Metanoia - The Conversion of Severus Snape

Chapter 3: With the Death Eaters
Snape embarks on this new career.

"What did you think?" Lucius asked, a touch of amusement in his voice. "You swore an oath to a powerful Dark wizard. Of course it's magically binding!"

"No, I know that. I expected that." Snape paused, scowling. Clearly, there was something he hadn't expected about the recent ceremony. "I just am curious about how." He resumed his pacing, as well as he could in the cluttered Malfoy library. Any other wizard would have extracted blood to make a seriously binding agreement - or at the very least required a signature or an oath on a wand... something. He was puzzled how the Dark Lord had got around that, and yet bound his followers to himself even more tightly than the darkest blood magic would allow. In short, he wanted to know what the brand on his arm was.

"I'm not sure how it works," said Malfoy, suddenly serious again. "I know...it is a connection to him, keyed specifically to him. So far, it is fairly secret." Snape looked doubtful. "Oh, the Aurors have noted it on the few bodies they have recovered, but as far as I know, they haven't figured out its significance. They refer to it as a tattoo, and speculate that it may be standard on all Death Eaters."

"I'm sure I'll learn the practical aspects soon enough," Snape remarked dryly. "What I asked was what it is, and how it is able to hold my oath."

"An invention of our Master's, no doubt," Malfoy remarked dismissively. "If I had to venture a guess, I would think it less than coincidental that he extracts the Oath before administering the Mark. Do not be so foolish as to think that the Mark holds your oath, though - the man you swore to holds that."

Suddenly, it clicked, and the blood drained from Snape's face. He had been a fool, to think no blood nor wand was involved. The Dark Lord had both. Those hands enclosing his had enclosed the blood pumping through his veins, and surely the Dark Lord had not put his wand down during that. He shook his head to clear it; whatever dire consequences his new Master had thought up for those who broke the oath wouldn't matter so long as he was a faithful servant.

"I should be going," Snape announced.

"Ah yes, you have to be at the Ministry early tomorrow, no doubt," Lucius said in an annoyingly patronising voice.

"Oh, come off it, you have work to do as well." Snape was in no mood for his friend's superiority.

"Perhaps, but I choose my own hours. Tell me, is the work you do really worth everything they ask of you?"

"Serving the Dark Lord doesn't exactly pay well," Snape said sardonically.

"No?" Lucius replied, affecting surprise. "Perhaps not the way some Death Eaters do it," he added with a smirk. "Why don't you come with Rabastan and me next Thursday evening? We'll show you how to capitalise on being a Death Eater."

"Does Rabastan know I'm a Death Eater?" Snape asked, startled.

"Of course." The corner of Lucius' mouth twitched. "He was there the night you took the Mark. Didn't you notice?"

"Perhaps I was a bit distracted," Snape acknowledged dryly. "What are you doing on Thursday, though?" he asked, a trace of suspicion entering his voice.

"Just a bit of collecting for the cause. Don't worry, you won't have to talk at all."

***

He Apparated to a quiet country lane, and was not surprised to see two hooded figures waiting under an oak tree. Snape was still a bit nervous to be seen in his Death Eater robes and mask, but he didn't see any harm in following Malfoy's and Rabastan's lead. They walked a short way until, turning in at a gate in a low stone wall, a small house sprang up in front of them. It looked almost Muggle, with flowers out front and shutters on the windows. Of course, the green smoke coming from the chimney was a bit of a give-away. Malfoy knocked on the door, and for a moment, Snape thought it odd how polite that seemed. Death Eaters were supposed to knock down the door and barge in, according to the Prophet. His mask hid his smile.

The woman who answered the door was clearly nervous, but her lack of hysterics suggested that she had expected to find Death Eaters on her doorstep. Snape frowned. It couldn't be wise to announce where and when you planned to appear; sooner or later, the Aurors would get wind of it. She ushered them into the living room, where a man (most likely her husband) was waiting. He did not offer them seats.

"Good evening," Malfoy began, inclining his head politely (or in a mockery of politeness - it was hard to tell with the mask). "After the unfortunate incident last month, it seemed only prudent that we stop by."

The couple exchanged worried looks, but said nothing.

"While I do not doubt your intentions," Malfoy continued, "my Master is more difficult to convince. I need not tell you how advantageous it is to stay in his good graces."

Of course not, Snape thought. After all, failure to do so means death.

"I did mention I would be stopping by sometime this week, so I hope I have not found you unprepared?" Malfoy asked.

