Though This Be Madness

Polonius: My honourable lord, I will most humbly take / my leave of you.
Hamlet: You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more / willingly part withal—except my life... — Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2

Part VII: Death Eater

Another year has come and gone. After the joyous end of term feast last night, this morning I watch from my office window as my pupils once again board the Hogwarts Express in Hogsmeade, many of them never to return. One cannot but grow a bit wistful at times like this, when another crop of seventh years leaves. Having known them since they were all eleven, I cannot help being proud of the young witches and wizards they have become. Yet I sometimes wonder if we have truly prepared them for the world outside these walls.

As the scarlet steam engine starts its laborious journey south, two pupils in particular occupy my thoughts more than the rest. Remus Lupin is, as far as I know, the first and only werewolf ever to become a fully qualified wizard. Many other qualified wizarding werewolves also exist, but all of them completed their education prior to being bitten, so in this way Remus is unique, even amongst Hogwarts students. Despite the forecasts of doom and gloom, he has done exceptionally well. In fact, I would not be surprised in the least to see that he has earned an Outstanding on his Defence NEWT when the scores arrive here in a couple of weeks.

Some of the staff railed against the idea of having a werewolf attend Hogwarts, saying that he would eat the other children for breakfast. I therefore acquired an old, abandoned house in Hogsmeade, had a tunnel dug from the school grounds leading to the place, and obtained a Whomping Willow to plant over the entrance, all to keep the students safe during his transformations. When that issue was quite taken care of, those members of the staff still did not care to have a werewolf here, but they could provide no rational objections. They regarded him with suspicion and loathing for seven years, even though I daresay one would have to look far and wide to find a kinder, gentler soul than Remus Lupin.

Although I have been blessed with many powers, I often wish that among them was the ability to make others see the truth.

If not for one small wrinkle since his first year, I would call Remus' attendance at this school an unqualified success. That wrinkle is, of course, the prank Sirius played on Severus early in their sixth year. Minerva took me to task for letting Sirius "get away" with such a thing, as I recall. Even after I asked her advice in the matter, however, neither of us could envision a scenario in which Sirius' expulsion would not lead to Remus' secret coming out. Therefore in the stead of doling out the harshest penalty available, and inadvertently also punishing Remus for Sirius' mistake in the process, we had to content ourselves with many smaller punishments just short of expulsion. As a fully qualified wizard with his secret still intact, Remus at least has a fair chance. I do wish him all the best.

The other pupil whose situation weighs heavily on my mind is, of course, Severus. In the eighteen months since his schizophrenia was first diagnosed, he has made amazing progress, not only with his study of Transfiguration and Occlumency, but also in identifying the features of his hallucinations and understanding that his delusions may still plague him, even when he is taking his potions regularly, alas. I daresay he has many more obstacles ahead of him in life, however—more so than the rest of the seventh years who leave here today. Have I provided him with the tools to control his condition on a daily basis? I hope I have, but only time will tell.

And yet, in the past few months something about Severus' manner has troubled me. Something I cannot quite put my finger on. He has been most distracted in our counselling sessions of late. Naturally he would have had other things on his mind prior to taking his NEWTs, but even afterward, as in our session this past Wednesday, he seemed as if there was somewhere else he would very much like to be. He could have simply grown weary of discussing anything with such an old codger as myself. As scintillating as I like to think my society is, I am certain it is not nearly as entertaining when viewed through the eyes of youth.

Perhaps I am merely reading too much into the Bloody Baron's reports. His Excellency has told me that Severus walked a bit unsteadily upon returning to the Slytherin common room after the last two Hogsmeade weekends of term. Far be it from me to begrudge the boy a little merry-making after all he has been through in the past year and a half, but I cannot help being concerned. Although Severus may be thin, he is by no means slight, and I very much doubt it is physically possible for him to have consumed enough butterbeer to put him in such a state. I sincerely hope he was merely alleviating a bit of the stress associated with his NEWTs. In view of his condition, habitual inebriation on his part could prove disastrous.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lucius pours two glasses of Ogden's on the rocks and hands one to me. He invited me to Wiltshire, ostensibly, in order to celebrate my Outstanding NEWTs in both Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Though from his smirk, I imagine he has something else on his mind, as well. Not that I care especially. I've had little cause to celebrate for many months now.

