26. The Death Eater's Tale

A few of the female professors - Vector, Sinistra, Chamberlain, and Callie - had decided to go for a couple rounds of drinks at the Three Broomsticks. "All right, now," Vector said, as they started on round three. "Marry, shag, or kill. Your choices are Hagrid, Flitwick, and Snape."

"Why are we leaving Cross out of this?" Chamberlain asked.

Vector replied, "That'd make it too easy. Wouldn't we all end up choosing to shag Cross?"

There were murmurs of assent from Chamberlain and Sinistra, but Callie said, "Not necessarily. I would shag Snape." The other three women turned to her with surprised looks on their faces, and she explained, "You've still gotta marry someone. If you shag him once then it's over and done with. If you marry him, then you're stuck with him."

"Oh, right," Sinistra said. "Then I guess he'd be my pick as well."

With a rather disgusted expression, Chamberlain shook her head to herself and said, "I still couldn't do it. The man's a loathsome son of a bitch."

Callie shot her a dirty look - which nobody noticed - and thought, You're not all that wonderful, yourself. She hadn't forgotten the story of Chamberlain turning on Lupin just because he was werewolf, and her opinions of the woman had been soured ever since.

"On the other hand," Sinistra cut in, "Hagrid would probably crush you during the act."

"Aye," Chamberlain agreed, taking a swig of her butterbeer. "So then I guess I'm shagging Flitwick. Marry Cross and kill Snape."

"Marry Cross," Vector agreed, "Kill Hagrid or Flitwick, and shag Snape."

As though she were disappointed in her colleague's choice, Chamberlain exclaimed, "Oi! You too?"

Vector pondered it a moment, and replied, "What in Merlin's name must that man be like in bed, I wonder." The tiny blonde woman shuddered at the thought.

Of course, the potions mistress had given plenty of consideration to that idea herself, and had come to the conclusion that he was either entirely dispassionate during sex, or else a complete animal. Nothing in between.

But what she'd been even more curious about in recent weeks was something a lot more sinister. She had found out a lot about his childhood and his Hogwarts years, but his time as a Death Eater - an actual Death Eater - was still a mystery to her. What had he done during his service to Voldemort? Who, if anyone, had he killed, and how many? A part of her almost didn't want to find out. Could he have truly been, at one point, as cold-blooded and vile as Amycus Carrow and Rodolphus Lestrange? And if she were to learn that he had, then how would that affect the way she felt about him? Would she still be able to look at him the same?

Despite her reservations, however, she had to know. She'd wanted the real story, and this was part of it.

Upon returning to the castle, she went to see him in his quarters. "You'll be proud of me," she announced. "I was just at the Three Broomsticks with Vector, Sinistra, and Chamberlain, and I only had two glasses of merlot. Made it all the way from the village to the castle in a completely straight line."

"Impressive," he replied sarcastically. His attention was focused on a final exam paper, and from what Callie could see, it was already marked up with a depressing amount of red ink. "If only I could say the same for these half-witted little shits. Every one of them appears to be more pathetic than the last." Shaking his head to himself, he scribbled a D at the top of the parchment and set it aside. "Tell me again why you choose to remain here another year."

"Well," Callie said, "what kind of friend would I be if I left you here alone with..." She trailed off and scrunched up her face as if in thought. "What was that again? 'Half-witted little shits'?"

As she took a seat across from him, he remarked, "This was supposed to be a temporary position, but you seem to have lost interest in the healer program."

"I haven't lost interest," she said. "But what's one more year? I've got my whole life to be a healer. For the time being, I'm happy here, so I figure I'll ride that out for a while."

"And you don't worry that you're getting too comfortable at Hogwarts?"

Furrowing her brow, Callie asked, "What do you mean?"

Snape sat back with a sigh and replied, "One year - perhaps two - is temporary. Anything more than that is settled." He paused, his expression becoming pensive before he went on, "I never imagined this is what I'd end up doing my whole life, and yet... One day you wake up and find that two years has turned into two decades."

She pondered that, and declared, "I'm not the sort of person who settles, Sev. And I don't plan on spending the rest of my life teaching."

"Neither had I," he countered.

This wasn't the first time he'd spoken of being unsatisfied with his career, and Callie couldn't help but think that he was quite like his mother, in that he made no attempts to change his situation even though he was miserable in it. Of course, she wasn't going to express that opinion out loud. Instead, she reminded, "The war is over. You're free to leave whenever you want." He had no response, and she genuinely wondered, If you hate it so much, then why don't you? On the other hand, if he were to quit, then she probably wouldn't be far behind with her own resignation letter.

Getting on to the reason why she'd come to his quarters in the first place, she asked, "Are you in any kind of mood for one of our infamous late-night chats?"

He gave it a second of thought. "Is there a particular topic you have in mind?"

Callie hesitated, still unsure if she was ready and willing to hear whatever he might have to say. But then she replied, "I wanna know about when you were a Death Eater."

Immediately she could see his muscles tense. If there was anything he would deem off-limits, this was probably it. However, he didn't object straight away. Instead he asked, with his eyes averted, "Why?"

"Because it's a part of your story," she said. "A rather significant part."

He stayed quiet for a long while; after about a minute he stood up to pace the room. He's not going to talk to me about this, Callie thought. That left her with the heart-sinking idea that anything he wouldn't share with her had to be particularly repugnant. What in God's name had he done in his younger, less respectable years?

