Severus stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the last time with his shrunken trunk tucked into a satchel, and a slip of paper Avery had given him. Scrawled across it was an address. Severus had no intention of ever returning to Cokeworth; let it burn to the ground for all he cared. He was free. Free of his father, of Hogwarts, of James Potter.
Even now, he could still feel the prickle of hands and eyes, and he was never too sure if it was Potter or his own paranoia. He could see Potter on the platform with Lily and his friends, a little ways down from where he stood. Severus couldn't even muster the energy to feel that familiar sting of jealousy; he could only feel relief, because if he could see Potter then he wouldn't, he didn't–
Severus hurried through the barrier, the slip of paper clutched tight in his hand.
The address led him to a boarding house in Knockturn. "You should talk to Herman. He lives there. He's a friend," Avery said. "He'll set you up with a job."
The boarding house was in fairly decent condition compared to the derelict shacks that squatted on either side of it. It was run by an old hag. "Rent's to be paid in full and on time," she said as she led him upstairs to a small room with an iron bedstead, a wash tub, and a coal-burning stove. "Or I'll eat your liver. Toilet's in the closet down the hall. You'll be sharing with everyone on this floor, so mind you don't take too long. Laundry and supper is included. Pump for water is out back if you can't summon your own."
She left him standing there. "What a dump," he said and tossed his cheap, imitation leather satchel on the bed.
He met Herman later that day on the stairwell. He was a thick-jawed, thick-armed half-blood; never even sat for his NEWTs, he'd dropped out of Hogwarts in his sixth year. "What sort of work can you do?" He'd asked.
"Anything," Severus answered. "I'll do anything so long as it pays well."
"There's a butcher here in Knockturn looking for someone who knows how to keep their trap shut."
"I am the very soul of discretion."
Severus found himself delivering wrapped cuts of meat too illegal to risk sending by owl – hippogriff, dragon, and he was fairly certain some of it came from sentient beings, possibly even human – for 12 sickles an hour. In the evenings he went to the pub with Herman and the rowdy group of wizards and witches he ran with, nursed his single beer, and listened to politics. They were, after all, friends.
"Have you ever actually met him?" Severus quietly asked one evening at their usual table as he flipped through The Daily Prophet.
"Of course not," Herman scoffed. "Only a select few ever get to meet him. I get my orders through Avery, same as you."
"You've gotten orders?" Severus asked. "Avery hasn't told me anything since he installed me here."
"He'll let you know what he wants from you. Just be patient."
"What sort of things does he have you doing?"
Herman, who was well on his way to being drunk, grinned a little goofily and glanced around, making sure no one was listening in. "Sometimes, people need a little… incentivizing. Nosy reporters, loud-mouthed mudbloods– I listen, I report, and sometimes I do a little roughing up."
Roughing up. Severus couldn't help but think back to Alison Hayes. "You ever kill anyone?"
"Of course not. You shouldn't believe everything you read in the paper. We're a political party, that's it."
"Who do you think is doing all the killings then?"
"Think about it, Severus," Herman said, leaning in close enough that Severus could smell the whiskey on his breath. "This 'Dark Mark' that shows up every time there's a murder? Who came up with that? I've certainly never seen it before the papers started plastering it across the front page."
"What? You think it's a conspiracy?"
"What else could it be? The Ministry wants to discredit us. The Muggle Prime Minister is using Muggleborns to infiltrate our world, and he is the only one willing to stand up against it. They want to make us look like terrorists and they invented this 'Dark Mark' as our calling card. As if we'd be stupid enough to sign our names to a murder." Herman, through the haze of drink, eyed him warily. "What's with all the questions anyway? You thinking about leaving?"
Severus sighed and downed the rest of his drink. "I don't know what I'm doing here," he admitted. "This isn't how I thought it'd be. All my life I've been used and stepped on and tossed aside, and I'm sick and tired of it. I want to be something worthwhile." He wanted Potter to look at him and regret every terrible thing he had ever done to him. He wanted to be rich and powerful enough that no one would ever touch him again.
Herman clapped his shoulder. "You just need to give it time. Everything will be different once he's in charge."
Severus gave Herman a nod, and that seemed to placate him. He turned back to the paper, idly flipping through the want ads. He needed to make more money. What little the butcher gave him was barely enough for rent and food, he was saving next to nothing for his mastery.
He spotted a short advertisement: WANTED! ARTIST'S MODEL. MALE. PREFERABLY TALL AND DARK HAIRED. MUST BE COMFORTABLE POSING UNDRESSED. Included was an address to some Knockturn hovel. Ha, if Severus went there he might just end up as one of the cuts of meat the butcher had him running all over the UK to deliver. He wasn't as desperate as that.
Which is why he cursed himself to Hell and back when he found himself knocking on the door to a garret flat a week later.
Once the painting was finished, Severus made sure to bury the memory deep within his brain. He had gotten his money, that's all he cared about. So what if complete strangers would gawk over his body? So what if they would make little comments to themselves, and whisper at his ugliness? It didn't matter. They didn't know it was him. He'll survive it. He just won't let himself think about it.
