The Quidditch League (Finals)

Holyhead Harpies - Chaser 1: The Rusical Challenge - Write about someone following a plan/task list.

Prompts: [plot point] arriving to an event/meeting, [object] Hogwarts house tie, [word] sickening

A.N. Ummm… tw for pureblood ideologies, the word mudblood, mentions of blood and torture, and depressive thoughts. Also, I've not capitalized any words like "muggleborn" or "pureblood". I'm told that that's fine, as long as the capitalization is consistent throughout the story.

Word count: 2975

the blood in your veins (we are one and the same)

THEN

The letter arrives a week before Severus' sojourn in the bathroom. He's sitting at the Slytherin table, eating breakfast and very much minding his own business, when Lucius' owl swoops past the rafters, across the Great Hall, and lands precisely behind his bowl of cereal.

"Is that Malfoy's owl?" Barty Crouch (the junior, certainly not his father) inquires.

"Even if it is, you'd still do well to keep your nose out of my mail, Crouch," is Severus' curt reply, the crisp envelope tearing as he breaks the emerald green wax that Lucius has used to seal the letter.

"Alright, alright," Crouch grumbles. "No need to be so nasty."

Severus offers no reply. He needn't, because Regulus Black has already herded Crouch into another conversation. (And thank Merlin for him; this Black is certainly far more tolerable than his older brother in Gryffindor.)

He skims over the letter as he drinks his coffee, taking in the missive's contents as coolly as one would regard a Healer's exam papers at Saint Mungo's.

Lucius sends his regards, the same flowery stuff as usual, asking him how he is (average, at best) and whether NEWTs year has shocked him terribly (not particularly). He sends Severus Narcissa's greetings, and nags him over whether he'd managed to eat well enough over the summer ("You always come back to school with arms as thin as sticks!"), and tells him that they ought to meet sometime soon ("In fact, I should like to see you this weekend, at Hogsmeade. Do oblige me with a meeting at 10am on Saturday?"). He also states that Severus should reply to this letter as soon as possible, seeing as there are some important things that need to be discussed.

Folding the letter and placing it in his bag, Severus makes quick work of penning a reply and sending it off to Lucius with the same owl that had brought him the original letter. ("Saturday morning is not terribly convenient for me, but I suppose I am able to clear out some time in my study schedule for you. Will an hour do?") He heads off to tackle the day's schedule with as much enthusiasm as he can muster (which is to say, none at all): first classes, followed up with an intense reviewing session in the library, where he knows Potter and Black would never step foot (he doubts they even know how to read).

As that day was a Friday, it doesn't take very long for Saturday to dawn thereafter. Severus' clothes pack a warm punch as he heads out of the castle that very morning, his sweater, scarf, and robes a good deterrent to the snowy, overcast Scottish weather.

The Three Broomsticks is a familiar sight as he walks down the length of Hogsmeade quietly, his head bowed so he doesn't give anyone the impression that he would invite a conversation. As he steps inside, his eyes dart to and fro, until he spots the unmistakable shock of platinum blonde hair to his leftmost corner.

"Lucius," he calls out when he's suitably near the table that the Malfoy has sat himself at.

Instantly, the wizard – who is four years his senior – perks up, a charming smile covering his face. "Ah, Severus!" He is all enthusiasm and cheer. "I thought you would leave me hanging."

"As if I could break your heart like that," Severus replies drily, sitting on the chair opposite Lucius' after he's taken his outer coat and scarf off.

"Well, I am glad that you decided to come. There are some things that we need to discuss."

"Yes, your letter said as much." Severus nods evenly. "That is why I came. It sounded like you have urgent news."

Lucius nods, looking grave. "I do. Although… it is not news, so much as confirmation that I am here for."

The Slytherin arches a brow. "Confirmation?"

"Yes. You have thought about the offer I spoke to you about during the summer, I hope?"

Severus stiffens. All of a sudden, his house tie feels suffocating around his neck, and he is left to wonder why he put it on at all. It's not like today's a school day. "I… did." He nods.

Lucius leans forward eagerly. "And?"

"I… I do not have much of a choice, now do I?"

His friend (who took him under his wing when he'd first arrived at school, who'd protected him from the older Gryffindors for as long as he could, who'd always been so knowledgeable, intelligent, and wise, and whom Severus never wanted to disappoint) frowns. "That is not the case, Severus. Of course it is not. Why would you think that?"

"I have seen what he does to people who deny him, Lucius." The younger man points out. "I have seen the bodies and carnage he leaves behind for those who do not indulge him. Why should I trust that he simply wants me to do research for him, and nothing else?"

"I already told you, Severus." Lucius begins, his fingers caressing the handle of the butterbeer mug he's holding. "You will not have to do anything you do not want to. That is a promise from me." At Severus' doubtful look, he sighs, "You trust me, do you not?"