He came to a halt and stood with his back to her. "You told me once that you assume I've killed before," he said in flat tone. "Is that true?"

It wasn't a theory she liked to think about very often, but he had been an honest-to-God, committed Death Eater at the height of the first war. "It'd be a bit naive to think that somebody who served Voldemort has never gotten his hands dirty," she said.

Turning to face her, he asked, "And that doesn't disturb you? You've no qualms about associating with a murderer?"

She bit her bottom lip, carefully considering the idea (and certainly not for the first time). Her thoughts turned to Ewan, who'd spent the first fourteen years of his life feeding on humans. How many people had he killed in that time? Several hundred at least. But he'd recognized the immorality inherent in his species' way of life, and turned against it. Though his past actions had been horrific, Callie had accepted it because she'd seen that he was repentant.

Was Snape repentant, too?

After a long silence, she finally replied, "I guess it depends on the circumstances. And whether or not you're remorseful about it."

Pouring himself a drink, he said, "There is absolutely nothing about my time as a Death Eater that I don't regret," he declared. "But under what circumstances would cold-blooded murder be forgivable?"

"Well..." she began with a slight shrug, "you told me last year about Rodolphus Lestrange burning down a houseful of muggles - including two children. Something like that I would consider unforgivable."

There was a beat of silence, before he asked, "Killing a child?"

"As opposed to taking out a fully-grown auror," she said. "There are levels of depravity." She found it hard to believe that he would ever do such a thing as what Lestrange had done. He wasn't a sociopath; surely he'd had his limits, even back then. Yet Callie wondered what her own limits were, what he could say that would turn her against him. She'd gone through her copy of his Greek dark arts book the previous night, page after page of appalling rituals and curses that made the Cruciatus seem rather tame. Had he ever done anything described in that book?

With a sigh, she said, "I've thought a lot about whether I even want to know what went on before you defected. I can't imagine anything you'd tell me would improve my opinion of you." He didn't respond, but the look in his eyes told her she was correct in that assumption. "But like I said," she went on, "it's a part of your story. And I wanna know the whole story. Even the worst of it."

Snape bowed his head in thought, absentmindedly running his finger along the rim of his glass. After a long pause, he returned to his seat across from her. In a quiet voice, he said, "Killing a fully-grown auror isn't the worst of it."

She held his gaze, noting a heavy feeling in her chest. Bracing herself for whatever she was about to hear, she said, "Tell me what is."

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1978

The summer night atmosphere was balmy and stagnant, almost suffocating, and Severus removed his robes, applying to them a cooling charm. He tried to ignore the shaking of his hands, telling himself, This is what you wanted. Don't be a fool.

Still, the Dark Lord was in there, the abandoned muggle warehouse in Birmingham that Lucius Malfoy had told him to go to. Things couldn't have worked out any better for Severus. Following graduation, he'd spent about a month at the home of Regulus Black, and as it turned out, one of Regulus's cousins was married to Malfoy. "He's one of the higher-ups in the Dark Lord's army," Regulus had confided to Severus. "We oughta get in good with him."

And they had. Lucius even remembered Severus as "the little bloke who was always showing off" when the former had been a seventh-year at Hogwarts and the latter a first-year. There'd been no sense of distaste in the way Lucius had said that; rather, he'd been impressed with Severus's skill in, and appreciation for, the Dark Arts, even at eleven-years-old.

And he'd arranged a meeting between the younger man and the Dark Lord. "Come alone," he'd instructed, giving Severus the address of the warehouse. "Do not show this to anyone."

Presently, Severus drew his wand and went in, skulking around and wondering where exactly he was supposed to go from here. It was pitch black - he had to use the Lumos Charm to see where he was going - and he didn't hear or see anyone. The young man was already on edge, and he damn near jumped out of his skin when his wand suddenly flew out of his hand.

"Who's there?!" he yelped, whipping around.

A spot of wandlight revealed a figure in a black hood and silver mask that covered their entire face. Is this him? Severus wondered. The figure said nothing, but strode forward and grabbed him by the arm, and before Severus could protest, they were Disapparating.

"Ugh!" Severus groaned as he landed on a cement floor. He quickly got up on his feet and turned to the masked figure. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Where've you taken me?" It looked like another industrial building, but other than that he had absolutely no idea where he was. And he was fucking terrified. "You give me back my wand!" he ordered. "And tell me what sort of trick this is! I was supposed to meet-"

"Silence!" came a high-pitched, hissing voice from somewhere behind him. He turned in its direction, momentarily distracted from the bloke who had abducted him. The room was dimly lit, and whoever had spoken was obscured by shadows. "Give me his wand, my servant." Severus's wand flew from the masked man's hand to that of the mystery figure. "That will be all," the latter said. "You may go."

The masked man disappeared, but Severus didn't know whether he felt more or less safe now that he was alone with this unknown entity.

After a moment of silence, the hissing voice rang out again. "Severus Snape," it said. "I was told that you were anxious to meet with me."

The young man's eyes widened as he realized who was speaking to him - the Dark Lord himself. In a croaky voice, Severus replied, "I was." He cleared his throat. "I am. It is the greatest honor to meet you... um... sir."

"Do not address me as 'sir,' I am not a commoner." His tone suggested that he was highly offended by that title.

Trembling all over, Severus said, "I apologize. I just... What shall I call you?"