I take the proffered glass and stare down into the amber liquid. Once again in the back of my mind an unwelcome reminder of something Madam Pomfrey once said about not indulging in anything stronger than elf-made wine or butterbeer rears its ugly head. But I quickly tell that thought, as well as everything else the school nurse ever told me, that it can go to hell.

"Piss off, Madam Pomfrey," I murmur into the glass before tipping it back.

After I've downed the contents, I notice that Lucius regards me with a curious expression. "What was that?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"Hmm?"

"I could've sworn you said something."

"Oh." I shrug noncommittally. "I was just—talking to myself."

He smirks again. "You'll want to be careful with that, Severus," he says, pointing a playfully warning finger at me from the hand holding his glass. "People might start to think you're mad."

You have no idea, I think ruefully, but I smile nonetheless.

And he doesn't. Have any idea, I mean. I know Lucius hates Dumbledore as much as I do, but not even he could imagine the lengths to which the headmaster was willing to go to rein me in. He wanted to repress my individuality, to turn me into another docile pupil who would accept his assertions that Muggles are harmless as an axiom and wouldn't make trouble. What were those potions that old cow Pomfrey pumped into me, other than an attempt to keep me complaisant and passive? And such "help" perverted me into a mere shadow of the person I used to be. I know perfectly well what he was up to, and I'll be damned if I shall ever willingly submit to his mind control again.

Once I almost allowed them to extinguish the unique spark that is Severus Snape. Never again.

I smile briefly at Lucius before I refill my glass. He returns my smile and then waves an elegant hand toward the crystal decanter, as if telling me to help myself. So I do. In fact, I finish off my third glass before either of us speaks again.

"Nice to get out of that place, isn't it?" he asks, stretching into the depths of an expensive wing backed chair and placing his feet up on the ottoman.

I turn to him and raise an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Instead of popping up and down to refill my glass, I set the decanter on the table between us and sink into the other chair. We talk about anything, everything, and nothing at all for the next couple of hours. It feels good to have a real conversation again, without the mind-numbing effects of potions slurring my thoughts as the Ogden's is now slurring my speech. I think I may have drunk a bit too much, in fact, because before long Lucius says I look green, and he leads me to the toilet with an amused if patient expression. He barely has time to lift the seat before I've retched in the bowl and on his perfectly manicured hands. I know the look that greets me now, as well: the nose wrinkling with distaste, followed by a curling lip.

I fumble for my wand in the pocket of my robes to cast Scourgify, but he stops me, smearing my vomit on my chest, and draws his own. Lucius takes to being soiled about as well as a cat to water, but once he's cleaned up, his good humour returns. And he smirks a little when he says it's good to see me enjoying myself again.

I hiccup and reply that I'll try not to be so exuberant all over him the next time.

Lucius then arranges me around the toilet—so he can safely leave me alone for a bit to get a wet cloth, he says. I don't think I'm being very co-operative, because I feel if I let go, the room will tumble and send me sliding off the face of the planet. But finally he convinces me that will not happen, and I lean my head against the cool porcelain where he's placed me.

"I'm going to the lavatory now, Severus," he announces—slowly—as he stands. "You think you'll be all right?"

I start to nod, but that makes me feel dizzy. So then I try to answer with my mouth, only to burp and taste more vomit in the process. Though I really shouldn't have drunk so much, it's been ages since I could have more than a glass or two without arousing suspicions.

When Lucius reaches the lavatory, what I see suddenly ensures that I am completely sober. The silver stream that springs forth from the tap and over his hands jumps out of the basin. The liquid rushes down the side of the counter and straight for me. Once the silver hits the floor, it rolls and beads with one accord as it races towards my side of the bathroom. My lips tremble with terror, but as I open my mouth to scream, a cool cloth without a trace of silver touches my forehead. Lucius is kneeling next to me, looking very concerned.

