Chapter 8 – Blood is Thicker than Water

Jubilant shrieks peppered the cool night air, with elated voices saturating all the ambient sound. Deep within the Forest of Dean, a large collection of Death Eaters were celebrating unabashedly and wholeheartedly. Life can be a difficult, tumultuous journey full of hardship and loss, but sometimes life could be oh so very sweet.

The months had been marked with success after resounding success for the Death Eater crusade. More and more recruits were joining the pure blood cause, and those that didn't readily join were coerced into seeing the light. Lord Voldemort had inspired all manner of dark creatures to join his ranks – giants, spiders and even centaurs rallied to his side. The Ministry of Magic had been suffering defections on a daily basis and the Order of the Phoenix was losing members faster than Dumbledore could replenish its ranks.

Tonight, amongst old ruins nestled deep within the forest, a dark revelry was in full swing due to the deaths of Gideon and Fabian Prewett – two highly capable members of the Order. The heroes of the night were Barty Crouch and Antonin Dolohov, the only survivors of a five man Death Eater squad that had been dispatched to deal with the formidable brothers. Dolohov had dueled beautifully that night and, helped along by Barty's reckless abandon, had killed the famous wizards from the Order.

Food, drink and praise were being doled out by all in attendance. There was a cheerfulness floating in the air, buoyed by the knowledge that two powerful and dangerous wizards for the other side were long gone. On top of that, the Dark Lord had personally given congratulations to the gathered soldiers before leaving the festivities with a dramatic flash. The remaining Death Eaters were all basking in the afterglow of the rare praise bestowed upon them from their dark leader.

However, not all in attendance were in a celebratory mood. One wizard stood off to the edge of the festivities, solemn and alone. Severus Snape's feelings of confusion and isolation were steadily mounting, despite the success of the dark movement – he was becoming further and further disenchanted with his dark brethren and their righteous cause. There had not even been a moment of silence tonight for the fallen Death Eaters – his precious Dark Lord had not even mentioned their names or acknowledged their sacrifice once in his victory speech. They were immediately forgotten and left behind, not even given a proper burial. Uncontrolled killings, wanton violence, entire families now being targeted – the noble movement was unraveling at the seams from Snape's point of view.

Yet he was still conflicted, still drawn to the Dark Lord and His message of a better wizarding world. Snape had known only pain and abandonment before Lord Voldemort, before the Death Eaters, before the war. An intolerant father, an ineffectual mother, no siblings from which to draw companionship and support. It had been an unhappy and disjointed childhood…and Hogwarts was supposed to have been his escape, his rebirth, a second chance at a happy and productive life.

His mother had promised him that the famous school would improve his lot in life and give him the opportunity to realize his full potential. He had dreamed of nothing else as a small child, a magnificent castle that would teach him to harness his god given abilities. But when he arrived at Hogwarts, Severus discovered it was more of the same. The cruelty of life that plagued the muggle world were ever present in the magical world as well.

Yes, he finally had an outlet to channel his magical prowess, but his social circumstances hardly improved. Never really accepted by his mates in House Slytherin, teased mercilessly by students in Gryffindor and the other houses – in many ways Hogwarts had been no different from Spinner's End, just a new setting for life to kick at him. It was Severus against the world, save for one person there…but that one red flicker of happiness in his life had been snuffed out a long time ago by another.

And just when Snape was at the end of his frayed rope, contemplating dark thoughts, he had been introduced to the Dark Lord who had filled him with a sense of purpose and acceptance he had not thought possible. Through the Dark Lord he had gained riches, power and that which he most desired – respect. Finally his talents were being recognized and celebrated. He was going to help shape the future and build a better future, right the injustices of the world, help wizards rise once again from the shadows.

But no matter how much Snape tried to convince himself otherwise, he was now ill at ease with the path the Dark Lord was leading him down. Snape could be selfish, mean and cynical – but within his true nature there was no place for pure evil. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he had a moral compass, a powerful conscious, and it had been growing heavy with regret for some time. The Dark Lord's vision was changing, becoming frighteningly twisted – His true colors were bursting forth as his dark power grew.

Even the Dark Lord's appearance was growing more and more distorted, as if His very essence was mutating – it must be related to the experiments He would occasionally mention in casual asides to Snape. I remember Him mentioning once something about a path to immortality…Snape had a growing suspicion that the Dark Lord was more interested in conquering death itself, rather than helping further the wizarding cause.

And then there was His constant obsession the Potters. Snape had lost Lily long ago to that evil boy and had tried hard to forget his love for her – it was torture living in a constant state of regret, he did not want to waste his time on Earth constantly dreaming about what could have been, what a fool he was.