"What am I?" the Dark Lord asked.

Severus didn't know how he was supposed to answer, and was terrified of getting it wrong. "You are..." he began, swallowing over a lump in his throat "...most powerful and... your greatness is unmatched..."

"What am I to you?"

Again, he strained himself to come up with the right response. "I..." he stammered. "I'm hoping that you'll be my master."

"Your Lord," the man corrected.

"My Lord," Severus echoed.

The wizard slowly approached him, and Severus finally got a look at his face. He was shocked by what he saw, but tried to remain impassive. The being did not appear as an ordinary man - his skin was bone white, he had no lips or nose, and his eyes were an unnatural dark red color. Why does he look like this? Severus thought. Like a monster. Had this been the result of attacks make against him?

The Dark Lord came to stand a few feet before him, and said, "Tell me, young Severus... am I to assume that you desire to join my cause?"

"Yes, my Lord," Severus replied. "It would be a supreme privilege to serve you."

"You speak the truth. By why? For what purpose do you wish to join me? What is it you hope to attain as one of my servants?"

"I..." Severus began, but paused to carefully consider the question. What did he want? What had compelled him to seek out the Dark Lord? Power. That was certainly a significant part of it. With the Dark Lord's influence, surely he would never again have to be subjected to the abuse and ill-treatment he'd received all his life, such as that from his father, or from Potter and Black. And the muggles would no longer see him as a freak; they would fear him once the Dark Lord had them under his control.

But it wasn't only power he was seeking - it was also acceptance. He had found that amongst his housemates, who'd believed they were superior because of their blood status. And having had no idea that Severus was half and half, they'd let him into their circle, which in turn had given him his own sense of superiority. And now that they were moving on into the Dark Lord's ranks, he wanted to follow them, to maintain the feeling that he belonged amongst the elite.

Not only that, but to be accepted by the most powerful and revered wizard in existence? Nothing could possibly bring him more self-pride.

"My Lord," he said after a long pause, "I hope to gain your favor. You are, as your title implies, a god among men. Just as a religious man might find fulfillment in serving the Christian god, it would give me great pleasure to dedicate myself to you and your doctrine."

The semi-human being took that in, and stepped a bit closer to Severus, staring intently into his eyes. "Mm," he murmured in thought. "It is my aim to rid our world of the unclean. The muggle-born, the dirty-blooded... the mudblood."

Lily's face flashed in Severus's mind, but he quickly pushed the image away.

The Dark Lord went on, "Do you share in my desire to purify our world? You, a filthy, half-born muggle offspring?"

Severus froze. Good Christ, how did he know that? And more importantly, what was he going to do with the filthy half-blood who stood before him? "M- My Lord..." Severus stuttered, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Silence," the Dark Lord ordered. He continued to stare into Severus's eyes, then said, "It is a shame that we cannot select the beings from which we are produced. However, does the mighty oak not grow from the dirt in which it is planted?"

Apparently this question was not rhetorical, as he waited for Severus to respond. "It does, my Lord," the young man replied.

"And I can see that your roots have been severed. You no longer associate with the muggle who sired you."

"No, my Lord. He is nothing to me, and he's always been nothing."

The Dark Lord was quiet for a moment, before he said, "You've described me as a god among men. In that case, perhaps you would be willing to provide... a sacrifice, so to speak."

"What kind of sacrifice?"

There was a beat of silence, and the Dark Lord asked, "What are you willing to give me?"

Though he had nothing of any value, Severus said, "Anything."

"Very well. Then I shall require the blood of the innocent. The act of intentional and unjustifiable murder is considered unforgivable by the standing government of wizarding Britain. I believe the standard punishment is a life sentence in Azkaban Prison, if not a soul-sucking kiss from a Dementor." He paused, before asking, "Would you care to be subjected to either of those fates, Severus?"

With a blank expression, the young man replied, "No, my Lord."

"Then I can assume that once you've made your sacrifice, you will never think to betray me. For you would be faced with the Ministry's consequences, if not my own. They would not excuse the taking of innocent life."

Severus understood that this was how the Dark Lord ensured his servants' loyalties to him - blackmail. If I want to join, he thought, I have to kill someone. Though he remained stoic, inside he was feeling light-headed and nauseous.

The Dark Lord backed away from him and said, "You will not see me again until the deed is done. And I want proof, Severus. A body. Only then will you receive my Mark. And my favor."

In the next second, he Disapparated, dropping Severus's wand to the ground as he went.

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It was Regulus's family connections that had gotten both he and Severus an in with a few of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters. His cousin, Narcissa, was Lucius Malfoy's wife, and another of his cousins, Bellatrix Lestrange, was a high-ranking Death Eater herself, as were her husband, Rodolphus, and her brother-in-law, Rabastan.

Lucius appeared to outrank all the rest, however, so it was he who Severus set his sights on. He took every opportunity to buddy up to the older man, and Lucius was perfectly happy to have someone young and impressionable to whom he could boast of his accomplishments as one of the Dark Lord's most valued men. He also agreed that Severus showed a lot of promise as an aspiring Death Eater. The younger man had shared with him the curses and hexes he'd developed while in school, and swelled with pride every time Lucius called his work "inspiring" or "brilliant." They were quickly developing a solid friendship.

To the point that Lucius invited him to come along with he and Rodolphus one night in October. "Where are we going?" Severus asked.

