Ad Sequens Anguis Semita

"In order to write about evil, you must define it." J.K. Rowlings (not an exact quote but close to it)

Evil, I have seen true evil; the eyes that shine in the darkness, the cold, icy hand that brings death. I have seen true evil, and ran the paths it gave me, back to nowhere, back to here.

Here is Snape Manor, on top of a hill and past a large forest; it is nearly one mile away from a large muggle village called Snape Maltings. Our family was very involved with both the muggle and wizarding black markets. Father used to say that sometimes in order to further one's self in the world, you must align yourself with those very people you hate or despise, out of necessity. I suppose that is why I made friends with Lucius Malfoy; perhaps that's why I worked with Black when Dumbledore asked me to. But I digress; I must tell more of my story as a child in order for you to understand certain points.

My father was a good businessman, an even better Deatheater and above all he was a politician, not once a father. My Mother did not know me; she was a social figurehead, a Family symbol of our affluence, and she was a drunk. That is why my father was never a father, though he never said it outside of an argument with Mother, he thought that I was a bastard child. That my mother had been unfaithful to him, and that I was a wretched child, whom should never have been so lucky as to live. That I was fortunate to have a Father that took care of him so well without any relation.

So I learned at a very young age, No one liked me. Much less loved me.

I grew up knowing nothing but books and study, nothing but my tutor. It was not until I was ten that I actually saw a sunrise. The tasks my tutor set me were challenging. When I was about five, I didn't finish one of them. Father found out about it and when the tutor left that night, I was punished. It was the first time I remember being under the Cruciatus Curse. It was like having every muscle in one's body spasm at the same time.

Perhaps it's best that both of them died at the hands of Lord Voldemort four years later.

I don't remember much of my life until I was nine. 1968, that was the year they died, I even remember the exact day and time. Though parts of that night are still very vague, I remember one part like it had been ten minutes ago...

The day was December third; it was about nine minutes to twelve am. I wasn't supposed to be up then, my bedtime was at nine-thirty, but I couldn't sleep that night. For some strange reason that night I felt like there was something wrong. I guess hindsight is always twenty-twenty, at least looking back at that night. My parents were in the drawing room, talking very loudly about something. I couldn't quite make out all of it because I was upstairs. Then there was a large Bang and the door flew open. My mother screamed in shock and was quickly quieted by my father. My father rushed to the doorway where a tall gaunt man in black and two others beside him stood. My father got down on his knees and I could just make out what he said...

"Master, Please... "