The Slytherin grudgingly nods and drops his head. Lucius smiles encouragingly. "Then believe in my promise. You will not do anything that is not your wish, and he – in return for your loyalty – will give you your heart's desire. All the research, the recognition, all the potions you could ever want."

There is silence, then – a damning pause before Severus utters words he can never take back. "When is initiation?"

Lucius' smile turns triumphant. "Any time you want. Even now is as good a time as any."

"Now?" Severus raises an eyebrow.

"Now." The Malfoy nods. "And it is simpler than you may think." He leans forward as if to share a secret. "I can even mark you myself if that is your wish."

Now, the younger Slytherin is confused. "I thought that… he would mark me?"

Lucius laughs a little, seeming surprised. "Oh dear me, of course not! He is simply far too busy to mark every new person who joins our ranks, although I am sure he would love to welcome you into our brotherhood himself. In his absence, however, I am more than capable of initiating you, my dear Severus."

"Right," Severus nods. He stands up. "Let's… go do it, then. I told you, I have NEWTs to study for, so the sooner, the better."

"Your enthusiasm is one of your shining qualities, Severus," Lucius states smoothly, himself standing up as well. He smiles and walks towards the door, letting a blast of chilly air in as he opens it. "Shall we?"

Severus grudgingly follows him, emerging onto a slightly sunnier Scotland. "Where are we going?" He asks.

Lucius doesn't answer, but motions towards the direction they'll be walking in. "There is a town, just outside of Hogsmeade. Muggles live there."

Severus says nothing, doesn't allude to the fact that he already knows of the town's existence (doesn't dare think of a spring afternoon three years ago with Lily, when they'd fully explored the place and had coffee at a little café they'd found).

"What you'll have to do is quite simple." Lucius continues speaking, not seeming to notice Severus' distraction. "A list of three tasks, to be precise, which the Dark Lord has devised for our convenience and his. The process helps weed out those who are serious about our cause and those who are simply mucking about."

"And what is this… process?" Severus inquires cautiously.

"As I said, very simple. You lure a muggle away from the crowd; from a shop, perhaps, or even their own home. You take them to a secluded place, where you then try out some spells; spells you couldn't possibly level against fellow wizards, lest you were arrested for it. I know you have many of those, Severus."

But the lanky-haired boy only frowns and looks straight ahead. "You want me to… torture someone?"

"I want you to teach the filth a lesson." Lucius corrects him. "I want you to – and deep down, you know you want to, as well." They're past Hogsmeade's borders now, as the blond goes on, "I know you saw the errors of associating with mudbloods long ago, Severus, but this is only to affirm your commitment. And besides, you are aware that even if this wasn't a requirement, you'd be doing it yourself, anyway?"

"I have better things to do than to torture muggles."

"So you say, and yet, I can see how awful you find it, being in a town infested by them." Lucius hums. "It's quite sickening, is it not? How many of them there are? How about you go grab one of them, Severus? I am sure the rest will not think anything is wrong if one of them goes missing."

And his hand, at that moment, is forced. He's voluntarily walked into this, and it's all he can do to survive. So he does as Lucius bids him to, and lures an innocent man to his death.

NOW

The lights have gone out.

In the darkness, silence is eternal; desperation is inevitable. The shadows hide skin, bones, and sinew, but memories are exposed – splendid, and yet so vile.

The bathroom tiles have long since stopped being cold. With every second that passes, every inch of flesh that remains exposed and pressed against the floor, moisture forms; sweat that is as slick and wet as blood staining soil. (Blood blooming from the muggle's temple as it collides with the sharp, jagged edge of rock.)

Severus Snape's left forearm burns – heat searing through flesh, neurons flashing messages of pain – but it hardly matters. None of it matters now, and it hasn't mattered in a long time. He's past the point of no return; seeks company in the darkness, chases pleasure through torture. He is – at once – a thing to marvel at and a thing to hate. (He is a ghost, he is a wraith, he is the god holding all the cards today.)

Bile rises in his throat; a massive, sickening feeling spreads through his chest. A hand that had been clenching the rim of the toilet bowl moves to his neck, moves to loosen his tie – a tie that isn't there. (A silver and green tie that he discards upon the muddy ground, struggling to breathe and sick to his stomach at what he has done.)

Horror flashes briefly in his mind. His subconscious conjures up the many scenarios that can result from what he has done. Will they find him? Will they catch him? Will they even know that it was him? (Lucius' hand soothingly squeezes his shoulder, pointing the man out with a manicured finger, whispering poison, poison, poison in Severus' ear.)

All at once, he knows that he's gone. He knows that he's spelled his own doom. Whether they catch him or not, he's chosen his path; befouled his future with what many would call venom, belladonna, cyanide. (Lily's voice in his ear, her cool tenor of "Mulciber and Avery? You know I don't like them, Sev.")

And yet, all he feels is resigned. A dull, muted sort of terror may ring through him at the idea of being caught, at the idea of what he has done, but really, what has he got left to lose? His freedom? ("No one is truly free, Severus. We are all bound in service to someone. Wouldn't you rather your labor be rendered for a good cause?")