It was Rodolphus who replied, "Hunting," with a devilish smirk curling his lip. They had Apparated to a quiet rural area that was more fields and farmlands than residential dwellings - one house every five kilometers, perhaps. Severus wondered what exactly they were going to hunt for here, until he recalled a comment Garrett Mulciber had made years ago, and it occurred to him.

We're not hunting for animals, he thought in horror. Were they planning to actually kill anyone, or only mess with them a bit? Try to scare them, maybe employ the infamous Cruciatus Curse...

Lucius pointed to a house down the road and said, "The lights are on. Somebody's home." Severus followed the two Death Eaters as they approached the house and looked into a window. A man of about forty was sitting at the kitchen table, entertaining two young children. His wife (Severus assumed) was washing dishes at the sink. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at her little family.

"Dirty pigs," Rodolphus muttered, a derisive sneer on his face. He then produced a large liquor bottle and took a swig, before pouring the contents on the ground alongside the house.

Lucius furrowed his brow and remarked, "What a waste of good booze."

"Nah. This is cheap shit," Rodolphus replied, moving around the perimeter of the house with the bottle. He pulled another from inside his coat and tossed it to Lucius, who went around the other side, spilling it upon the grass.

What the hell are they doing? Severus wondered. But when the Death Eaters reappeared from the back of the house, and Rodolphus aimed his wand, incanting, "Incendio!" Severus had his answer, and his eyes widened in horror. In a matter of seconds, the house was completely surrounded by flames.

No, Severus thought. They're not really going to do this. They'll let it go for a couple of minutes, then put it out. But the Death Eaters stood back and simply watched the flames grow, Rodolphus chuckling to himself, and Lucius smirking in a self-satisfied manner.

After a moment, Severus heard the woman yell, "Oh, my God, fire!" The two children - a boy and a girl - shrieked in fright, and the man ordered in a panicky voice, "Come along, kids, let's go!"

To Lucius, Severus asked, "Have they got a way out?"

"Not unless they've somehow obtained the power of Apparition," he replied, sounding rather amused.

Severus could hear the screams of the children and the woman ("God almighty, the front door's blocked, too!"), and somebody smashed a chair through a window. But they couldn't get out that way either; the flames were blocking their way.

As the shrieking and the banging sounds continued, Rodolphus shouted, "Yeah! Fry, little pigs!"

Severus couldn't take anymore. "All right, enough!" he demanded. "You've scared the hell out of them, now put it out!"

Both Rodolphus and Lucius turned on him, and the latter asked with a furrowed brow, "Why? They're only muggles."

Severus hesitated, breathing deeply as he attempted to block out the screams, and said, "At least let the children out."

Lucius appeared to consider it a moment, then looked over at his brother-in-law, who said, "Baby vermin are still vermin, Malfoy. We don't need 'em running around, dirtying up the world."

The blond returned his eyes to Severus. "Even a rat will squeal when it's caught in a trap," he said coldly. "That doesn't mean you let it free."

Severus gaped at him. For Christ's sake, neither of them could've been more than four or five years old. He looked up at the house that was engulfed in flames, then back to Lucius.

"They aren't 'children,'" the blond declared. "They're mutants."

Off to the side, Rodolphus barked, "What are you anyway, a muggle-lover? You wanna bring one of the little piggies home and keep it as a pet?"

Severus remained silent. What was he supposed to do? Run up to the house and try to put the fire out himself? He would have, if the others weren't there. But he was sure they would prevent him from attempting to save the muggle family. And what would they do to him if he acted against them? He stood paralyzed, the instinct to barge in and at least rescue the children warring with his instinct for self-preservation.

What do I do? What do I do?

Before he could make up his mind, however, the screams began to die down. First the shrieks of the little boy and girl, then the bellows of the father, and finally, the desperate cries of the mother. The roaring of the fire was the only sound that remained, and the absence of human voices was almost as haunting as the screams had been.

They're all dead, Severus thought. All of them. The kids, too.

"Hmph," Rodolphus smirked, turning from the fiery house that would soon be a pile of wood and ash. "Wanna go again?" he asked.

Severus stared at him with a blank expression, feeling numb, then slowly started off down the road.

Rodolphus shouted out, "You're a pansy, Snape!"

He heard Lucius remark, "I wouldn't have thought he was so soft," and a tear fell down Severus's cheek as he Disapparated.

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The only way that he could go on was to pretend that it hadn't happened. He didn't allow himself to think about the little boy and girl, or their terrified screams. It's over and done with, he told himself. Let it go. The problem now was that Malfoy and Lestrange believed he was weak. Not to mention a muggle-lover. What would the Dark Lord think if he found out that Severus had asked them to spare the "mutant" children?

He needed to rectify the situation, and the way to do that would be to make his sacrifice. Every time he walked down the street he would eyeball the old, dirty vagrants who wandered about and think, Nobody will miss them. And I'd only be putting them out of their misery. He wondered if he had it in him to perform the Killing Curse, but even if he did, was that the best way to go about it? Supposing he was ever caught, the aurors would be able to check his wand and prove his guilt. There were other means by which to end a life; for example, coming up behind one of those vagrants in a dark alley and slitting their throat.