"Are you about to be sick again?" he asks softly, as if afraid to startle me, whilst mopping my clammy skin. "You look deathly pale."

With the wetted cloth, he brushes my hair back from my brow—hair stuck to my skin with ice cold sweat. I take a long, shuddering breath and then somehow manage to shake my head.

"N-no, Lu-ucius," I stammer, my still frightened mouth finally deigning to co-operate. "I'm f-fine now ... I think."

Half his mouth quirks upward in a characteristic, well bred smirk. "D'you think you can keep down a hangover potion?" he asks, surprisingly gently, still swabbing my face and neck with the cloth.

Somehow I find both the strength and the determination to nod. Lucius again arranges my pliant body—this time drawing my legs up to my chest, hooking my arms 'round my shins, and laying my forehead on my knees. He gingerly lifts my hair and drapes the washcloth over my neck before hurrying from the room. I wake with a start to his calling my name an undetermined amount of time later, after I've been moved to a bed. A thin, cherry-flavoured concoction then pours into my obedient mouth, and I try my best to swallow. The last thing I note as Lucius turns me on my side before I drift off is that the potion tastes almost flawless. Narcissa must have made this. As much as I admire him, Lucius is a hopeless brewer.

The next thing I know, it's morning. The delicious aroma of bacon and Turkish coffee awakens me. The bed has crisp, white sheets—thicker and heavier than any I've ever felt. Everything around me is so soft and warm: down pillows, down coverlet, probably even a down mattress. As I turn over and snuggle into this heavenly comfort, I thank every higher power I can think of in my sleepy state that Lucius Malfoy finds me amusing. Otherwise I'd never experience such excesses of wealth first hand.

A thud and high-pitched squeal just outside the door serve to jolt me back from my reverie.

"Last night I told you Severus had too much to drink, and I wanted his breakfast waiting for him when he woke up!"

Another thud and a piercing shriek follow Lucius' cry, accompanied by the unmistakable clatter of dishes. The house-elf has apparently displeased his master again.

"Dobby is trying to take Master Severus his breakfast, sir," he pleads—quite unsuccessfully.

"Give it to me!" Lucius commands.

A soft rattle of china signals that the elf has handed over the tray, followed by a crunching sound, a scream, and another thud some distance away. Lucius apparently kicked Dobby a considerable way down the hall. I sit up, smiling and shaking my head as the door opens. When will that wretched brown git learn?

"Good morning, Severus," Lucius says as he sets the tray in my lap. "How are you feeling?"

Narcissa's potion having worked its magic, I feel rested, though still sleepy, but not the least bit hungover. I am ravenous and parched, however, so I already have a bite of scrambled eggs in and the tumbler of orange juice halfway to my mouth before answering.

"Fine," I mumble, the words muffled by my mouthful of food. I swallow and repeat the same sentiment a second later.

Lucius smirks again. "Good. I was hoping you'd be up to continuing the conversation we began last night." My confusion must show on my face because he cocks his head to one side as he lowers himself onto the edge of the expansive bed. "Don't you remember what we discussed?"

I blink for a moment, frowning. My mind is a fog. I clearly remember that we did talk, but about what, I've no idea. I must have drunk a great deal more than I thought.

"Not a damn word," I admit at last with a slight shake of my head.

He grins then. He actually grins. And I find myself wanting to wrap that look up and put it in my pocket to preserve his expression for posterity.

"Well, we talked about Muggles and Mudbloods for a bit ... and why you don't like them."

I frown again—worse this time. I hope I didn't embarrass myself the night before. I do wish I could remember.

"You were ... very persuasive."

He's still smiling, so I can only assume I must have made a fool of myself. But at least he found the evening entertaining.

"In fact, I think there's someone you should meet."

My eyes resume their blinking, but for a different reason now. Something in what he's just said strikes me as not quite right, though I cannot quite work out what. I feel as if the puzzle is hovering mere inches out of my reach, and if I were only taller, I might be able to grasp it. After a moment I give up trying, consoling myself with the fact that Lucius wishes to introduce me to someone he thinks important.

