Chapter 1

"The darkness declares the glory of light."

Murder in the Cathedral — T. S. Eliot.

It was summer. Severus Snape hated summer. Naturally all the dunderheads at Hogwarts thought it was the best part of the year. Not for the potions master though, not for the death eater, not for the spy. Summer bought with it long days, but no distractions from the drudgery of it all; just two masters whom he must serve, to whom he must bow and bend the knee, and worse. He knew he only had himself to blame, knew how he had ended up walking both sides of the line, knew how he had ended up alone. Alone was all that somebody like him deserved.

Summer had been threatening since April, but had only really arrived in Scotland after the end of the summer term. When the students had been packed off back to their homes for the holidays the sky had still been grey, ominous clouds overhead threatening rain. It had seemed apt for his mood, and yet, when Severus had awoken the next day in the familiar bed in his childhood home in the north of England, the sun was already shining in the sky. Mocking him. He wasn't entirely sure why the cloudless sky offended him so; perhaps it was simply that there were no errant children to be offended by.

Usually he would have stayed at Hogwarts during the summer, using his time to get some research done, to publish the articles that had sprung to mind during the teaching year, even doing things as banal as brewing the simplest of potions for the infirmary. Busy work, he liked to call it, something to take his mind off all the things that had bought him this far, to stop him revisiting all the reasons as to why he was here, alone. Brewing had always been calming. Angry, brew something. Furious, brew something. Overwhelmed, brew something. Guilty, brew something. Upset (Merlin forbid), brew something. The very act of brewing calmed him, he could not focus on anything but the bubbling cauldron on the bench in his private lab; more likely the bubbling cauldrons.

This summer, however, he was stuck at Spinner's End. Stuck waiting for orders from one Master or another. Waiting for summons to a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, or worse, the burn of the dark mark, calling him and his death eater brethren. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for one of his masters to realise where his allegiance truly lay. Although perhaps that was a false hope; after all, if his true allegiance was discovered it would mean either death or a life time in Azkaban, then at least he wouldn't have to act as though he was in possession of a life with which to live. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't even sure where his allegiance lay anymore, the veneer of his life fooling even him at times.

Day one of the summer was thus off to an expectedly awful start. Instead of what Minerva would have termed as sulking in his basement domain at school, he was forced to brew the latest of an obscenely large consignment of potions for the Dark Lord in the the muggle kitchen of the tiny house where he had grown up. He understood that with the Ministry watching over the school more carefully these days, that brewing large volumes of potions for the dark side at the school was suspicious, but frankly after the debacle in the department of mysteries several weeks prior they would surely have more important things to worry about than him brewing blood replenisher in large quantities. There was no way that he was going to do the job directly under the nose of the Dark Lord in the defacto headquarters of the day, it wouldn't do for somebody to realise he was't using the most efficacious recipe, so here he was at the kitchen table instead.

Unsurprisingly, the burn of the dark mark on his arm did nothing to abate the frustration boiling just below the surface (nor any of the other emotions he refused to acknowledge). Using no small number of swear words, the only affectation he had retained from his working class childhood in the coal smoke smothered town which he had so desperately tried to forget, he made preparations to answer the summons. There was no good time to receive a summons when dealing with the complex art of potions, but there was really only one option available to him. When you receive a summons, you go. Severus placed a stasis charm over the cauldron, for once the timing could have been worse, holding out his hand he summoned his robes, pulling them around his tall frame and exiting the house. After resealing the door and checking all his other enchantments and charms were in place, the dark man stepped quickly into a shaded alley several doors down from his own before disapparating. Whilst the local community had decades ago stopped discussing the rather odd attire of the residents of that particularly house, it would not do to just disappear into nothingness on the front step.

The Dark Lord's latest haunt was much like the rest of them had been. They were always isolated from humanity, after all having people apparating in and out of the place constantly in a high traffic place would be less than sensible. Not that muggle's were particularly observant, but now that the Ministry for Magic had finally admitted that Lord Voldemort had returned it wouldn't be sensible to be too obvious. Today Severus found himself outside what appeared to be a large farm house set between fields and fields of wheat and barley. Although appearances did not necessarily mean very much in the wizarding world.

Carefully adjusting his robes Severus pushed through the front door. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the unexpected gloom in the kitchen of what had most certainly been a muggle farm house. He did not want to know how the death eaters had come across such a place, or what had happened to the occupants. If one wanted to keep their sanity, these sort of things were best brushed aside. Some people would have called it inhumane, Severus called it survival. While his eyes adjusted he checked on his mental defences. Occlumency was an art that required conscious application to work at it's best, and whilst the man had spent half of his life fooling his Master it did not do to be complacent about such things.

Confident that his mind was safe, or as safe as it could be given the constant pressures of the life of a spy, he pressed forward into a chintzy sort of living room. Frowning he considered the lack of another human presence, before concluding that this was to be a private meeting. At least that meant that his cover was still probably intact; the Dark Lord would not have the mercy for a private execution if he were to believe that his most loyal servant had betrayed him. The creak of a floorboard over his head forced him onwards, cursing as he knocked his head on a low lying beam in the ceiling, before climbing the stairs following what he now recognised as the low murmurs of voices above him.

All of the doors upstairs were closed except the one furthest from the stairs. Severus strode along the corridor with long steps, not trying to hide the clip of his dragon hide boots on the wooden floor. He took the briefest of moments to recheck his mental shields before he entered the room, noting briefly the dark profile of Bellatrix Lestrange, before dropping to his knees in front of the man to whom he had pledged his allegiance, in his madness, all those years ago. "Master." he intoned, bowing his head so that fine raven black hair swept across his face. For a heartbeat nobody said anything, and Severus considered that he may have made some mistake of which he was not aware. Bellatrix did not trust him, there was no reason for the Dark Lord to call them together, or at least no reason which would end well for him. Eventually, a pale hand indicated that he could rise. His suspicions were further raised when Bellatrix offered him a glass of what was most likely fire whiskey, which he accepted reluctantly. As a rule he didn't like to drink something when he hadn't seen the bottle it came from, especially when it was offered by another death eater. "Surely you don't think I'm trying to poison you Snape?" the woman sneered. He simply quirked an eyebrow in response, returning his gaze to their Master, who laughed in a mirthless sort of way, which did little to ease his nerves.

"Bellatrix simply wants to congratulate you Severus; we've found you a wife."