The man looked tense, even angry, but his jaw was set. "No, we were expecting you," he replied grudgingly.

The oppressive atmosphere was broken by a rather unexpected sound: a squeal of laughter from upstairs. Malfoy jerked his head towards the sound, then turned to Snape. "Check it out," he growled in a low voice. Not knowing what else to do, Snape went upstairs. He caught the panicky look the woman shot at her husband, but neither of them moved to stop him. He was a bit stung at being dismissed so thoroughly, but it would not do to disobey. The laughter had stopped, but noises were still coming from behind a closed door down the hall. He reached for the brass knob, noting the peeling avocado paint. He opened the door slowly, just in case, but was not prepared for what he saw.

Clearly, it was a boys' bedroom. The bunk beds with blue bedspreads, Quidditch posters and jumble of clothes and toys on the floor were not unexpected. The sight of two young boys in pyjamas flying around the room, however, was. They didn't have even a toy broom - they seemed to be running on air, and had been chasing each other. As soon as they caught sight of the Death Eater in the doorway, the older boy yelped, while his little brother flew to the top bunk and tried to hide under the covers. The older boy stood between the bunk beds and the doorway, an odd mix of defensive stance and confusion and fear.

Satisfied that the boys were alone and posed no threat, Snape asked with some curiosity, "How were you flying just now?"

Startled, the older boy (who was no more than 10) stuttered, "It's the s-s-socks. They're magic flying socks."

"I see," said Snape. The boy was staring at him, wide-eyed and uncertain. "I suggest you not play such games when your parents have...guests. It would be wiser to stay quiet."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." The boy sounded truly contrite, which was almost absurd. Snape nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and slammed the door. He stalked back down the stairs, and met Malfoy's questioning glance. "Just their sons."

"Sons?" Lucius asked, affecting surprise. Suddenly, Snape figured out why he had been sent upstairs. It wasn't just a ploy to get rid of him, it was an excuse for Malfoy to - what? Discuss their children? He obviously knew about them before hand, and was merely looking for an excuse to bring them into the conversation - but to what purpose?

Malfoy had pulled something out from within his robes. It looked like a long, slender reed, but it wasn't a wand. Snape was surprised when he raised it to his lips (slipping it under the mask), and one, quavering note sounded. Then Malfoy began to play, his fingers moving up and down the reed with practised skill. But, strangely, no sound was heard. No one moved or spoke; the scene was a bit surreal. Malfoy seemed almost...tender while playing, though the Death Eater mask and robes did rather ruin that effect. But Snape's attention was drawn back to the stairs. Apparently, the boys had decided to join them. The older boy stood at the top of the stairs, a wistful look on his face. The younger one was sitting on the stairs, but as Snape watched, he started scooting down, one stair at a time. His face was frighteningly and blissfully vacant. Suddenly, Lucius stopped, and withdrew the reed from his mouth.

As if a spell had been lifted, everyone reacted. "Davey! Jonathon!" their mother called angrily, "Go back to bed!" The boys looked startled and confused, but one look at the adults standing in their living room was enough to convince them to flee upstairs and back to the relative safety of their room. Rabastan, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed.

Malfoy turned to the mother. "Do your boys often play outside?"

Confused, she looked at her husband for inspiration. "What does that matter?" he asked gruffly.

Still fingering the reed pipe, Malfoy replied, "It would be unfortunate if they wandered outside on the night of a full moon, don't you think? So many things could happen, and if a werewolf were nearby..." He let his voice trail off, not voicing his threat. The white faces of his hosts indicated that they understood perfectly what he was saying.

"You wouldn't..." the mother whispered hoarsely.

"Of course not. ... Because it won't be necessary," Malfoy answered smoothly. "You will not fail my Master again. On that note, I bid you good night. Gentlemen?" he said, looking at Rabastan and Snape. Taking the not-so-subtle hint, they left.

***

Flourish and Blotts was quiet and dimly lit. While this was perhaps unsurprising for a Saturday morning early in February, it stood in stark contrast to the crowded bustle that Snape remembered from his previous summer visits. He was thankful for the opportunity to browse the shelves without interruption. So far, he had found one or two titles of interest, but the trip was turning out to be quite disappointing. He had grown accustomed to the selection at Hogwarts; but who knew how many years were put into gathering that collection? Many of the tomes there were fairly old, even ancient. Whereas here...he looked in disgust at the shiny new books on insipid topics: Spells for Spills: Solutions to Common Household Problems. Rubbish. Who bought this nonsense, anyway? He would not waste his new-found gold on books that were below his level. In the end, he bought only three books: A History of Magical Theory, a reference on counter-curses that might prove useful at work, and a book that had been frequently referenced in his 6th year Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook.

