Chapter 2

A Good Soldier

The tall pale man stared deeply into a large oval mirror, narrow eyes burning red and coldly appraising the skeletal reflection in the smudged glass. How far I've come…and how far there is still to go.

The path to absolute power and everlasting immortality was a winding, fickle road. The confident boy had matured into a proud man, who had now begun a painful metamorphosis and would soon transform into something the world had never seen. This straw king was imposing and broad shouldered, his build teetering somewhere between athletic and lanky. His eyes were not quite slits, yet not quite oval; the whites of his scarlet pupils had a permanently bloody look; his features were avuncular and mask like at the same time. His once ruddy skin had become waxy and discolored, pale as the first snow.

It appeared as if he were slowly de-evolving back to a prehistoric skeletal frame, with a trace of serpentine qualities. His inner essence was slowly tearing apart, his humanity receding further and further away. There was something unnerving and disquieting about his demeanor, as if evil itself was emanating from each breath he stole.

The pale man sensed one of his faithful servants approaching and quietly pulled the hood of his dark green robe back over his hairless head.

In his youth the man had been called handsome, striking, even beautiful. Capable of charming and seducing all types of women – and men for that matter – in order to ferret out what he wanted, to gleam all that he desired. But as his magical reservoir of power grew, his weapons of guile and seduction faded away and were soon replaced by threats and outright intimidation.

He stepped onto a small dais and sat down on a high backed black marble chair – a mini throne for the would-be straw king – and faced an old paneled door. Hesitant footsteps padded closer and closer…and then came a gentle knock.

"Come in," hissed Lord Voldemort. His voice was a mixture of a raspy octave and a serpentine hiss. He spoke softly, yet when he did no one ever failed to hear or understand him. His voice had the uncanny ability to carry to all corners of a room, no matter how big or small the space.

A stringy, ashen-faced man quietly slipped into the room. His shoulder length greasy black hair sat atop an angular face. His hooked nose was the most prominent feature on his scowling face, along with keen, calculating eyes that darted around the room. They were dark pools, black as night and full of wary intelligence – impenetrable as the dead of night, except to the most accomplished of wizards. Voldemort looked into the eyes and was always surprised to find how much this boy reminded him of his former self.

The Dark Lord had been an orphan in the truest sense of the word – an indifferent father who never even spared a thought about his offspring and a wretched mother who gave up on the world, on herself and on her young son. He was cunning and exceedingly shrewd. Ancient and powerful wizarding blood flowed through his veins. Capable of inventing new spells, new potions, new uses for old tricks. Selfish and hungry for power – a deep yearning desire to gain respect and fear from others.

Yes, I share many qualities with this scared young man.

Lord Voldemort had been wary of letting young Severus Snape get too close to him, something about the boy rankled him. But eventually, as with all men, he had discovered the boy's weaknesses. No one can hide their desires and fears from me!

The boy was insecure, and struggled with bouts of depression and intense pangs of loneliness. He could not let go of perceived slights or rise above insignificant and petty quarrels. And above all this boy wanted to be safe, to feel protected, he wanted to…belong. And that was what Lord Voldemort could offer him. That is what He could offer to all of them. The opportunity to be part of something bigger than themselves, to belong, to have a home.

"You called for an audience with me, my Lord?"

"Yes Severus…I did. What has kept you?"

"I came at once my Lord. I was only just told – no more than an hour ago. I apparated to Townson Square and then had to be told of this location, I swear it! Mulciber was late in meeting me!"

"I see…I will speak to him later…if what you say is true…"

Voldemort enjoyed playing games with his servants, always testing and pitting them against each other at every opportunity. I must always sow suspicion and discord, they should never feel as if they can trust anyone but me. Disharmony and suspicion made all his followers ill at ease with one another – always kept them on edge. Only the Dark Lord could ever be completely trusted – they must never forget this!

"Now…to the matter at hand. I have been pleased, very pleased, with your…performance as of late."

Snape knelt down to one knee and bowed his head. "Thank you, my Lord. I live only to serve."