"Who?"

Only an enigmatic smile answers me. That's no surprise. In the six years I've known him, if there's one thing I've learnt, it is that Lucius enjoys being mysterious. He does eventually tell me who I am to meet, and why, but the news comes long after I've finished my breakfast. Two weeks after, in fact. Then, following another week of what I can only call "training," I'm invited to the manor for dinner and drinks ... and, of course, to meet He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Despite Lucius' description, I'll admit he isn't quite as I'd pictured—this red-eyed, flat-nosed abomination who considers himself the saviour of the wizarding world. I try not to flinch back at the sight of him when he lowers his hood, but Lucius assures me that it's all right.

"Severus Snape, my Lord," he adds, bowing slightly as he urges me forward with the light touch of a hand on my lower back.

"I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Severus," You-Know-Who says with soft words, extending a skeleton-like white hand. "Lucius has told me so much about you."

I know I should be nervous. After all, it isn't every day one meets a wizard who fancies himself a Dark Lord. But something about the familiarity of his sibilant speech reminds me of my Lord Slytherin and puts me instantly at ease. As I shake his hand, I wonder idly if he is another Parselmouth like me.

"Likewise, sir," I answer, with a gratified smile.

The conversation that follows over dinner is some of the most interesting I can remember in many years. This man has fascinating plans to rid the world of the many Muggles, Mudbloods, and Muggle-lovers. So I think I will join forces with him ... at least for a while. He's already laid a great deal of the groundwork. But once I'm inside the organisation, everybody will see that I am Slytherin's Heir. It won't be long before I take over.

When he's swallowed his final sip of wine, You-Know-Who turns to me. "So, Severus..." The skeletal hand sets down the glass. "Have you made your decision?"

I look directly into those glowing red eyes and smile. "I have." The "my Lord" I tack on a second later tells him what I've decided, as well.

"You are prepared to join me?" he continues quietly, though his voice has taken on a cold edge. "To fight, and if needs be to die, for me?"

"I am."

He holds my unflinching gaze for a moment before turning to Lucius. "Where is Nagini?"

"She was exploring the library, my Lord, when last I heard her."

"Very well," the Dark Lord says, rising. "Then we should adjourn to the library, so that we may begin our young friend's initiation."

When we file into the library, I see a hint of a diamond-patterned tail whip underneath the sofa and out of sight. Nagini is apparently shy. The Dark Lord opens his mouth, and an unearthly hiss issues forth. The snake then dutifully slithers out from her hiding place. So he is a Parselmouth, and Nagini soon rears up to do whatever bidding her master has asked. Even as Lucius pulls up my left sleeve, and I begin to wonder what a snake has to do with my becoming a Death Eater, the Dark Lord catches my right wrist in an icy grip. I do not wonder long, for a second later Nagini strikes, clamping onto my left forearm. Fangs deftly pierce my flesh, perfectly bisecting the space between bone and bone. The jaws clench around my arm, and even through the burn of venom coursing into my veins, I feel the tickle of the serpent's tongue on my skin.

The two square inches of my skin that the snake bites feel as if they're being burnt with red hot coals whilst stung by a thousand bees. What seems an eternity later, it occurs to be that I shouldn't still be awake. I know I should have fainted long before this—from shock or pain or the sheer volume of venom that has been pumped into me. But I realise, through that vice-like grip on my other arm, the Dark Lord is keeping me awake and aware. It wouldn't do to sleep through my initiation, after all.

"Enough," he breathes finally.

The snake lets go and drops to the floor, as I sway on unsteady legs. Lucius steps up behind me then and steadies me with his arms about my ribs. How I recognise his signet ring through my blurred, swimming vision, I'm not sure, but I know Lucius would never let me fall.

The Dark Lord smiles, reaching for my left arm now. He raises his wand and cuts my flesh between the punctures left by the snake's fangs. My arm rises to his mouth, though whether he or I lifted it, I'm not sure. He sucks out the venom and the blood that gushes from the wound and swallows them both. Then once again he raises his wand, this time to cauterise the wound, whispering a soft incantation through lips that drip my blood. The last thing that crosses my mind is recalling that smell I had on my hands so long ago in Transfiguration, and how similar the odour is to that of my own charred flesh.