He stepped out into the cold street, seeing only a few people hurrying about their business. He turned his attention to the other shops on the street, going through his mental checklist. He was not pleased. He had intended to use the windfall of gold from Malfoy to add to his library. He still had plenty left, but he wanted to buy the books before he replenished his potions kit or purchased more mundane household items. Discretionary spending money was a new concept; he had always intended to become self-sufficient, but he never thought he would own a house and be able to buy books less than one year after leaving school. He felt the weight of gold in his pocket, considering. He did not really want self-scouring cauldrons. What he wanted was more books. He looked back at the building behind him. Where else could he find good books? Who would have a better selection than Flourish and Blotts? His eyes strayed to the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Of course, if he wanted old books, he'd have to try a used book shop. Why hadn't he thought of that in the first place? He turned his collar up against the wind, and headed in that direction.

He had only been down here a few times before, but he thought he remembered seeing an old bookshop once. Maybe it was still there. Knockturn Alley was a strange amalgam of high-end stores and shops for poorer wizards. If you had the gold, you could find almost anything you might want here, legal or otherwise. But less exotic items, like cheap foreign cauldrons and bolts of cloth, fresh meat and bat poison, were also for sale. Ah, there it was, as he remembered: Barnaby's Bargain Books: As Good as New!

He stepped into the shop and blinked at the dim-lit interior. Motes of dust danced in the light streaming in through one grimy window. The place smelled of books: old leather and dust. The girl at the counter looked up from her needlework as he stepped in. She looked like she was debating jumping up to assist him, but after a moment's hesitation, she merely mumbled "morning" and looked down again. He was the only customer. He took his time searching the battered wooden shelves and poking through the crates of books on the floor. There were no silly new books here: these books all had some meat to them. Colloquial Expressions and You: A Muggle-born's Guide to the Wizarding World was nowhere in sight. An hour later, a large stack was following him around the shop, hovering in the air two feet behind him. He was most pleased to find a copy of Moste Potente Potions; he had thought that too old and rare to hope to add to his collection.

When he approached the counter, the girl looked up with a vague smile on her face. "Those will keep you busy for awhile, I warrant," she remarked.

"What I do with these is my business, I think," he replied with a glare.

Cowed, she looked down again and did not speak while she wrapped small stacks of his purchases in brown paper. Unperturbed, he watched as the light from the window caught in the gold and red highlights of her mousy brown hair. But when she picked up Advanced Dueling: Outwitting the Foe, she could not help but steal another glance at him. "So...did you find everything you were looking for today?" she asked.

"Not everything, no," he said casually.

"If you'd like to be on our Owl List, we will send you updates when we get new books in."

His glare was back. "I think not."

She did not make any further attempt to speak with him; when she had wrapped all the books, she tapped the counter with her wand, and the total price appeared in shining gold numbers. He paid her, and left the shop. He then Apparated home with his purchases; he could finish his shopping later. He was not going to drag a stack of books around for the rest of the day.

Besides, his bag of galleons was much lighter than it had been earlier this morning. He had not been there when Malfoy demanded the money, of course; he was conveniently upstairs checking on the two boys. So, who knows what portion he really got? But it still felt like a lot to him, after being accustomed to living so frugally. He eyed his purchases appraisingly. He could not make a habit of this. The next time he got a Death Eater bonus, it was going in a Gringott's vault. The corner of his mouth twitched. Besides, there wasn't going to be room on the bookshelf for another load of books. He devoted the rest of the day to organising his new collection, often stopping to leaf through the books in search of particular spells. The neighbours were playing an old Traffic album. He remembered his first summer back from Hogwarts, when they had played it nearly every day for a month. He sighed. That was the summer he had promised himself to leave this entire world behind. He was going to finish at Hogwarts, join the magical community, and sever all ties to his roots in this dingy town. So much for childhood plans. He cleared off the papers he had allowed to accumulate on the shelf; a newspaper clipping fluttered to the ground. The hated face of James Potter smiled stupidly back at him, grinning while the caption announced his recent marriage to Lily Evans at Christmas. He scowled - why had he even saved that? But still, he did not throw it away - he added it to the pile of papers that was moving to his desk. With the papers cleared away and some old knickknacks moved, he found space for his new books next to his mother's old ones on the shelf. His own library! Or at least, the beginnings of one. There were advantages to being a Death Eater, after all.

