Casting Shadows at Noon Chapter 4: Glinting Gold and Fiery Opal

Entering the tent, that clarifying light again, brighter as it was magnified by fear.

It was never meant to go this way. Severus had joined, not out of disdain for muggles, nor out of desire to play with the winning team. He did not have to subjugate mudbloods. He was superior, stronger in powers and pride. Such people shied from him and felt ashamed of the lineage they could not alter. He did not need to pick the stronger power. His skill would survive any war, and he could avoid any repercussions with the dexterity of a monkey in the trees of his home. Severus Snape was here because at this moment in time, playing by established rules would earn him nothing. Voldemort had been fascinated by his degree, his reputation, and the charisma that is so unusual in the wizarding world. He had offered Snape anything for his service, and Snape had named his demand, the price to buy his soul and the souls of those whose lives he had never valued- The Book of the Dead.

The flush of rebellion filled his nerves, as he defied his guardians, and defied his old headmaster, who had flatly begged him to avoid the Death Eaters. With the certainty that he always brought to decisive action, he did not regret defying them, but one face, sad and heavy, filled his mind- his transfiguration teacher, staring down from the great staircase, seeming to know where the young man was going though he gave no visible sign. The sorrow in Dumbledore's expression had shook him, gave him the feeling that this man completely understood him, but he continued, and by the time he reached Voldemort, he was calm and completely certain.

He was not asked to kill with his wand, indeed Severus had never cast an Unforgivable Curse upon a human. Veritaserum was his medium, as he drew nearer to the knowledge he sought. It was not such a terrible bargain. If Snape could create a potion that would control a man as powerfully as the Imperius curse, and prevent the victim from overcoming it with time, then Voldemort would give him a book that had been passed to him from the Director of Egyptian Wizardry as token of allegiance, a book that meant nothing to him.

Severus' eyes adjusted to the light in the tent, and he could pick out a tall dark form as he dropped to his knees, groveling as he had been trained to do.

In the same tent, the light softer now, Death Eaters arranged around the room in a semicircle, holding champagne, toasting Severus and his success, the young man leans on a table, paler than usual from loss of sleep and lack of exposure to the sun, a nervous twitch acquired from a nasty cauldron burn he has neglected to heal making long fingers open and close perpetually on his left hand, but smiling grimly. Malfoy scowling in the corner, overshadowed and forgotten. He has finally extracted information from a victim, a job usually left to Severus with his seductive voice and skill with a Veritaserum induced haze, but his triumph is forgotten as everyone listens to his competitor. His voice is harsh and weary now "Thank you, my lord", and Voldemort beams at his vassal, focuses the attention of his servants- "Voldemort rewards his faithful servants, and you, Severus, are truly faithful." Voldemort still seems familiar now; it will be another week before the term He Who Must Not Be Named will be coined, and now he clasps Severus on the arm before he turns to the table, and hands over the promised reward- a book about as large as Snape's arms, heavy and glinting, throwing golden slivers of light upon everyone in the room. Voldemort removes a ring, too, a fire opal, and hands it to his vassal "a token of our appreciation". In this moment, Severus is happy as he has never been, the part of him that still wishes to please his superiors satisfied, the disquietude of rebellion erased, and a true sense of fulfillment filling his entire body. Throughout his life, Severus will remember his time with the Death Eaters as the time he was truly happy.

But is has been years since that moment, and as a boot throws him from his demonstrations of respect, that happy moment fades from memory, replaced with a future bleak and miserable.