigh-level. It looked ancient; Minoan, almost - and bore octopi and swimming fishes on its rim. Swallowing hard, Severus lifted the lid.
And saw –
Gods, not Voldemort! Please!
He was relieved to see the amorphous form that whirled before him resolve into the face and figure of his father, currently a harmless human shell at Azkaban. Severus raised his wand and cleared his mind along with his throat.
Don't react don't react don't react don't react
And then the boggart opened its mouth.
"DAMN you, boy, didn't I tell you before not to stand GAPING in front of me, your miserable paws clenching that wand as if it were your dearest friend? That's NOT how I TRAINED you, boy, damn your ugly hide!" The ersatz Confutatis Maledictis Snape clenched a piece of stovepipe in his hand. "Get over here like a MAN and learn your LESSON!"
Lily's hand moved to her mouth out of sheer anxiety.
"Do it RIGHT, you little bastard, or I'll put you in the CELLAR, do you HEAR me?"
Oh dear gods not the cellar cold and damp and seeps coming from the sewage and stench o the stench rats coming to chew my hair and fingertips if I fall asleep lying in my own waste after days of suffering!
Severus' chin quivered. "Riddikulus!" he commanded. Nothing happened.
The other students murmured. Severus caught a movement in the corner of his eye; he believed his professor had moved near him. He didn't want to show weakness by turning around.
The boggart continued its remorseless rant. "ALL RIGHT THEN, YOU USELESS EXCUSE FOR A SON! IT'S THE HORSEWHIP FOR YOU, AND THEN THE CELLAR! LET'S SEE HOW YOU LIKE A WEEK'S WORTH THIS TIME!"
The boggart lunged forward, long arms menacing and distorted by Severus' own memories.
"NO!" Severus shouted. "RIDDIKULUS!"
He stabbed the apparition with his wand as if running an enemy through with a sword. He realized that the spell hadn't worked before because he hadn't visualized a way to ridicule the boggart. Snape's shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes.
Easy now. Easy.
He didn't even bother looking up to see what he knew was now in front of him; an old man with black hair and a hawk nose, tied to a chair, a string of drool pooling in his lap.
"Oh, that's just awful," Lily whispered.
"Sevi scared of DADDY?" Sirius Black hissed, his handsome face perfect in its cruelty.
Before Severus could react, James Potter jabbed Black in the ribcage with his elbow. "Enough, all right, Padfoot?"
Lily gave him a faint smile, touching his arm. She knew it took a lot for James to have done that, especially after the Slytherin had spitefully turned on his few friends.
Severus made sure his face was a calculated blank, and raised his chin in defiance. The freaking boggart didn't scare me, you stupid fools. And you don't scare me either.
Professor Packy nodded. "Very well, Mr. Snape. A good, though somewhat delayed, application of the incantation. You may sit down. Five points to Slytherin."
Severus' heart thudded in his chest as he returned to his seat.You idiots don't even know what really scares me, thank the gods of all pantheons. What scares me? It's the Dark Lord, also known as Voldemort, the Prince of Darkness, the Betrayer, the Destroyer. Those demon eyes and loathsome mouth and hands! That vicious lying tongue, his mind splitting your skull in half to read every memory you ever tried to suppress!
Willing himself to be still and solemn and without the slightest hint of fear, Severus Snape sat down at his desk as the lesson continued.
He jerked only slightly when his Dark Mark began to throb.
-
The Master had wanted to see him, and so right after classes Severus had apparated to a large house he assumed to be the former Tom Riddle's manor. Whatever it was, it reeked of evil.
Three masked Death Eaters gave him a slight nod as they left a large room to his left. Severus ensured that his own mask was properly affixed, and then entered to do the Dark Lord's pleasure.
-
The young man would brew a potion that would coat the victim's skin with a smooth and fragrant lotion that later would turn into a corrosive acid. Quite a surprise; yes indeed. It was rather like what Medea of Greek mythology had done to Jason's girlfriend when she had discovered his treachery.
Severus could tolerate evil and duplicity; it had surrounded him all his life. He didn't mind brewing toxins, so long as it wasn't him who administered them to their ultimate victims.