***

He started suddenly. His arm was burning. He yanked up his sleeve to see what was wrong with it. Nothing - except that the Dark Mark truly was dark against his skin, rather than its usual angry red. Surprised, he realised that he was being called, and that he knew where to go. He was about to comply with his first summons, when he gave a thought to how he was dressed. Fool! You don't appear before the Dark Lord without a mask. He quickly changed into the heavy Death Eater robes and donned the mask and hood. Then he Apparated.

***

The shadows of dusk lengthened into pools of darkness, until colours could no longer be distinguished. Snape rubbed his hands together against the chill, then shoved them into his pockets and resumed his restless pacing. He was confined to a few steps in either direction, but anything was better than standing uselessly against the wall for hours on end. The Disillusionment Charm kept him safely out of sight on the otherwise empty street, but his shadow would still appear if he ventured into the pools of light under the street lamps. He wondered idly if there were any way to get rid of the shadow.

He was losing patience with this pointless vigil. He had been assigned to the evening shift, presumably because of the hours he must keep at the Ministry. But it was irksome to stand here idly all evening after working all day. His instructions were to report if Mr. Meadows left the house, but it seemed rather unlikely that the gentleman would decide to take a late night stroll. He assumed the Floo was being monitored. Conveniently, it had been reported that Mr. Meadows never Apparated - he did not even have a licence. There must be a better way of doing this, though. They were wizards - some sort of magic could trigger an alarm if he left that didn't require someone to stand here and watch the door. He scowled. He doubted that Dolohov or the other senior Death Eaters ever took turns at this tedious business.

Being a Death Eater had its advantages and disadvantages - tonight was definitely one of the latter. But he would not give up his books willingly, nor the chance to be treated as an equal by the likes of Lucius Malfoy. He shivered. The thought of hexing people with impunity was not unattractive, either. But so far, he had not been given a chance to do so. All of Malfoy's tasks had been resolved with threats or money - none of the violent attacks the newspaper was so fond of reporting. It was tiresome to get his assignments from Malfoy, rather than directly from the Dark Lord. But then, he couldn't say that he really wanted to spend more time in his Master's presence. The Dark Lord was... unexpected. He wasn't sure what he had expected. Someone who looked older, maybe. His mouth twitched - and with brown eyes, or maybe blue. But the Dark Lord had an impressive presence - you could not help but focus on him and hang on his words. He radiated power, and though it was generally veiled, he had heard stories from the Death Eaters.... The Unforgivables did not impress him, but the Dark Lord had his own unique style - whether he had studied some esoteric branch of magic or invented his own, there was something original and shocking about what he could do. Snape had only been called into his presence a few times, but even so, the meetings had been unusual. The Dark Lord asked him a string of seemingly unrelated questions, and then would ask him to... demonstrate various tasks. He had not thought it prudent to ask what their purpose was, but he could guess that he was being tested before being given any 'real' tasks. He hoped he was not found wanting. Certainly, he had not failed to impress in school, but the Dark Lord was not a professor at Hogwarts, dealing with school-aged children! He was used to ordering about competent Dark Wizards, and Snape was painfully aware of his own lack of experience. He had mastered the new spells that they had introduced him to, but surely that couldn't be all that was expected of him. He sighed - another hour to go. It would be a long night.

***

One by one, the street lamps outside switched on in the dusk. Snape took a last bite of boiled potato and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He lit the kerosene lamp on the mantel with a flick of his wand; the lamp had not needed kerosene since he'd moved back in. He would get to the dishes shortly; he just didn't want to move at the moment. It had been nice not to have sentry duty at all this week. His reverie was interrupted by a burning sensation on his arm. With mild consternation, he got up and went to fetch his Death Eater robes. He sighed; it would not do to keep the Dark Lord waiting.

Snape was surprised to find himself outside, in a clearing in a wood of beech-trees. Someone had conjured up floating torches around the edge so that the figures gathered there cast dark, flickering shadows. He had not expected such a large crowd, but he took his place silently beside the foreigner Karkaroff. He wondered if this was a meeting of all the Death Eaters, and he hoped no Aurors had got wind of it. What an absurd thought! He smiled; what could a handful of Aurors hope to do against the Dark Lord and all his Death Eaters?