There'd been a couple of times when he'd come close. But as he'd stood trembling, his heart pounding, struggling to work up the nerve, he'd found himself unable to move. Just do it and get it over with. You're not that soft, you can manage one quick kill. He'd twirled a dagger in his hand and imagined dragging it across the neck of a filthy, bearded man who'd sat beside a trash bin, drinking from something in a brown paper bag. And yet, he just couldn't talk himself into it. Not even a pathetic, worthless street drunkard.

God damn it, you really are weak. And he absolutely loathed himself for that.

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There was a lot of secrecy among the Dark Lord's followers. Obviously, they didn't make their associations with him known to anyone who might be on the opposing side, and many didn't even reveal themselves to each other. So the only Death Eaters who Severus knew were Lucius, Rodolphus (he knew of Bellatrix and Rabastan, but hadn't yet met them), Evan Rosier, and his old school chums, Mulciber and Avery.

He'd only spoken with Lucius once since the night of the fire, and the blonde hadn't been nearly as welcoming and friendly as he had before. It was clear that he looked down on Severus now, and was more than a bit suspicious of the younger man's motives. "Exterminating the non-magical is one of the Dark Lord's primary aims," Lucius had said. "And yet you protested when Rodolphus and I took care of those muggles in Essex."

With his eyes on the ground, Severus had replied, "It was the means that I took issue with, not the end. I see no reason to torture the rats before we eliminate them."

But that hadn't been good enough for Lucius, apparently. However, Mulciber and Avery knew Severus well, and were happy to, once again, let him into their circle. He was visiting Avery one night when the latter asked, "Have you got it yet? The Mark?"

Severus had to admit, "No," but he couldn't explain why, so instead he said, "Actually, I've been thinking whether or not it's such a good idea."

Avery turned to him in surprise. "What d'you mean? Tell me you're not having second thoughts about joining us."

"Certainly not," Severus replied in earnest. "But what happens if we're ever taken into custody? Arrested or even simply questioned? We won't be able to talk our way out of it or deny that we're working for the Dark Lord, not when we've got the Mark to identify us."

Avery considered that, and Severus guessed the idea had never occurred to him. "Well..." he said "...refusing the Mark is refusing the Dark Lord himself. And you don't wanna do that, do you?"

"No."

"You better not. 'Cause if you aren't one of us, then you're against us. And you know things. Things that no one on the outside is supposed to know." He paused and gave Severus a rather threatening look. "Keep that in mind."

"What, do you expect me to go blathering about what you and Garrett have told me? It's only a matter of time before I get the Mark. A formality. Until then, consider me one of your fellows." As much as he tried to play it cool, inside he was thinking, Get it done, for God's sake. Or else you're never going to be one of them.

A few minutes later, Mulciber came stumbling in with a woman on his arm. Nodding to Avery, he greeted, "Oi, mate! I brought a friend over. Hope you don't mind."

Severus took one look at the "friend" and got the idea that she was a hooker that Mulciber had picked up off the street. She had on a short skirt, heeled boots that went up to her thighs, gaudy gold jewelry, and tawdry makeup. Bloody hell, Garrett - you can't get a classier girl than this? For free? And then he got a peculiar look on his face, as he noticed that while she appeared to be slim everywhere else, her belly protruded as though she were about six months pregnant. He looked away in disgust, while Avery eyed the street-walker up and down, looking quite disapproving himself.

"What'd you bring her here for?" he asked. "This isn't a scummy hotel, it's my parents' house!"

As the prostitute looked around at the grand Avery home and all its fancy furnishings, Mulciber replied, "I live in a flat. Not such a great place to have a little privacy."

Derisively, Avery asked, "How much of a ruckus are you going to make?"

Mulciber smirked as he turned to steer the woman down the hall, and said in an oddly vague tone, "We'll see."

Once the other two were left alone, Severus lit up a cigarette and asked, "What's he doing with that trash?"

With a disinterested shrug, Avery replied, "I don't know. Didn't think he was that desperate for pussy."

"She looked pregnant," Severus commented. "Did you notice that?"

"Aye. But never mind that. She's got to be a muggle."

Severus gave him a quizzical look and repeated, "Why do you say that?"

"There aren't a whole lot of magical street whores. They're usually employed by brothels or escort services." He paused, thinking it over. "But they charge about five-hundred galleons a night. Probably why Mulciber went for a muggle tramp. He won't even have to pay her. Just Obliviate the slut and send her on her way."

The two continued to sit and smoke, and after a while, they heard a faint scream and looked in the direction of the cellar. "Oh, what the hell is he doing down there?" Avery muttered, a note of irritation in his voice.

The screaming continued, and Severus thought that it sounded as though someone were being slaughtered. Oh Christ - she's pregnant for God's sake. There was no reason why Mulciber couldn't erase her memory and let her go. And damn it to hell, he could've afforded a magical escort. Why had he even bothered with this woman in the first place?

In addition to the screams, there were a lot of banging sounds, and memories of Tobias shoving Eileen around came back to him. Shutting his eyes as if trying to block it all out, Severus said, "Go down there and tell him to knock it off. I don't care to listen to this."

Avery rose up with a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. "No wonder he wanted a more private place," he remarked, wandering off to the cellar.

If Mulciber was in fact beating the woman, then Severus wondered why. The Death Eater had bragged about his body count, namely those who he'd defeated in battle since joining the Dark Lord. But if he wanted to add to his collection of victims, then why not just use the Killing Curse?