I'd been so worried about losing her affection, instead of focusing on our friendship and enjoying her company. I'd wasted so many precious moments with her! Wasted her love on needless worry and doubt!

Over time Snape had been able to block Lilly's memory during his waking hours, but she would always creep back to haunt him at night – turning his dreams into nightmares. Oh how he missed her. Just knowing she was safe and happy, even if it was not with him, had been a small source of comfort. But now the Dark Lord had become consumed with her, and her little boy. Finding their whereabouts was a constant topic and the Dark Lord was becoming impatient. Since Snape had become a Death Eater, not a single person bestowed a death sentence by the Dark Lord had survived for long.

And I was the one who had brought the prophecy back to the Dark Lord's ears, I was the one who had jeopardized Lily's future. What atrocities did I commit in my previous to life to have been dealt such a cruel twist of fate in this one?

Snape had always believed that someday they would find their way back to each other – it had been a persistent dream that had never strayed far his thoughts. They had been best friends for so long, she had saved him from himself so many times when they were younger…how could they not end up together in the very end?

Towards the end of their time at Hogwarts, Snape had believed his Death Eater exploits would impress Lilly so much that she would come back to him – left that scumbag Potter and begged him to let her back into his life. These days Snape's fantasies involved him saving her from the Dark Lord, winning her over with his courage and bravery with Potter cowering and terrified in the background – the ultimate redemption. Some fantasies even had his hated enemy dead after a large battle and it was left to Snape to help Lily recover and move on…she would remember their love for one another, she would finally realize that…

Snape snapped out of his brooding reverie, he felt intrusive eyes upon him and looked up – a young Death Eater stood off on the outskirts of the party and was staring at him very intently. Snape was instantly reminded of the one man on this Earth that he hated as much as James Potter. Sirius Black's younger brother was glaring at him in a very unsettling way. Rumors were the young man was a naturally gifted legilimens and powerful at occlumency. I wonder if he's trying to read my mind…

Snap! The sound of a twig being crushed underneath a heavy boot brought Snape's head around, his hand instinctively reaching for the wand stashed inside his robes.

"Severus, what're you doing out here all alone?" asked Lucius, having appeared through a small copse of oaks. He waved his finger at Snape. "You must make more of an effort to partake in the celebrations. Come now, join me little brother."

A gang of Death Eaters, led by Bellatrix Lestrange, appeared from the darkness behind Lucius, dark ethereal forms suddenly taking shape. Floating ominously above them was a terrified muggle – he appeared to be screaming, yet no sound emanated from his lips.

"Brothers!" yelled Lucius at the revelers, but no one seemed to notice him among the laughter and friendly banter. Rather than being put out, Lucius was quite amused. He then pointed his wand at his own throat, said "Sonorus!" and spoke; his voice echoed loudly over the crowd, booming into every corner of the ruins and quieting the party.

"Brothers! We've brought forth Thomas Burnham from Leicester…for tonight is his initiation!"

This proclamation brought forth a burst of energy and a renewed roar spread through the crowd.

"And for his initiate sacrifice he has chosen a muggle. A muggle who was caught…harassing a young witch!"

The crowd quickly gathered around the new arrivals, hissing and spitting at the terrified muggle floating above them. Bellatrix pointed her wand at the floating man and he spilled onto the forest floor with a hard thud. He quickly rolled onto his back, hands up in surrender, eyes begging for mercy.

"Please – someone help me! I don't know what's going on! Who are you people?!"

A circle of Death Eaters closed in on the terrified man. Jeers and taunts whistled at him, leering faces glaring angrily from beneath darkened hoods. There was a break in the circle and a young man was pushed forward – a look of grim determination plastered across his face. A wand was thrust into the young man's hand and he quickly pointed it at the terrified muggle cowering on the cold ground. Snape quietly slipped away from the screaming crowd, bile slowly rising to his throat – he knew what was coming next, knew what was expected from someone who wanted to prove their worth and earn the dark mark.

"Crucio!"

Screams of agony rang out through the Forest of Dean, muffling Snape's footsteps. The initiation could last all night as Snape well knew – a frozen slither crawled up his spine as his thoughts drifted back to his first step towards darkness…

…"The Dark Lord is not present for every initiation," explained Lucius as he walked alongside Severus down a darkened street.

"Then who brands us with the dark mark?"

"Oh, he eventually brands each and every one of us, but He doesn't always attend each "ceremony". It's truly an honor for Him to be present here tonight. He sees something in you Severus…as do I."