The Dark Lord stepped forward into the midst of the circle. "My loyal Death Eaters," he began, sweeping his eyes about the circle. "Tonight, I am pleased to bring before you someone who has dared to defy us." He waved his wand, and a man literally fell in the midst of the circle. He picked himself up on his hands and knees, and blinked owlishly. When he saw the Dark Lord standing before him, however, he froze. "Mr. Dirac has refused to comply with a request we made of him," the Dark Lord continued. He walked slowly around the inside of the circle, facing the Death Eaters. "It was such a small request - all we required of him was a list - the names and addresses of his customers. But for some reason, he refused to co-operate. Such behaviour cannot be tolerated. And so tonight, several Death Eaters paid one final visit to Mr. Dirac's, and removed both him and his list from the shop." Eric Dirac still had not moved, but his eyes followed the speaker like a bird mesmerised by a snake. "Did you enjoy the Rosiers' hospitality?" the Dark Lord inquired, fixing his gaze on the unfortunate man. His path became a spiral, drawing gradually closer to his victim. "Your defiance has accomplished nothing. We have what we wanted. But now you will learn the cost of defying those who come in my name." The Death Eaters responded to this pronouncement with scattered cheers.

Dirac remained on the ground, his fear etched plainly on his face. "No. Please...no," he moaned incoherently; the Death Eaters laughed. The Dark Lord's wand was out, and he smiled. He shook his hand almost carelessly, but with each stroke, something dark fell to the ground at his feet. Snape could not see what it was in the torchlight, but evidently Dirac could - he shrieked, and began to scramble backwards. And then...the strangest thing happened. A strange sound, like hissing steam, came from the Dark Lord. At first, it sounded indistinct, but then Snape was almost able to distinguish sounds, as if he were speaking some bizarre language. Dirac's backward movement ceased abruptly, and he scrambled to his feet, his eyes white with fear. The dark shapes on the ground writhed about him in a circle...they were serpents. Snape shuddered involuntarily when he realised what was about to happen. Sure enough, at another command from the Dark Lord in that strange sibilant code, the snakes coiled and struck, one after another. Dirac shrieked and screamed each time the fangs found a mark, until he collapsed on the ground and the grey snakes covered his body. His screams were now choked, and he gasped for breath loudly. The jeers and laughter subsided; eventually, the screaming ceased as well.

The Dark Lord waved his wand, and the snakes vanished in smoke. He had stood watching the scene intently, but now he turned to face his Death Eaters once again. He gestured towards four of them, and they stepped forward into the circle. "You will return the late Mr. Dirac's remains to his shop, and leave our calling card." They bowed low, approached the limp body, and Disapparated.

The Dark Lord moved about the now-silent circle. With a murmur or gesture, he dismissed many of the Death Eaters. Each of them bowed low, stepped back from the circle, and Disapparated. Karkaroff was dismissed in this manner, but Snape was passed over. He wondered what the remaining Death Eaters were being kept back for - and how long it would take. He still had dishes waiting at home, and his job at the Ministry did not let him sleep in. Once the Dark Lord had completed a full circuit, the circle closed in to eliminate the gaps, and the torches moved forward to more clearly illuminate the centre.

"I have asked you to stay, my friends, because tonight someone will be joining our number. He is young, but eager to advance our cause. I hope you will watch over him for me." He turned expectantly to the middle of the circle, and again, a man appeared suddenly. But this young man arrived standing on his feet, and he dropped something in the grass. He started when he took in his surroundings, but he quickly found the Dark Lord and bowed deeply towards him.

"Good evening, Regulus Black, and welcome," the Dark Lord said gravely.

"Thank you, my lord," the young man replied. He seemed fairly relaxed; but then, he had not witnessed the last event to take place in this grove. Regulus had been in Slytherin, one year behind Snape. He must have just finished at Hogwarts. He had the naïve confidence of a seventh-year written in his stance.

"Why have you sought us out?" the Dark Lord asked.

Regulus answered the question as if he were reading from a card. "I would like to further your cause. I believe in what you fight for, and I know that the Wizarding world will be a better place when you succeed in your goals."

"And how can you aid us?" the Dark Lord continued.

"In whatever way you require, my lord." Regulus bowed his head subserviently.

"What work do you do, Mr. Black?" the Dark Lord asked casually. Snape was reminded of his own first conversation with him, six months ago.

"I don't work," Regulus answered, obviously a bit thrown by the question.

Something changed in the Dark Lord's attitude. A sudden stillness that filled Snape with foreboding (and relief that he was not the one being questioned).

"Tell me...why would you lie to me?" he asked softly, his high, cold voice leaving no trace of compassion in his tone.