"That bloke is a sadist," Lily had said. And apparently she'd hit the nail on the head. He likes to play with his food before he eats it.

But perhaps Avery would reel him in. Maybe there was even a chance for the woman to make it out of alive. They could still Obliviate her and drop her off somewhere. They didn't need to kill her.

He wanted to get up and follow Avery to the cellar, from which he could hear the two Death Eaters arguing. But he'd already tried to step in and have the two muggle children spared. That had been for naught, and now he had Malfoy and Lestrange thinking that he was a muggle-lover. He couldn't go on trying to play savior to the very people that the Dark Lord was looking to eliminate. He couldn't say anything, couldn't do anything, except pray that Avery and Mulciber would decide on their own to release the woman.

But that hope was shot to hell when he heard Avery shout out, "Avada Kedavra!"

Severus shut his eyes and thought, God damn it.

It wasn't long after that the Death Eaters returned to the sitting room. Avery gave Mulciber a hard shove and yelled, "What the fuck is the matter with you? Now I've got a dead muggle whore to contend with! Next time you wanna have a bit of fun, do it at your family's house!"

"Thought you might want in on the action," Mulciber said. "Coulda had your own fun before we got rid of the bitch."

"You think I'd stick my dick in a piece of muggle filth?!"

"Eh-" Mulciber shrugged "-pussy's pussy."

Avery rolled his eyes and said, "Well, never mind that, get rid of her!"

Mulciber looked over and nodded to Severus. "Take care of it for me, would ya, Snape?"

The younger man furrowed his brow and asked, "Why me? I didn't have anything to do with this."

"Well I'm not touching her!" Avery shouted. "So you two can figure it out for yourselves. I'm going to bed." He turned and headed up the staircase. "If that trash is still here in the morning, I'm Cruciating you both!"

Mulciber called out, "You're the one that killed her!"

"And you brought her here!" Severus reminded.

Avery paused halfway up the steps, a look of realization coming over him. "That's right," he said. Then, indicating Mulciber, "He and I both had a hand in this. Now it's your turn."

Severus merely stared at him.

"One of our fellows, eh?" Avery went on. "Then make yourself useful and get your hands dirty." He turned and continued on up, leaving the other two alone.

After a moment, Mulciber said, "Take her and Disapparate. Toss her in the river or a field somewhere."

He made to leave, and Severus asked angrily, "Why can't you do that?"

"I can," Mulciber replied. "I choose not to." That was all he had to say before he left the Avery house.

Severus shook his head in exasperation, wondering if Avery really would Cruciate him if he woke up to find the woman's body still in his cellar. But even if he didn't, he still wouldn't be happy to see that Severus had disobeyed his orders. And he didn't need to make anymore enemies out of the Dark Lord's men. "If you aren't one of us, then you're against us."

"Bloody hell," he muttered, running his hand over his face tiredly. Reluctantly he made his way down to the cellar. She's already dead, he told himself. All you have to do is get rid of the body.

He came to a halt when he found her lying on the cement floor. Her face was bloody and bruised, her clothes torn, and there was a puddle of blood between her legs. God damn you, Mulciber, Severus thought. He didn't have to do this. Any of it.

Severus knelt beside the woman, whose top was pulled up over her protruding stomach. She was definitely pregnant - or at least, she had been. Of all the muggle street-walkers, he'd had to go with this one? Did he have some kind of fetish for expecting women, or did killing the unborn only add to the thrill of it all? Severus scrunched up his face in disgust. He is a sadist. The sick son of a bitch.

But then he wondered if it wasn't too late. How long could a fetus survive in a dead woman? He set his hand on top of her stomach, but didn't feel anything. She's already dead. You may as well try. He conjured a knife, his hand trembling at the thought of what he was about to do. But this wasn't an act of cruelty; the baby could still be alive, and if so, he had to get it out of her. He could bring it to a hospital and leave it there, no questions asked. Taking a breath, he sliced into the woman's stomach, carefully cutting through each layer of tissue so as not to nick the fetus.

She's already dead. She's already dead. He repeated it to himself like a mantra as he dug into her with the knife, feeling nauseous at the sight of her skin tearing open to reveal her insides, her blood pouring over his hands. He finally made it to the baby and pulled it out, placing his fingers over its chest.

No heartbeat. A pained expression came over him. CPR, he thought. He tried for about five minutes, but to no avail. "Come on," he pleaded, even trying mouth to mouth resuscitation. Still nothing. "Come on!" he repeated. But the baby was blue and lifeless. He was gone. Severus held him in his hands and gazed into his face, and after a moment he began to weep.

Mother of God, this was not what he had signed up for. He sat with that baby for who knew how long, a mutilated body at his side, rocking back and forth as a voice inside him shouted, Get the hell out of here and never come back! But Avery's threatening voice echoed in his head - "If you aren't one of us, then you're against us. And you know things that no one on the outside is supposed to know. Keep that in mind." Once again, he found himself desperately thinking, What do I do?

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He'd shown up at Malfoy Manor a couple of hours later, telling Lucius, "I need to see the Dark Lord."

The Death Eater had asked in a disinterested voice, "What's this all about, Snape? I'm not going to disturb my master with nonsense. If you wish to meet with him, you'd better have a good reason. A very good reason."

Severus hesitated a moment, then explained, "I'm ready to receive my Mark." Lucius looked over at him, and Severus opened up his coat, pulling from inside it a bundle-up black cloth and holding it out. "I have something for him," he said.