And then I know no more.

When I wake, I'm lying flat on my back whilst someone mops my fevered brow. I groan as my eyes flutter open. Lucius sets the cloth down on the bedside table, rises, and walks quickly out of the line of what little sight I possess.

"He's awake, my Lord," I hear him whisper. More feet then approach the bed, and I force my eyes to remain open. They seem not to want to co-operate.

"I have drunk in your life and what should have meant your death," the high, cold voice proclaims without preamble. "You now belong to me, Severus. We are joined through the bonds of blood, venom, and Dark magic. Welcome to the fold." Then he's gone, and Lucius resumes his seat beside me on the bed.

"You're lucky you're so young, Severus," he says as he resumes wiping my brow. "I've seen older men take the Mark and never wake from the resulting coma."

Though my swollen throat feels as though it's full of gravel, I manage to grind out two words before the pain stops me: "How long—?"

Lucius pauses to rewet the cloth before answering. The cool water is an oasis against my desert skin. "Two days."

I try to sit up, shocked at the length of my absence from reality—much longer than I've ever been unaware of the passage of time before. Lucius arrests my movement all too easily with just a hand on my shoulder. I am much weaker than I feel.

"Rest now. You need to regain your strength." He reaches for a flask on the bedside table and flips the cork off with his thumb whilst slipping his other hand behind my neck to lift my head. "Drink this. It should help. And try not to move. You still have a little venom in your system. The less you move, the less will make it to your heart."

The potion smells like a sleeping draught, but slightly off. Then again, the peculiar odour could just be more lies from my traitorous nostrils. After all, Lucius is my friend. He'd never give me anything harmful.

I take a small swallow—as much as my aching throat will allow. The liquid is thick and sweet but cool, and it numbs my throat as it descends. So I take another larger swallow. When I've drunk the whole flask full, I realise my stomach is sated, though I hadn't been completely aware of the burning hunger before its departure. Probably too many other pains were demanding my attention. My eyelids droop, and Lucius wipes my forehead again.

It never occurred to me before that Lucius could be so kind. His solution to every problem seemed either to be to sneer at the triviality of the situation or to throw gold at those involved in an ostentatious display not unlike a peacock. As I drift off to sleep, my mind vaguely registers the idea that I rather like the change.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Finally the NEWT scores for my long-departed class of seventh years have arrived, along with the committee's profoundest apologies for the delay. I imagine the ink on the parchment was scarcely dry before Severus landed himself a prestigious job at the Department of Mysteries. Although he himself would likely be hard pressed to tell me, I would bet my last Knut that he is doing Potions research. And I would wager my penultimate Knut that Lucius Malfoy's influence was integral to Severus' securing that post. "Outstanding" NEWT or not, men of eighteen rarely become Unspeakables.

I should not be surprised that Lucius and Severus have become close. They have a great deal in common: both powerful young wizards, and both highly interested in the Dark Arts, as well, although in Severus' case that interest has always had a "fighting fire with fire" slant. Alas, I can honestly say I have no such assurances regarding Mr Malfoy.

I suppose it was too much to hope that Severus would occasionally come back to Hogwarts to visit. He no doubt relishes the freedom of being out of school and finally on his own. And yet, not so much as an owl to say, "Hello, Headmaster. I am all right." I cannot force him to come see me for counselling, of course, however much I might want to do so. More's the pity. I have a feeling he could use someone to listen to his troubles.

Since I was in charge of his family finances for a spell, I should not be surprised that his creditors have written to me. He is not in debt as of yet, but they say he has been spending what little gold his mother left him as if Gringott's were going to close down tomorrow. If there was something I could do, I would do it. Once he turned seventeen, there was nothing I could do from a legal standpoint. Apart from having him declared mentally incompetent due to his condition, that is. I truly hope it doesn't come to that.