Regulus looked truly nervous now. "I didn't! I mean...I did not mean to. You see, I do work, but not at anything particularly useful. I mean, it is my interest, my hobby. I just happen to work at it, as well." He stumbled through this hasty explanation.

"And what is it you do?" the Dark Lord asked again. If he was amused by Regulus' discomfiture, he did not show it.

"I...design buildings." Regulus sounded sheepish, almost embarrassed. "Mostly renovations, but I hope to be able to plan new magical buildings one day."

"I see." The Dark Lord was pacing now, taking even, measured steps.

"I suggest you not attempt to deceive me in the future. You may find it...poor for your health." He smiled, though it looked more like a wolf baring his fangs. There was definitely something predatory in that gaze. "I expect honesty and obedience from my Death Eaters. Will you be able to serve me as one of them?"

"Yes, my lord. It is my greatest desire." Regulus sank down on one knee, without being asked. The Dark Lord stopped in front of him, and took his hands. "Swear it."

"I swear loyalty and obedience to you, Lord Voldemort, forever." Regulus looked up into the Dark Lord's eyes without blinking. The Dark Lord raised his hands, but did not release Regulus' left wrist. The sleeve of his robe slithered back, revealing his pale arm. When Voldemort brought his wand down to meet it, golden light poured out, marking Regulus with the Dark Mark.

The Dark Lord stepped back, admiring his handiwork. One of the remaining Death Eaters came forward haltingly; Snape realised he was limping. This man handed a bundle to the Dark Lord. "And now, my newest Death Eater, receive your robes and mask." Regulus took them, but did not stand.

"It is not often that I allow mere students to join us," the Dark Lord continued, "let alone those who 'do nothing.' But I have a task for you, young Regulus Black."

Regulus got to his feet quickly. "Anything, my Lord," he replied eagerly.

The Dark Lord glanced at him with a faint smile, but continued addressing the gathered Death Eaters. "I have a task for all of you, indeed, for all those who are loyal to us. The Ministry has grown complacent, and I fear they no longer take us seriously. We are going to wake them up." He smiled, and the Death Eaters looked at one another eagerly.

"To show them that we are more organised than they are... that we have more powerful allies... we are going to strike swiftly in many places at once. They have mistaken our silence for inaction, but they will learn the price of their blindness. This Saturday night, I expect all of you to arrive at Nott's at quarter after seven in the evening." He paused, as if considering something. "Except for you, of course, Greyback - you will be in place already." The man so addressed merely nodded; the Dark Lord continued with his instructions, dividing them into groups. Regulus would be with Rabastan, Rodolphus and Bellatrix. It was late when he finally dismissed the remaining Death Eaters, but Snape was no longer worried about prosaic domestic tasks when he arrived home. His head was full of the plans for Saturday night.

***

The oppressive heat of June had seeped in throughout the afternoon, and now the air seemed heavy in the room. Snape paced back and forth in his sitting room, too full of nervous energy to sit or stand still. The heavy robes didn't help. Why did it have to be a Saturday? If it had been a Friday, he would at least have been distracted by work all day. To keep himself from going crazy, he reviewed his instructions for the umpteenth time. He would Apparate to Nott's, and report to Malfoy. The other men who would be working with them were named Crabbe and Goyle. He knew they went to Hogwarts, but he didn't remember them. The only sixth and seventh years who came to the attention of most first years were the Quidditch players, and he didn't think they had been on the Slytherin team. He scowled. Not that he had cared who was on the team. Malfoy would be in charge of course. He naturally took charge of most situations, but the Dark Lord seemed to trust him. He hoped he wouldn't be this keyed up every time he had a task to do. Maybe it was just because it was his first raid. Finally, he would be involved in something that would be in the papers. Surely some of tonight's activity would make the news tomorrow - if not his group, one of the others. At last, 7:15 arrived.

Nott himself was serving as door-ward tonight. Snape was quickly ushered into a sparsely furnished room where Malfoy was already waiting. There was no sign of the other Death Eaters, though Crabbe and Goyle joined them a few minutes later. Malfoy seemed calm; Snape was envious. The blond wizard reached into a pocket and extracted several thin cigars; he offered them to the others. Curious, Snape took one, but waited to see the others' reactions first. Crabbe and Goyle looked pleased and lit them with their wands, so Snape figured they were safe to try. The somewhat cloying scent of the smoke distracted him - he couldn't identify it. Malfoy gave them their instructions, neglecting his own cigar, which continued to burn in his hand. "The reports say he is at home. We will Apparate to his street, and enter by the front door. No spells until we enter his house, and no Unforgivables unless we want the Aurors down on us in minutes. When we're finished, we Disapparate and return here. Follow my lead. Any questions?"