Lucius came over and pulled a bit of the cloth away to get a look at what was inside. Severus remained stone-faced, while the blond's expression took on a hint of surprise. He looked up at Severus, then back to the contents of the bundle, and muttered, "Well, well. Not so soft after all."

It was shortly thereafter that Lucius was leading Severus through some sort of underground tunnel. They came upon a stone wall that Lucius tapped with his wand, and the wall split open, revealing a chamber that was hidden behind it. "Good evening, my Lord," Lucius greeted with a bow. But he didn't step into the chamber; he seemed to be waiting for his master to invite him in.

However, the Dark Lord ignored him. "Severus Snape..." he called out in his soft, hissing voice. "How nice to see you again. I was beginning to believe that you would never return to me."

Severus imitated Lucius's bow and said, "My Lord. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me tonight."

The Dark Lord wiggled his long finger and ordered, "Come hither." Both Severus and Lucius stepped forward, but the Dark Lord said, "Not you, Lucius. For the time being, I shall require only the presence of your former schoolmate."

Lucius lingered for just a second, then replied, "Right, my Lord," and turned to leave, shutting Severus up with his master.

When he was gone, the Dark Lord said, "You have something for me."

"I do, my Lord." Severus held out the black bundle, and the semi-human conjured a small table for him to set it on. He unwrapped the cloth, revealing the deceased baby he'd delivered a few hours earlier. "I cut it from a muggle woman," he explained with a blank expression. "She's dead, too. I can bring you to the body."

The Dark Lord held up his hand and replied, "Unnecessary." He was gazing at the baby as though fascinated by it. "Merlin's beard," he muttered. "Blood of the innocent, indeed. Tearing the unborn from its mother. Terminating life before it has even begun." He raised his eyes to Severus. "Truly deserving of the Dementor's Kiss."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus agreed. "If the Ministry were ever to find out, they would take not my life, but my very soul. However, I can assure you that will never happen. Because my soul, and my life, belong to you."

The Dark Lord studied him a moment, before he remarked, "I could see, when you came to me last, that you were... exceptional. A brilliant mind... a thirst for power... You seek to rise above your unfortunate beginnings. You recognize your own superiority." A pause. "Even among those of purer blood. You have the talent and intelligence lacking in wizards who'd look down on you if they knew of your true parentage."

Severus repeated the Dark Lord's own words from their previous meeting. "The mighty oak grows from the dirt in which it's planted."

"Yes, it does. You will be a most valuable asset to me, Severus." Slowly, he took the young man's left wrist, then held is wand against his inner forearm.

Suddenly, an unbearable burning pain shot through the area. Severus cried out and his knees buckled; he'd have fallen to the ground if the Dark Lord hadn't been holding onto him. He could feel the fire searing through every layer of skin, and down to the bone. He wanted to beg for the Dark Lord to stop, but he couldn't. He had to endure it until the Mark was set.

When it was finally over, there were tears running down his cheeks and he was gasping for breath. He looked up at the Dark Lord, who smiled and murmured, "Welcome, Severus."

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As they stood before a steaming cauldron in the middle of a forest, his new master warned, "You are not to share the recipe with anyone. It is an ancient brew that no more than a dozen wizards and witches have ever been privy to."

"Have you shared it with any of the others?" Severus asked.

"I haven't. But as long as you happen to have the main ingredient on hand... let us not allow it to go to waste."

He held out his slender hand and Severus passed him the black bundle. The Dark Lord unwrapped the baby and looked into its face, muttering, "Your death shall not be in vain, little one."

Severus braced himself for what he was about to see. It's already dead. It's already dead.

His master lowered the baby into the cauldron.

There were several incantations that Severus didn't understand, and a half an hour later, the elixir was complete. It had a jelly-like texture, the sight of which was making him sick. The Dark Lord treated it with a cooling charm, before dipping his hand into it. "Disrobe," he ordered.

Severus did as told, standing naked as the Dark Lord applied the elixir to his back and continued with the foreign words of the ritual. When the latter was finished, he said, "Every inch of your body must be covered." Severus dipped his own hands into the cauldron and began to slather the brew over his skin. "Repeat after me," the Dark Lord said, and he gave Severus the ritual words, one line at a time.

God forgive me, the newly-initiated Death Eater thought. Though he hadn't killed the unborn child himself, smearing its remains over his body was a kind of depravity that may have been even more abominable. He had to struggle to remain stoic, as a part of him was dying inside. What the fuck have I become?

When he was completely covered, and had spoken the last of the incantations, the Dark Lord said, "Rise up, Severus."

It was as effortless as walking. He barely had to think about ascending into the air, moving about unsupported, not merely levitating, but flying. Without a broom or any other means of magical transport. He hadn't even known that this was possible. How high could he go? Could he reach the Heavens? Looking upward into the night sky, he finally allowed a few tears to fall, and he pictured the face of the baby, who was all over him.

I'm sorry, he thought. I'm so sorry.

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Callie had covered her mouth in horror at the mention of the baby being put into the cauldron, and hadn't removed it as Snape described what happened next. The man fell silent and avoided her gaze as she stared at him wide-eyed. After a while, he got up and stood before the window, his back to her. "There are more despicable acts than murder," he said.