Severus wrapped his robes around his body as he trudged home after another long day of work, the collar coming all the way up to his neck despite the wet heat steaming up from the cobblestones. This damnable summer was going to be the death of him.
He entered the boarding house and went upstairs to his room where he found two letters waiting for him. One was written on cheap parchment, the kind one might find here in Knockturn, and the other… Severus felt his brow arch as he took hold of the heavy envelop, sealed with wax and stamped with the Malfoy family crest. He forgot all about the other letter, riveted as he was to the elegant scrawl in front of him.
Dear Mr Snape,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am not sure if you remember me, but you and I were in Slytherin together. I was Head Boy during your third year. Avery has spoken of you, and we have a mutual friend who is interested in meeting you. Would you be amenable to attending a small party here at my estate this evening at seven o'clock? I have enclosed a portkey if you decide to come.
Sincerely,
Lucius Malfoy
Severus tore from his room, bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time, and threw himself into Herman's room, barely waiting for his answering, "Come in!" to the rapid pounding against his door that had left Severus's knuckles smarting.
"I need to borrow some money," he announced without so much as a by-your-leave.
"What for?" Herman demanded, but Severus was already shoving the invitation under his nose.
"I need shoes, mine have holes in them, and robes that aren't a decade old–" Severus started babbling, tripping over his own words at the thought of meeting him.
"You should probably buy a hairbrush too."
"Oh, shut your stupid face! Are you going to help me or not?"
"I wish I could," Herman said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic as he handed him back the letter. "All I've got is a handful of knuts. Hey, hey–" he interrupted as swears started to roll off his tongue. "If this 'mutual friend' is who I think it is, he won't care. He's above all that stuff. This is your chance. Don't let doubt stand in your way."
Severus nodded, though his brow was still furrowed. He went back to his room and spent the next two hours pacing, stopping occasionally to pause in front of the looking-glass and run his fingers through his hair, though each time he stopped his reflection snapped back some foul comment that sounded suspiciously like the ones Potter had used.
"Disgusting."
"Freak."
"You're hideous. You should just kill yourself."
When the clock struck seven, Severus was glad. He couldn't stand the waiting. He took hold of the portkey – a silver button – and let it transport him to a sprawling country estate populated with roaming clans of pure white peacocks.
The house itself was massive, some sort of stone monstrosity from the Georgian era though its bones were much, much older. Severus nervously walked up the drive to the large, double oak doors. He had barely brushed it with knuckles when it swung open and a house-elf wearing a pillowcase ushered him inside with a bow.
"My master is expecting you," he said. "Wait here, sir." And he popped away.
Within minutes, Malfoy was there, sweeping into the vestibule with an air of grace that Severus envied.
"Mr Snape," he said, his grey eyes raking over his shabby appearance, bringing a blush to Severus's face. "I'm pleased to see that you've made it." He looked him over again and Severus seemed to think there was something like disappointment in his gaze. "I do apologize for this awkward situation, but there is a dress code for this evening. I should have specified that in my invitation, but not to worry. I have several alternative dress robes that you may borrow."
"It's quite alright–" Severus started to say as he took a step back towards the door, but Malfoy quickly wrapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him – forcefully – up the stairs.
"Nonsense. We'll have you cleaned up in no time at all. Here is the bath." He pulled Severus into a large room made of marble with a sunken tub in the middle.
"I have bathed today," Severus quietly seethed.
"Of course you have," Malfoy said, rather condescendingly. "But you haven't lived until you've tried the baths at Malfoy Manor." He waved his hand and the tub began to fill. Blood red rose petals floated up to the surface. Malfoy gave Severus a forceful shove inside. "Take your time."
Severus was rather bewildered by this bizarre treatment. He had never spent much time with fancy folk, but he was fairly certain this was not the typical way they treated dinner guests. Malfoy, his wand waving like mad, scrubbed and primped within an inch of Severus's life, and by the time he managed to escape the confines of the ensuite his hair was shiny and fluffy and his skin was raw and pink.
"Well, look at you," Malfoy said as he looked him over. "I think our mutual friend will be very pleased. Stop fiddling with your robes."
The collar on his borrowed robes was left open; Severus kept it closed with a firm grip on the fabric. "It's been nearly an hour. We're late. Was all of this really necessary?"
"Of course, you want to make a good impression for our Lord, don't you?"
"I hardly think he'll care what I look like."
Malfoy smiled, but said nothing, merely guiding him forward into a grand dining room where over a dozen people had gathered. Malfoy sat him between Bellatrix Lestrange and, to his relief, Regulus Black. He remembered Regulus from school and they had always been on friendly terms.
"Severus, it's good to see you again," Regulus said as Severus settled into his seat. Almost at once, oysters still in the shell appeared on his plate. It reminded him of Hogwarts. Severus glanced around at all the different forks and spoons, wondering which one he should use.
Regulus took pity on him and whispered, "This course consists of hors d'oeuvres. You eat it with your hands." And then he demonstrated this by taking one of the oysters and slurping the gray, wiggling mass down his throat.
"These are European flat oysters," Malfoy said from his spot at the head of the table. The other end was left empty. "They take five years to mature. You won't find any American breeds at my table!"