Snape shook his head tersely; the others muttered "No." Lucius glanced at his watch, and then nodded. They disposed of their half-finished cigars in the fireplace, then went outside and Apparated to the street where Snape had spent many fruitless evenings standing watch. He was glad this would be his last visit. Now that they were finally here, finally doing something, his tension oozed away. His mind was clear and focused, the nervous guessing of the day gone. There was a light on in an upstairs window; the rest of the house was dark. They crossed the street, and Lucius climbed the steps to the front door. "Look sharp!" he hissed, and then blew the door in. Surprisingly, this made little noise. They entered quickly. With a whispered "Lumos" they scanned the room; nothing. There was a thump upstairs. Malfoy gestured for Crabbe to wait at the bottom of the stairs - the other three rushed up and began to search the rooms.

The bathroom was empty, as was the study. Goyle was set the task of checking the study more thoroughly. The door at the end of the hall opened up into a bedroom. Snape entered with Malfoy close behind him. It seemed empty, but they started to tear the place apart to make sure. Malfoy shattered a lamp by the window. When Snape sent the closet door ricocheting against the opposite wall, he realised that it wasn't empty. "Goyle, get in here!" Malfoy called down the hall. Snape and Malfoy had their wands trained on the man cowering in the closet, looking too desperate to flee. But he was a wizard, and most likely armed; they had not seen his wand in the house yet. When Goyle arrived, his bulk filling the doorway, the man must have panicked, or hoped that the slight distraction would be enough. He raised his wand, and pointed at Lucius, shouting "Petrificus Totalus!" Before he had two syllables out, Snape had already snarled "Expelliarmus!" The man's wand flew in an arc across the room, clattering against a wardrobe. At a gesture from Malfoy, Goyle crossed the room and fished the man out of the closet, holding him tightly. His frail form was dwarfed by Goyle...he looked much older than he was. Looking at him in the light of their wands, Snape had the most curious realisation. Meadows knew he was going to die - that knowledge was written in his face. The only question was who his killer would be. Malfoy turned to Snape and said, "Get him ready." Not even pausing to think, Snape silenced the man, cleaving his tongue to the top of his mouth. A Jelly-legs Jinx made his legs collapse from under him, so that he was now unable even to struggle against Goyle's vice-like grip. Mindful of Malfoy's prohibition, he avoided Crucio, merely covering the man with boils.

"That's enough," Malfoy said, and Snape lowered his wand. "Mr. Meadows, your fate has been ordained by the Dark Lord," Malfoy intoned. He raised his wand and said, "Trucido." A red bolt of light struck him squarely in the chest with a sickening sizzling sound.

The man was still silenced by Snape's spell, so they could not hear if he tried to scream. But his lips were now flecked with foam...pink froth bubbled out of his mouth. His vain attempts to gasp for air were almost pitiful. When his body went rigid, and then limp, Goyle deposited him unceremoniously on the floor. They left quickly, rejoining Crabbe at the base of the stairs. After they were outside, Malfoy turned back and with a "Morsmordre!" sent the Dark Mark to float above the house of Mr. Meadows in a cloud of green. They then Disapparated, before any alarms had been raised.

The door was again opened for them by Nott. "Back so soon?" he asked as they stepped into the entrance hall. "I trust there were no problems, then?"

"No, none," Malfoy answered succinctly. "He barely put up a fight."

"Good, good. Trust you to be so efficient, Lucius," Nott said with a smile. He seemed a bit tense, though.

"Are any of the others back yet?" Malfoy asked.

"No, but we expected you to be the first," Nott reassured him. "Hopefully, the Aurors will be swarming all over your house by now, so that Mulciber's group will catch them on the hop in Diagon Alley. But that business is always so touch and go!" He glanced at the door again. "Please, make yourselves at home downstairs while you wait for the others to arrive."

At Snape's alarmed look, Lucius laughed. "You needn't worry! The house will be full of Death Eaters...and only those who have the Dark Mark can Apparate here. Besides, the place is so heavily warded that we are practically invisible to the Ministry. We are quite safe from the Aurors tonight!"

"Yes, everyone will come back here this evening," Nott reassured him.

"Except Greyback," Crabbe interjected unexpectedly.

"Well, yes, naturally not him!" Nott laughed. "He can fend for himself until the moon sets at dawn, I think." Greyback was a werewolf.