The two Slytherin alumni continued along in silence for a few minutes. The dirty street was lined with half deserted brick houses and broken street lamps. In the distance, a muddy river winded its way around an abandoned mill and even the night air seemed to have a thin film of grime upon it.

The tall Death Eater and lanky initiate slowed their pace as they rounded a corner – a group of hooded figures could be seen ahead, standing silently outside a run-down brick house at the end of the road. The yellow paint on the house was faded, with water stains and large cracks decorating the porch steps and front door. The front yard was cracked and barren with a dearth of healthy grass, it appeared as though it hadn't been tended to in years – an air of neglect and disrepair hung over the worn down house.

"Most people select strangers," Lucius said. "I chose this insolent muggle loving wizard who used to work for the Ministry with one of my uncles. But you Severus, you've chosen someone so close to you. Very impressive. We're all so…overwhelmed with your show of devotion to the dark."

Lucius and Severus continued towards the hooded group, who made an eerie, unsettling sight – a menacing contingent of hangmen standing as silent guardians in dappled moonlight. As the two Slytherins approached the waiting group, Lucius' Death Eater mask shimmered across his face. He then walked into the silent crowd and became anonymous amongst the rest of his brethren. Severus hesitated and stared at the hooded group, not one moved a muscle. He took a deep breath and stepped his way through the group, stopping just before the dilapidated front steps, nervously wiping sweat from his brow.

Severus was trembling, tiny shudders quivering through his body. I think I've made a grave mistake, I'm not ready…I can't do this. This was going to be too personal – in my haste to impress I've made a rash decision. Can I back out? He would understand, listen to reason. Had anyone ever changed their mind during an initiation?

Snape snuck a quick glance behind him – the hooded group patiently stared back at him through impassive masks, their silence actually heightening their terrifying appearance. Snape turned back to the house and closed his eyes. As his resolve wavered and threatened to dissolve completely, a dark voice whispered in his ears.

"Go forth Severus," hissed a rich baritone.

Severus took an involuntary step forward and almost screamed out in terror – the Dark Lord's raspy voice rattled within Snape's own head. "Seek out deserved justice. I can see it in your dark heart…I know what this this monster did, I know what he took from you."

Severus fought back tears, "I know my Lord, I know…I'm r-ready…t-to enter your service…it's just that…I've never …taken a life before."

"Go now Severus! He's eluded justice for far too long. Do not hesitate! I'm your father now!"

The teenager still couldn't move forward, terrified of his new master yet petrified of confronting the echoes of his past.

"Go now Severus! For her…for your Mother…"

The Dark Lord pressed the right lever – Severus' frozen limbs broke free and pushed him forward. He walked up the cracked stone steps and purposefully kicked in the front door with large crash.

Severus stepped across the entrance threshold, broken glass crunched under his boots – a dingy sitting room lay ahead and gave one the feeling of a dark padded cell. The walls were covered in fraying wallpaper; a threadbare sofa, an old rocking chair and a rickety, crooked table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by the glow of an old TV.

A wizened man slouched low on the sofa, a half-eaten sandwich resting on his chest. Thinning white hair and moles dotted his balding scalp. A lifetime of booze had given his skin a jaundiced twinge and he had dark, sunken eyes. His clothes matched the unkempt appearance of the room. He didn't even look up as Snape slammed the cracked door shut.

"There ain't nutin here for ya to take," grumbled the old man. "I dun have nutin worth a copper penny. Now get out ya hooligan." He reached into his mouth to rearrange some chewing tobacco nestled against his lower lip and spit angrily onto the floor.

Severus stared in disgust at this pathetic creature, the slovenly pig who lorded over this squalid hovel. He reached into his robes and withdrew his wand, willingly his hand to be steady. He pointed it threateningly at the old man, red anger flashing across his black eyes.

"I said I ain't got nutin fer ya! Look around ya fool, it look like I made o' money?"

The old man turned his head ever so slightly to get a look at this idiot robber. His face registered shock at the long black robe and oaken wand pointed at his head. He was even more stunned when he looked into the face of the angry young man. Total surprise and disbelief, which quickly melted into haughty resentment.

"Finally come back 'ave you? After all this time? Run of out of magic money, then? Come here with your hand out? Filthy boy. Wasted all my hard earned wages on ya, didn't I? You and yer damn witch mother!"

"My witch mother? Tell me…father…what happened to her?" Snape struggled to spit out with words, as if each breath exacted a toll of pain.