Freedom is a paltry thing. It isn't something he cares for much. He's never been truly free – not with his father at one corner, Potter and his cronies at the next, and the fear of abandonment just down the block. All that had once mattered was Lily – and she, of course, had left him. (He's alone, sleeping outside the Gryffindor common room, begging for forgiveness, ignoring all the Slytherins who say "Snape has finally come to his senses.")

Two years have passed since his fatal mistake. Two years since he lost her forever. What is freedom in comparison to that? What is the life of a mere muggle? ("Sickening, isn't it? How they strut beyond the borders of Hogsmeade, acting as though they own the world? How fleeting and pathetic, their arrogance, when all it takes to exterminate them is the wave of a wand.")

He is lost, utterly abandoned in a fold of helplessness and self-loathing. There is no Lily to soothe him anymore, no mother to hold his hands now. He is a stark field of loneliness and isolation, drowning in a sea of sorrow and contempt. All he can do is try to swim, try to breathe. (Breathe, when it is so much easier to just sink under the pit of despair.)

What do muggles matter, after all? What is a stupid school tie? So what if it is green and silver? What if it indicates that a Hogwarts student ventured to the muggle town past Hogsmeade and murdered a man? They can never know that it was him. They will never be able to find out. He is as incognito as can be, as unlikely as a murderer has ever been. (And is it really a murder? When the victim in question is less than a bug, as worthless as the dust beneath his shoe?)

They will never know; never know the price that he paid for the mark he now bears on his left forearm. He is at peace; he is calm and content. He does not miss Lily, pity the muggle that he killed, or pay any mind to the sickening pit forming in the bottom of his stomach. He is entirely at ease; as is his conscience. The stillness does not bother him. (Why, then, is he trying to convince himself? Why does he feel the need to repeat the same things, over and over and over again? Why has silence never been this loud?)

NOW AND THEN

The lights have gone out.

("Excuse me, sir? I was wondering if you could help me with something?"

"Of course, lad! What is it?"

"Please, if you'd just follow me.")

Just lure a muggle away from the crowd. That was what Lucius had said. Lure a muggle away, and test out some spells. Severus could do that.

("Well, lad? What is it?")

Regret. There is so much regre– No. He regrets nothing. He doesn't even know the word. The man – no, the filth – had been a worthy sacrifice.

("Crucio!")

Lure a man away. Test out some spells (torture him). And then, dispose of him (kill him). That last part hadn't exactly been said, but it had been implied. And Severus had understood it well.

THEN

The muggle's body lies on the ground – a prone form that seems like a homeless man taking shelter in an alleyway, at first. But then, upon closer look, there is the blood that has seeped into the cracked pavement beneath him, the cuts that are littered all over his body, and the glassy look that has taken over eyes that were once so full of life.

Severus stands above him, an emotionless husk of a boy. His wand is loosely gripped in his left hand, his eyes centered on the evidence of the spell he's created, the Sectumsempra he's gotten to try for the first time today. For enemies, he thinks. This spell is definitely for enemies.

"Well done, Severus." Lucius sounds pleased with him; beyond pleased. "You have exceeded my expectations; mine, and indeed, the Dark Lord's. He will be so thrilled to know of your eagerness to commit to our cause."

"Indeed," Severus nods, voice hoarse. "Eagerness."

Lucius smiles proudly, and takes out his wand. "You truly do not disappoint. You follow every instruction, every plan you are given to the very best of your ability. I have always admired that about you, Severus."

"This wasn't much of a plan, though, was it?"

"The killing part wasn't." Lucius admits freely. "You could've let the muggle go, afterward. After making it suffer enough, of course. You chose to kill him of your own free will, and that is what is so breathtaking about this; about our cause. The Dark Lord allows our true feelings to finally be revealed, to be set free from the cages that we ourselves have trapped them in. I told you, you despise muggles as much as I do, Severus. You simply needed time to come to the realization yourself."

Severus stares at him, dazed. He barely notices as Lucius rolls his sleeve up, pressing his wand against Severus' left forearm.

"Are you ready?" The older man's smile is gleeful and anticipatory.

Severus can only nod and clench his jaw, as he comes to the realization that his plan and Lucius' had been completely different.

Lucius had manipulated him from the moment he'd agreed to meet, had made him think that he was the one in charge, when really, he'd never had any control over the situation to begin with.

He is a pawn, a mere piece on the Dark Lord's chessboard, to be played with and sacrificed. While he was torturing and killing a muggle, Lucius had been following his own plan – the plan to draw Severus into the Dark Lord's arms.

Severus is branded, then, with the skull and serpent of Lord Voldemort. Lucius pats him on the back, leaves, and he – Severus – runs back to the castle, tearing his Slytherin tie off and throwing it on the ground as he hastens back to the school he'd once called home.

All the while, he thinks, "The lights have gone out. I am done for."