***

Snape lounged against the wall, watching dispassionately from the shadows. He could have been back in the Slytherin common room, except for a few details. The young men draped lazily over the furniture were, of course, older than students (though in most cases, not by much). The décor was imposing, and lacked windows. Of course Nott's basement was not quite the same as the Hogwarts dungeons (though, as he'd noted on the way down here, just as labyrinthine). The scene before his eyes was not unlike a restless Saturday night back at school, except for the prisoner tied to the chair.

The Carrows had brought her in...a Mudblood who worked for the Ministry. Secretary to Hardcastle in International Magical Cooperation, if he'd heard correctly. She didn't look as though she would last long - clearly terrified, she would start whenever anyone came near her. She'd actually burst into tears when they'd snapped her bamboo wand in front of her. Of course, he thought, with no one wearing masks, she's not meant to last the night.

One of the Lestrange brothers was amusing himself by hitting her with harmless curses - and occasionally slipping in something a bit more painful. Nothing vicious - just a stinging hex or the like. But with her nerves already stretched taut, this was fraying them. The little fool kept begging him to stop, which only egged him on. Apparently, Snape wasn't the only one who was bored with this game, though. Lucius walked over, and gestured for Rodolphus to stop. He smirked at the girl, and undid the ropes that had bound her to the chair with a careless wave of his wand.

"You wanted him to stop, I believe?" Lucius murmured. She nodded dumbly, her wide eyes fixed on Lucius. "Let's see if you prefer this," he smiled. "Imperio!"

She cocked her head to the side, as if confused or listening. Then her eyes flew open, even wider than before, and a look of panic crossed her face. Slowly, it faded to an unfocused glassy stare. Lucius glanced over in his direction, and the girl stood up. She looked around the room a bit unsteadily, searching all the faces (most of which had turned to stare back at her). When her eyes met Snape's, her face lit up. He was shocked for a moment. People did not beam like that while he was glaring at them. He glowered at Lucius, who was now grinning in a distinctly self-satisfied way. But his attention was brought back to the girl, who was crossing the room towards him, blushing furiously. Snape allowed her to come over, but before she could say anything or reach for him, he pushed himself from the wall and muttered, "Finite Incantatum." The girl started; then, seeing the look on Snape's face, so close to hers, shrieked. She stumbled back to her chair and started sobbing.

"Lucius," Snape said, drawing out the name slowly as he settled back against the wall. "Didn't you know that foolish blondes aren't my type?" Scattered laughter greeted that statement.

"No, I suppose not," said Lucius thoughtfully. "Crabbe, then? Are you interested?" He turned to the man seated nearest him.

"I'll take her," said a voice from the doorway. Dolohov had entered from the adjoining room. The room fell silent, and Lucius stepped aside. "What is your name, girl?" the old Death Eater growled. She looked up. "Siobahn," she whispered, brushing away tears. "Go in there and wait," he said, pointing to the other room. She got up and left, passing between the Death Eaters with a shudder. Watching her, Dolohov murmured, "It would be a shame to waste anyone who's that malleable. And in the Ministry, too." Then he too left, without acknowledging any of the young men.

The silence that followed was awkward; Rodolphus looked like a child whose toy had been taken away. A tentative conversation broke out, and soon enough Slaughter and Vaughn were regaling the group with their excursion into Diagon Alley (no doubt, an embellished version). They had Apparated directly to Ollivander's wand shop, bypassing the usual entrance at the Leaky Cauldron. Sneaking around such a public place ought to have been risky, but Mulciber, who had been doing this sort of thing since before Snape was born, seemed to have been responsible for diverting most people's attention. Not that the young men dwelt on his contribution, of course. Their own task had been that of common thieves, really. But Snape was momentarily distracted from their story by the arrested look on Rodolphus' face. Turning to see what had attracted his attention, Snape saw Bellatrix enter the room. His own mouth fell open - he had never seen her like this! Her hair was swept up and neatly bound in a twist, with only a few errant tendrils slipping out. Like the men, she had abandoned her robes and mask, but her dress left her arms bare from the shoulders. Snape would not even have noticed the stark contrast of her white limbs with the dark dress and dark mark...but her face! He could not recall her so...exultant. It was disconcerting. But before he had a chance to think about it, Rodolphus had gone to her and kissed her in greeting. Snape looked away; he had no desire to intrude on them. What had Bella been up to this evening to make her so fiery and alive? Snape's usual impression of her was as indolent and bored - a sour spoiled child.

*** *** ***