"She ran off, didn't she? Serves me right for marryin' a freak. Shoulda listened to me mates, all of 'em warned me she'd turn out no good."

"What happened to her?"

"Ran off I said. Don't cha remember? Ya run off too, like a damned coward."

Severus took an angry step forward. "What happened to her?"

The old man shrank back as Snape kept advancing.

"What happened to her?!"

"She was a witch, wasn't she? Tried to attack me! I swear it!"

Severus towered over the decrepit old man, his angry eyes demanding an acceptable answer, but the old man bowed his head and kept it steadfastly down.

"What…happened…to…her?" Severus whispered, as he gently put his finger under the old man's chin and tilted the weathered face up to his own.

Severus stared into the weary eyes. They were deep dark pools of black, just like his son's. Severus stared hard, allowing memories to fly free…

…Ten year old Severus lay on a small bed, staring out a small window, in a small bedroom. Thunder echoed loudly, keeping time with the rain pelting the window. Severus was glad for the thunder storm – it drowned out the usual shouting match that concluded most nights in the Snape household.

His grandfather had told him a couple of years ago he was a wizard, that he came from magical stock. His mother had been upset he had been told so early and warned Severus to never use his magic, to hide it deep down and that when he was older he would go to magical school and learn how to control his gift – for if he didn't hide his abilities from others and behave, he wouldn't be allowed to attend. Afterwards, he could decide for himself whether or not he wanted to remain part of the magical world. Why the heck would he not want to be part of another world, far away from this awful existence!?

His grandfather held a much different view. Wizards were powerful beings and shouldn't have to hide their god given talents. He had once told Severus "rules were meant to be broken. Never you mind the Ministry regulations, those meddling fools. I'll teach ya what's what, and by the time ya get to Hogwarts you'll know more curses than half the kids in seventh year."

His grandfather taught him so much, opened his eyes to the amazing power and privilege that it was to be a wizard. Severus had no friends, save for one and she was busy much of the time. He spent his lonely hours locked up in his grandfather's attic reading old books and watching old movies, all collected over a lifetime of traveling around the wizarding world.

Severus could never understand why his mother never used magic, never protected herself from that man, that bully, that damned brute. He wasn't my father, no matter what anyone said. I don't care if I look like him, that man is not my father. My father was a great wizard who protected people and stood up for the less fortunate, not an angry drunk that rained down equal amounts of indifference and terror.

A loud bang startled Severus and he looked away from the rainy window and towards his bedroom door. After a few moments he turned back to the window, must have imagined it…but he didn't imagine the scream that rang out moments later. He leapt from his bed and threw open the door, sprinting into the hallway as fast as his little legs could carry him. His father was standing at the top of the stairs, swaying on his drunken feet, a small gin bottle grasped in his hands. He turned towards his son with an angry lurch.

"Get back to yer room boy. I'll deal with ya later, won't I?" spat the dark haired man. He chucked the glass bottle at Severus, then bounded down the stairs.

Severus ducked as the bottle whooshed by and shattered against the wall, showering the little boy with glass shards. Severus stood frozen in shock for a second, but another frightened yell spurred him into action. He raced down the hall and sliding on his knees when he got to the top of the stairs. He grasped the bannister as he slid by and pulled himself back to his feet – he saw below the wicked man standing over his crouched mother. No, not a wicked man. It was his father, raising his hand, balling it into a fist and swinging it down like a hammer. Severus never forgot the sickening thud that sounded as balled fist hit waiting skull. That crunch stayed with him, forever.

Little Severus ran down the stairs two at a time, almost losing his balance several times. He reached the bottom step and launched himself onto his father's back, his little body shaking with rage. His father flung him off his back and onto the floor with a strong whip of his body. Severus landed on his back and crashed into an old rocking chair. As his father rounded on him, Severus looked over at his mother's slumped body and knew – just knew, deep down in his bones – that she would never rise again. Would never serve him a cup of steaming hot soup on a cold winter morning, wipe away his watery tears when others teased him, gently tuck him into bed after an exhausting day.

The fury he felt was so intense, so passionate, it consumed his whole being. Just as his father reached him, drunkenly readying his fist for a vicious hammer blow, Severus yelled out in fright, in terror, in desperate longing for his injured mother whom he could not protect.

A pulse emanated from Severus' little frame, rippling the air with waves, and his father flew high into the air and smashed into the stairway railing. Both father and son were shocked, what had just happened?

"I was just gonna give ya a wee thumpin'. Ya bein brave 'n all, trying help yer no good witch mom. But now I'm a teach you a right lesson."