"Yes, your initiation ceremony was especially…impressive. Most of my Death Eaters choose a random wizard or muggle to…assist in their initiation. But you chose someone so close to you. Most impressive…Severusss."

Snape began to perspire, unconsciously locking the rooms in his memory house as his mind instinctively sensed danger. He had never had the privilege to be alone with the Dark Lord before. There were whispers that a private audience with his holiness meant rich rewards…or a painful death. Snape's mind raced – what was happening? Am I to be punished? Does He know?

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, my Lord. Always."

"Look at me!"

Snape felt his eyes snap open, forced to look up and drink in the red beams shooting out at him. Snape felt a cold finger snake its way up his spine as he locked eyes with the Dark Lord, a tickle scratched his throat and an uneasiness spread throughout him as a foreign presence entered his mind.

He had always admired the Dark Lord. Stronger than any dark wizard in history. A God walking the Earth. Pure blood champion of wizarding rights. Protector of the less fortunate and downtrodden. The Dark Lord had even shown kindness and welcome to half-bloods like himself. Unlike the unfair world, the Dark Lord ran a meritocracy. The hardest working, smartest and most able soldiers rose. There was no nepotism, no cronyism; although pure bloods were able to rise the fastest and were shown the most respect.

Snape had found a home amongst the dark brethren, he kept mostly to himself and stayed out of the way – he had no real friends anymore. No one knew where he came from or shameful half-blood origin. Only the Dark Lord knew, only He was privy to that secret. And what did it matter? Half-bloods were given ample opportunity to succeed in the dark legion. He even knew of a few, like him, that were bestowed Death Eater status.

Snape didn't fully comprehend the Dark Lord's ardent obsession with wiping out most of the mud bloods and muggles, but it was of no concern to Snape. The needs of the righteous few outweighed the needs of the unworthy many. He would help his brothers and sister make a better world for wizards, for humanity!

Snape stared unblinkingly into the Dark Lord's burning slits – stared resolutely into the malevolent fire. It was a terrifying, yet exhilarating feeling to have a private audience with the Dark Lord, an indescribable mix of emotions impossible to describe. One yearned to be near the Dark Lord and feel his dark presence, but there was also a pervading sense of fear. He could lash out violently at any moment, an angry viper always lurked just beneath the calm surface – like walking a swinging tightrope over a rock strewn ravine while a breeze blew overhead.

Reading another's mind is a challenging and difficult endeavor. Memories are layered one on top of the other and are ever changing – shifting sands in a winding hour glass. Food and drink, one's environment, even the passage of time, can cause true memories to change within the mind of an individual. The memory itself is not always reliable and in some cases can be wrong, totally contradicting the actual events that had occurred. People tend to remember things how they want, unconsciously painting themselves in a more appealing light. Powerful wizards have been known alter their own memories from time and time, and some are rumored to be strong enough to even fight veritaserum.

Lord Voldemort had mastered the art of Legilimency and Occlumency as a young boy, even before he had graduated from Hogwarts. The mastery of these two related magical fields was an invaluable as he had embarked on his great quest – a long journey with the ultimate goal of collecting the world's rarest magical treasures, ancient items that would help protect his deepest secret. And if one wanted to find long lost possessions, there was no greater weapon then reading minds and possessing the subtle ability to ferret out truth buried within lies.

The Dark Lord entered the young man's mind and quickly found himself within Snape's memory house. He walked through the rooms on the first floor, grainy images of the boy's mundane life. He passed through the second floor without pause and entered the attic. He saw shifting images of a young child eating tossed out bread in the back of a bakery, a pale boy being teased while at Hogwarts, a teenager greedily spying on a girl while hidden amongst the bushes. Other snapshots of Snape floated around the room – enviously looking at other students, starting icily out over a blue lake as a girl stalked away from him, jumping out a window and leaving an angry old man shaking in his wake.

Voldemort glided back down the stairs and approached a basement door. Just then the house started to shake – doors slamming, windows breaking, walls cracking. It sounded as if some dark poltergeist was sweeping through the house, screaming to be noticed.