Severus picked one up, feeling very silly using his fingers in such a fine place as this, and copied Regulus. The lumpy mass squeezed down his throat, and he coughed, his stomach twisting at the slimy feeling coating his throat.
"How's it taste, Snape?" Someone called out, and the table erupted in laughter.
"Don't tease him!" Narcissa Black scolded from her spot between her fiancée, Regulus, and Malfoy. She leaned over to smile at Severus. "I, for one, am glad we've finally got some new blood in here. These parties were starting to get a little boring."
"So long as the blood isn't too new," Bellatrix commented with a grin.
The dinner continued pleasantly, with Severus chatting mostly to Regulus and Narcissa, and dutifully answering any questions Malfoy put to him. The chair at the other end of the table remained empty.
Malfoy listened carefully as Severus explained that he was saving up to apply to a mastery program. "Well, you shall have it, of course," Malfoy said, waving away Severus's problems with a flick of his hand. "If money is the issue, I can help."
"I couldn't possibly–"
"Nonsense," Malfoy cut him off. "Think of it as an investment if it bothers you. The Dark Lord wants you to succeed." He hummed a little himself, caught up in whatever plots he was scheming. "We'll need to set you up somewhere nicer. A pair of rooms in Diagon, or even Muggle London would be better than that flophouse you're staying in."
"I don't need all that–" Severus could feel himself grow red in the face.
"Of course you do. You can't expect to receive visitors where you're staying now, do you?"
"What visitors?" Severus bitterly asked. The people around him shot each other little smiles, as if they were all in on some private joke.
"Snape, can you step outside with me for a moment?" Bellatrix asked. "There are some things I want to discuss with you. About your future."
Severus's gaze drifted past her to look at her husband, Rodolphus. There was a noticeable dip in the flesh surrounding his jaw where Bellatrix had taken a bite out of him. Rodolphus smirked and lifted his glass of wine in his direction.
Oh, they're going to kill me, Severus numbly thought as he followed Bellatrix out of the dining hall and out onto the veranda. The moon was half-full; it was chilly, despite it being early summer. Such a change of pace from London. He could even see the stars out here.
"What do you know of the Dark Lord? What have you heard about him?" Bellatrix asked as she pulled out a cigarette from a gold case. She offered him one.
Severus took it, lighting it without the use of a wand. "Nothing at all, except what I read in the papers. Avery hardly ever tells me anything."
Bellatrix snorted, blowing out a puff of smoke. "The papers, filthy rags. Don't they realize they're maligning a god?"
Severus stayed silent. What did she mean by a god? Nothing, she's crazy, and if you're not careful you'll end up just like her, he thought. They even looked alike. Black hair, black eyes, pale and tall and haughty.
"He's immortal, you know," she said, casually, as if she was discussing the weather.
"Is he?" Severus carefully asked. Bellatrix smirked.
"You don't believe me. You'll see. You can feel his power. I've never felt anything like it." She pierced him with a stare. "He's not like other men. His appetites are greater. We must make allowances."
"Of course," Severus said, without understanding.
Bellatrix smiled, pleased, and put out her cigarette. She wrapped her arm around him. "I think you and I are going to become fast friends," she said. "Let's go back inside. He's here."
"How can you tell?"
Bellatrix didn't answer. They passed through the now empty dining room, to a small staircase that led down into the kitchens where Severus spotted a pair of house-elves cowering over a stack of dirty dishes. They went down another flight of stairs, into a wine cellar. There was a heavy, re-inforced door nestled between rows and rows of bottles. Muffled noises could be heard from the other side.
Severus felt his heart start to race as Bellatrix opened the door. There were voices. A dozen of them. Chanting. Up ahead he could see the flicker of candlelight. He followed Bellatrix into the dark room and as she walked she unclasped the buttons running down the front of her red dress.
"Mrs Lestrange," he started to say, very respectfully, but her dress fell into a heap at her feet. She was completely bare.
She was a well-formed woman, though not what Severus would call voluptuous. Her hips were narrow and her breasts small, but pert. His eyes were pulled away from her chest to a tattoo on the inside of her left arm. It was a skull with a snake emerging from its gaping maw. The Dark Mark.
Bellatrix reached down and grabbed her dress, handing it off to him. "Just watch for now. I'll show you what to do."
She walked into the candlelight, and as Severus's eyes adjusted, he could see Malfoy and Narcissa and Regulus, and all the rest of them kneeling on the floor in a circle, their foreheads pressed against the stone. In the middle there stood… not a man, but some otherworldly creature, naked and radiating power. The magic was pulsing. Anything might happen. They might all start to fly.
The white, red-eyed fey-creature smiled at Severus as he held out his hand for Bellatrix to take. Bellatrix joined him in the circle of prostate bodies and tilted her head for a kiss, which the man obliged, though he kept his eyes open, staring at Severus.
Don't you wish you could take her place? A voice, one unknown to him, whispered in his mind. It wasn't Potter, or even his own black thoughts, but an echo reverberating though his brain. I can give you everything you've always wanted. Money. Power. All I want in return… is you.