His father struggled back up to his feet, a sickening alcohol smell seeping from his bones. He spared a glance at his unmoving wife, felt nothing and rounded on his boy once more. Little Severus balled up his scrawny little body, shielding his head with his stringy arms. As his father's bloody fists rained down on him, Severus stared at his mother, never taking his eyes off her body, he was already missing her…she had loved him so…never stood up to that man, never protected herself…she didn't deserve such an ignominious end…

…Balled fists rained down with authority, white knuckles ripped open as they smashed into flesh, flecks of blood splattered the walls in a harlequin pattern. Screams from the victim mixed loudly with screams from the aggressor. There was no stopping this storm, the floodgates were open – hammer fists broke nose, split open lips, loosened teeth, dislocated jaw. Eventually skin was stripped away and knuckle hit bone. The old man's face was unrecognizable – he had stopped screaming long ago and now only Severus' screams remained. He was completely spent, a decade of righteous wrath and pent up rage had been released. He glanced back towards the foot of the stairs, just as he had done ten years ago as a small child, to the spot where she had stopped fighting and left him all alone.

He rolled off the old man and crawled across the dirty floor to a dark corner of the living room, the dull glow of the old TV lighting his way. He could still felt the white hot pain of losing his mother, the burning shame at not being strong enough to protect her. Why didn't this beating make the anger melt away?

Severus finally let go and let sobs wrack his tired body. He cried for a good long while…enough now, time to get up.

He wiped away the tears of his childhood, wiped away the memory of his father and mother – Snape was a child no longer. He inched over to the front wall, pushed aside a blind and peeked out the window. The dark group still held their silent vigil in the front yard, half hidden in the cloudy moonlight. The Dark Lord stood alone in front, his face hidden beneath a black cloak, his spindly long fingers twirling a black wand. How long had it been?

When Snape stood up, he felt like lighter, more assured of himself. Exacting justice had not erased the torment of that long ago night, nothing ever would, but exacting justice had begun to assuage some of his guilt. It was time to let go and look towards the future. He had proven he was now strong enough to protect those he loved, to stand up for those who could not. Under the Dark Lord's tutelage he would learn how to make his enemies pay for their sins, this was just the beginning.

Snape spied his wand on the floor and snatched it up, wiping away bits of blood and skin. He had been instructed to use the cruciatus curse for a prolonged period and then the killing curse on his initiate victim. But somehow Snape felt that the Dark Lord would not mind the savage beating he just inflicted with his bare hands, that he would be excused this one time for not carrying out his master's orders to the letter.

Snape opened the door to the unkempt house – no, to his house – and stepped onto the creaking porch. Splattered blood flecked his black robes and gleamed in the moonlight, giving him an unnatural haunted look. He faced the Death Eaters still keeping their hushed watch on the house. Snape was longer scared, the hooded group did not intimidate him, for he now belonged among them, he had earned his place. Snape raised his hood, covered his head and marched down the front steps. He walked past his Dark Lord and into the crowed, pacing among his still brothers and sisters. He finally stopped and settled beside two of them near the center of the group. Snape then slowly raised his wand, turned his eyes to the sky and screamed with all his might "MORSMORDRE!"

Moving as one, the Death Eaters threw back their hoods, their masks shining in the moonlight. They yelled and screamed, stamped their feet and angrily waved their wands – green streaks shot high into the night sky. They rushed forward and surrounded Snape in a close embrace. They were now his loving family, replacing the ghosts of his empty past.

Only one of them did not rush to welcome Snape into the dark fold. Lord Voldemort stood where he was, feeling content and relaxed. This one was special, different, he would be most useful in the coming years. Using his bare hands had been a primal, savage act – anger and hate coursed through him like an angry river. He just needed to be taught how to focus this wayward anger into terrible purpose. Lord Voldemort had witnessed what had occurred in the home that night, seen through the crumbling walls and frayed wallpaper. This young man had the constitution to do what was necessary, he could be counted on. He stared up at the night sky, with a face not quite human, with eyes not yet slits, with dark pupils not yet scarlet.

Over the very last house on a street named Spinner's End floated a colossal green skull comprised of emerald stars, a green serpent protruded from its mouth as a grotesque forked tongue. It rose higher and higher, radiantly glowing in a haze of green and silver, etched against the black night sky like a twisted new constellation.

It was the Dark Mark and the skull would soon become infamous across the entire wizarding world – its appearance would forever strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest souls. It signified to any passersby that Death Eaters had come calling and left violence in their wake. It signified ruin and destruction. It signified that someone had met a bloody end, never to rise ever again.