"Relax my servant, I already know what is kept there," Voldemort whispered while releasing the now nauseous young man from the mental grasp. "You are still deemed worthy…I have a task for you…and only you are suited for it."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape quickly replied, gasping for breath as if he had been running hard. He turned his head to the side and retched, but nothing came out. Embarrassed, he turned back to the Dark Lord red faced, but eager to receive a personal mission.

"Many years ago, in another lifetime, I visited the old fool at Hogwarts and requested something. It was denied to me and now I want you to get it for me."

"Yes, anything. What is it you seek, my Lord?"

"You will enquire about a teaching post at the school… I want you to convince the old fool to award you the position of Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts."

Snape's hungry smile slipped off his face – this was not the great task he had envisioned to bring him honor.

Nott had been tasked to hunt down and kill Arthur Pemmly, the famous Auror. Rosier had been instructed to travel to America, to track down and recruit the renowned wizard warrior, Donovan Brent. My reward was to go back to Hogwarts? I've only just graduated, I'm too young to teach. Some of the students there would still remember me – they would remember my frequent humiliations at the hands of the gang of four.

"My Lord, of course I will do as you ask. But…uh…I think it may be difficult for me to win the position?" He hesitated and his answer stumbled out as a question.

"What is this," hissed Voldemort. His voice raised only an octave, but it sounded thunderous within the small room. "Your first response is one of weakness? Already an excuse on your lips?"

"No my Lord, it's just that…I know Dumbledore. He has…traditions. Yes, he's very keen to preserve the old ways. Teachers are typically much older than I am, much more experienced." Snape's mind raced to point out further obstacles to the plan, while still appearing servile and keen to please. "He detests our house, my Lord. Hates the Slytherin name. He's prejudiced against me, against all alum. And he has just hired Merriweather. Why would he ask him to leave the post so soon?"

"Could you not persuade him that you would be a better teacher?"

"I'm not as skilled a wizard as you are my Lord. I have nowhere near your power to…convince."

"Enough! Do not try to appeal to my vanity in such a ham handed way." Violence always lurked near the Dark Lord, bubbling just beneath the controlled surface – a latent ever-present emotion. "You will not obey?"

"No, of course not my Lord."

Voldemort stared down at the young boy with irritation. Of course, the old fool wouldn't hire him. But Snape would visit the school nonetheless – he wanted to dangle this vulnerable boy in front of the old fool. Dumbledore might even be tempted to try and save the young lad. Always trying to protect everyone, so quick to hand out second chances. He was so powerful, if only he could be persuaded to join me, to share in my vision…alas the old fool would never see reason.

Voldemort was quickly becoming accustomed to commanding his soldiers with threats of pain or, in rare instances, the promise of a rich reward. But with this boy, a tiny drop of honesty would provide the correct motivation. He was smart, maybe too smart, but fear is not always the best stimulus to inspire others.

"You think I've not already considered this? You dare to presume you know more than I do, can see farther than the Dark Lord?"

"No, of course not, my Lord. Please forgive me…I get…excited in your presence. I wasn't thinking clearly."

People were so easy to bend, mere palm trees swaying in my hurricane. "You're quite right Severus. I've considered the possible outcomes and have also concluded it unlikely for you to win him over. But should you succeed…well…your reward would be incalculable. I've the utmost confidence in your talents and see no reason you should fail me."

Snape looked up, pride and greed sharing the spotlight in his eyes. He soaked up the praise as his thoughts flew to all the possible rewards. Voldemort stared down at his servant and was reminded of a dog hungrily lapping up water.

"You shall seek an audience with Dumbledore immediately. I think you'll find that Merriweather has not been able to hold onto his teaching position. And you will make certain that the interview is conducted on Hogwarts ground."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Now listen closely Severus. Rappaport will give you a list of books I want taken from the school. Some may be in the library, some may lie in offices of the teachers – but I want those books."

"Yes my Lord." Snape stood up, eager to get started.

"And Severus, most importantly." Voldemort's mind flashed to the treasures he had hunted down over the years and transformed into lock boxes for his most prized possession. "I want the sword the old fool keeps in his office."

"My Lord?"

"Don't come back to me without the sword of Godric Gryffindor…"