He would do this - and more - to ensure a steady supply of information for Albus Dumbledore. He would do anything to please his father.
It was the rest of the visit that had terrified the Slytherin boy nearly out of his mind.
Voldemort had asked him questions about the most shameful and painful parts of his life. He had demanded that the boy tell him all about Martis Vox, who had left him bereft and alone when she had transferred to Beauxbatons.
Unbeknownst to Severus, it had been the Dark Lord who had ordered the destruction of their owl posts to one another. He had done this out of apprehension that the boy's downward descent into Darkness might be forestalled by the Light within the Vox girl's soul.
Voldemort had then probed into Snape's brief relationship with the Gryffindor girl. "Because of you, she has been consigned to St. Mungo's," the Dark Lord hissed with a smile. "Your fault! What a ladies' man you must be, Severus! You should be so proud!"
His questions went on and on, hour after hour. Snape did his best to hide his discomfort. Snape was good, but Voldemort was better.
Finally, the Dark Lord leaned in for the kill.
"Why, Severus!" he had said, his reptilian hands resting on the boy's shoulders and his face avid with morbid interest. "Don't you remember my visits to your family home when you were little?"
Severus thought hard. "I'm sorry, Master, but I don't seem to recall them."
The Dark Lord growled. "What's this? You can't remember all the cheerful times we spent together?"
"No, my Lord," Severus had replied, quite truthfully.
"Don't play the dunce with me, Snape. I could crush you like an insect." Voldemort leaned closer and, using the Legilimens charm, probed the boy's memories.
Not there, thought the Dark Lord. They're not there!
His first reaction was fury. His clawed hand – resembling the talons of a dragon – flew to the boy's throat. Severus gasped, feeling his body drain away the energy that kept him standing before this monster. He began to choke and looked at the Dark Lord in terror.
"What have you done to your mind?" the wizard screamed, utterly furious. "It's mine! It always was!"
Terror shivered through the boy's body and heart. He choked and coughed after Voldemort released his death grip.
"St. - Mungo's, my Lord," Severus gasped. "They - obliviated - some - memories while I was - there. I'm - sorry - "
The Dark Lord looked at him, continuing to probe his mind. After a long time, he released his fury, now feigning helpful concern. Tenderly, Voldemort ran his bloody fingers through Severus' black hair.
"Let me help you regain the missing pieces of the puzzle, boy!"
He pulled the Dark child closer. A few whispered words, and the color drained from Sev's face.
The Obliviated memories – the ones so terrible that they had sickened Aloysius Bede and Sibelius Hammer, now lying in their graves – slammed into his head. Severus shrieked.
Voldemort caught the screaming boy in his arms and clutched him tight, humming a tune and waltzing around the room, his head tilted back and his face wearing a rabid expression of sublime enjoyment. Severus kept on screaming.
They danced and danced and danced.
-
Late that night – long after Severus had recounted to Dumbledore his redacted version of what had happened – the boy lay in his bed in Slytherin Tower, utterly unable to sleep. His mouth twisted as hot tears ran from his dark eyes.It was hard, this serving two masters. He now chided himself for losing control in front of the Dark Lord. It was not so bad. Voldemort loved pain, and in losing control Severus had actually pleased him.
His thoughts now turned to the other master in his life.
Spies had lives full of all sorts of unpleasantness, and Severus had agreed to be a spy. He had promised Dumbledore that he would spy for him. He needed to grow up and suck it up, just as Sirius Black had said.
Dumbledore doesn't want to hear about your discomforts and your troubles and your terrors, you cowardly greasy git. He did when you were a kid but it's time to grow up, Sevi old boy.
He doesn't want a whiner, unable to do his job as agreed. He doesn't want a damn sniveling baby. He wants information. Bring him the information, you weak pathetic mess!
You don't want to disappoint him! If you disappoint him - Albus Dumbledore won't call you "son" any more. He won't call you anything any more. He will turn away from you, just like your real father. And then, of course, he will push you away and that will be the end of you.
If you disappoint him, or disgust him, Albus Dumbledore will stop loving you.
Forever.
Wiping his eyes and still sick to his stomach, Severus rolled over and pushed his face into his pillow.