She had no idea what to say. Standing by while two children burned to death? Rubbing a boiled infant all over his body? She looked him up and down and pictured his bare skin, covered in the elixir that had been partly the flesh and blood of a dead baby - and in the next second she turned to the side and threw up.

Snape ran over and held her hair back, then conjured a rag and handed it to her as he vanished the mess. "I'm sorry," Callie choked out, wiping her mouth.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, then poured her a glass of water. He stood a few feet away as she calmed herself, and after a moment, he said, "I'm not going to hold it against you if you never want to speak to me again."

She took a couple of deep breaths before asking, "Why did you... Why would you still want to join after...? Christ, Sev, they sought out and tortured two kids, and a pregnant woman! None of whom had anything to do with the war!"

"I wanted to stop them," he said in an anguished voice. "I did. But I couldn't."

"I get that. But why didn't you just... have done with it after all that?"

He got quiet again as he pondered the question. "I didn't have to go around burning down houses or beating the hell out of muggle women. I wasn't in it for that. I only wanted to be... better than what I'd always been."

Better? What exactly did he define as better? Gaping at him, she asked, "In what regard?"

His expression turned pensive as he paced the room. "My whole life I'd felt like I was nothing," he said. "Serving the Dark Lord, there was... prestige, there was power. Everybody feared him, as well as his followers. I wanted to be a part of that. I didn't want to be the pitiful son of a bitch who'd been smacked around by his father and tormented by his classmates. And I was angry. I was God damn angry about all of it. And my mother and Lily..." He paused, sighing to himself before he continued, "Part of it was a 'fuck you' to everyone who'd ever hurt me. Society in general, I suppose. The people and the institutions that everybody saw as good, I didn't. I was disillusioned." Once more he paused, and then concluded in a low voice, "And a part of me did want to hurt someone."

She took all that in, and muttered, "Like the way you'd been hurt."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "I never wanted..." but trailed off, then tried again. "The children and the baby... that wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't want it to happen."

A silence passed between them before Callie asked, "So... what else? All that before you were even Marked. What happened after?"

Shaking his head to himself, he said, "The Dark Lord-" then paused to correct, "Voldemort - valued me for my mind. I'd told him about the curses I'd created. He taught them to the others. And he set me to researching possible methods and elixirs that might give him immortality. He sent me to the farthest reaches of the world in search of substances that were thought to be life-sustaining. For a while he had me working in the Department of Mysteries, studying death and how it might be overcome."

He paused before going on, "But he wanted someone close to Dumbledore. He could see that I was craftier than some of the others. I was quiet, inconspicuous. Controlled - both in mind and behavior. It was Voldemort who taught me Occlumency and Legilimency, in preparation for my eventual spy work. He had me apply for the Defense job in 1980..." He trailed off, his expression turning stony.

When he didn't go on, Callie prodded, "And?"

He hesitated a moment, and replied, "I didn't get it." Once again he got quiet, his eyes on the ground. After a pause, he said in a low voice, "I never directly killed anyone, but I'm responsible for countless deaths."

Callie furrowed her brow and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I was an expert potioneer," he replied. "Many attacks on the Light Side were subtle. It wasn't always wand-to-wand combat. A drop of poison in an enemy's drink was a common tactic. And I was the one who could produce it."

Oh, God, Callie thought, bringing a trembling hand to her head.

"I was able to justify it by telling myself it wasn't I who was delivering those poisons to their victims. That if I hadn't made them, then Voldemort would've found someone else to do it."

Callie pondered that and muttered, "Probably." She was thinking back on their discussion of black and white versus shades of grey, and how everything he'd told her thus far was so morally ambiguous. He hadn't set fire to that house, but he had allowed Malfoy and Lestrange to do it. Yet, what could he have done to stop them, short of killing them right there on the spot? On the other hand, how could he have witnessed the burning deaths of two innocent children and still desired to belong to the group that had made that happen?

Because he was fucked up, she thought. Perhaps too fucked up to fully recognize the difference between good and evil. Or at least, he hadn't cared. For the first time, she really considered the idea that he'd fallen more in line with the darkness of Malfoy and Lestrange, and far away from the lightness that had been Dumbledore and Lupin and all the rest. Back then, he hadn't been one of the heroes, but a villain. It was a version of him she was glad she hadn't known.

But that version was dead. She could see that in the haunted look in his eyes, and the way he couldn't face her.

She stood up and went over to him, taking his left hand in hers and rolling up his sleeve. The Mark was now a big, ill-defined red scar. The skull and snake design was indistinguishable. Callie ran her fingers over it, but Snape jerked away and asked, "How can you stand to touch me after...?" He looked over himself with a disgusted sneer, as though he were still covered with the remains of the baby. "You said you've got blood on your hands," he reminded. "I have it all over my whole damn body!"

"But you're not the same person you were then," she said. "That wasn't you, Sev. Not how I know you."

He held her gaze for a moment, then said in a quiet voice, "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

Callie pondered that and replied, "I know the worst of you. And I'm still standing here."

He fell silent and went over to his desk to pour another drink. After taking a sip, he muttered, "That's because you haven't heard the worst."

She did a double take. He'd provided the poisons that had killed who knew how many people, watched as Malfoy and Lestrange burned two children to death, and slathered a liquified baby over himself. And apparently he'd never "directly" killed anyone. So what in God's name could be the worst of it? Almost not wanting to hear the answer, she said, "Tell me."