His Dark Paradise

In the Life of Severus Snape: part 6


There was no moon tonight. The darkness was absolute, hiding in corners and spilling out of black holes like a living thing. It seemed appropriate to Severus Snape, considering what he was to do that night. Yes, this was the night he was to join the ranks of the Dark Lord, and become a Death Eater.

At the moment, Severus and three senior Death Eaters, hooded and masked, were walking down a dark, narrow lane in a sort of triangle formation; two of them walked behind, both slightly to either side of the path. One was in front, leading the way. And he, Severus, the new recruit, was in the middle. The Death Eater behind him and to the left was Lucius Malfoy; it was his manor that was hosting the initiation. Severus didn’t know the one to the right, but the one in front was Bellatrix Lestrange. He had heard stories about her; terrible and beautiful they said, as cruel and wild as a deathly storm. Many of the Death Eaters feared her, but Severus did not.

The group walked on in silence, their masks giving them the look of living statues. Severus wore no mask, but his stoic expression gave the illusion of a mask. On the inside, however, emotions were heaving like the sea.

Fear, anger, love, loss, hatred, sadness, happiness, guilt, they were all there. But Severus knew as well as any Death Eater that there was no one more skilled with legilimancy that Lord Voldemort. So, Severus was carefully constructing a wall with which to conceal himself.

The task wasn’t particularly difficult. After all, Severus was a skilled occlumens. He had studied the art for years and practiced with vigilance. In fact, he wouldn’t even need the wall if weren’t for one problem—Lily.

Ah, Lily Evans. How thoughts of her consumed his mind and heart! She was his everything, and she would not be silenced by a closed mind alone. Severus had tried, of course, but not matter how many boxes he packed her away in, no matter how many black curtains he threw over her, no matter how deep he buried her, she still shone through. Hence, the need for the wall. Severus built it brick by brick, with mortar in between, just like he would a real wall. Except every brick was a reason why he wanted to be a Death Eater, and the mortar was his ambition.

It would be such a relief, Severus thought, not to feel. He built up his wall with a sort of dark glee, aching for the moment when he would no longer feel the past.

Ahead there appeared two imposing, wrought iron gates. The Death Eaters around him did not stop, but raised their left arms above their heads in a sort of salute, and they all passed through the bars as though they were smoke. When they reached the front door of Malfoy Manor, they stopped and Bellatrix made a series of complicated taps with her wand on the door. It swung open, and they entered. Severus barely noticed the elegant woodwork or the various treasures in the house, for he was too occupied with building his wall, and with a new sort of perverse excitement that was bubbling up in his gut. At last, they entered the drawing room, and there stood Lord Voldemort, surrounded by an audience of his most trusted servants; the Death Eaters.

The escorts broke formation to join the audience, and Severus was left standing alone. The Dark Lord looked towards him, and stepped forward to stand apart from his Death Eaters.

“Come forward, Severus Snape,” the Dark Lord whispered.

His voice was high and cold, and much softer than Severus had expected. He had imagined a loud, commanding voice. But somehow the soft hiss was much more frightening, and he doubted the Dark Lord had any trouble commanding his followers. Severus obeyed the command, and moved forward until he was standing directly in front of his new master.

“Look at me,” he said.

Severus, whose eyes had been fixed to the floor, smiled. With dark determination he raised his head, and the moment his black eyes met the red ones the last brick was laid, and the wall was complete. The searching sensation he felt went their eyes were locked did not perturb him, as his heart was safely locked away.

“I have heard much about you, Severus,” the Dark Lord said. “Many of your old classmates have joined my ranks. The say your talent for the dark arts is…admirable.”

Severus bowed his head. “I hope in time you will come to feel the same, my lord.”

“I am sure,” he replied with a thin-lipped smile. “And Mulciber tells me you’ve even invented your own dark spells…is this true?”

Pride bubbled up in Severus’ chest. Finally, some recognition! He smiled and bowed his head again. “It is true, my lord,” he said.

“Show me,” the Dark Lord whispered.

Severus whipped out his wand and held it high before realizing there was no one to “help” him with his…demonstration. The Dark Lord seemed to read this in his eyes because he gestured with one hand and said, “Bring out the prisoner!”

After a moment a side door was thrust open, and two guards came through dragging a haggard man who was kicking and screaming.

“This man is mudblood scum, and has been caught passing valuable information to the Order of the Phoenix. Do with him…what you will.” The Dark Lord said.

Severus threw back his head and laughed, humorless and cruel. He recognized the man as Boris Bungler, a Gryffindor who had been three years ahead of him at school. He wasn’t as bad as Potter and his mates, but Boris had once tied Severus up, carried him into the forbidden forest and left him there. But only after thoroughly beating him, of course. Before the man could open his mouth to beg, Severus raised his wand.

“Sectumsempra!” Severus cried, slashing his wand through the air.

Deep gashes appeared on the man’s face and chest, blood spurting out at an alarming rate, as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. The Death Eaters assembled there gave shouts of surprise, jumping back from the dying man. He was convulsing on the floor, his eyes wide with terror. A few more moments, and he was still, his lifeblood drained into a pool around him. Severus looked back at Voldemort, who was watching with an excited gleam in his eyes. He turned to Severus and grinned.

“That was a most marvelous curse!” he said. “I expect the rest of you to learn it!” he called to the crowed. “Now, let’s begin.”

Grim excitement shivered through Severus’ body, and he took the last steps to blacking out all the hurt, the love, and the man he once was. He draped his wall with detachment, contempt, and heartlessness like curtains, stowing away a bit of enthusiasm and malice for special occasions.

“Hold out your left arm, palm up,” the Dark Lord instructed.

Severus did so, and he could see the tremble of his anticipation in his fingers.

“Do you, Severus Snape, swear to uphold the values and practices of the Death Eaters?”

“I do,” Severus said.

“And do you swear your humble obedience, and unwavering loyalty to me?”

“I do,” Severus said.

Voldemort then grabbed Severus’ wrist tightly in his left hand. “And finally, do you pledge yourself to a lifetime of servitude, or death?”
“I do,” Severus swore.

“Then I, the Dark Lord Voldemort, brand thee, Severus Snape, a Death Eater; the highest rank of my followers.”

Then Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand into Severus’ forearm. “Morsemordre,” he whispered, drawing out the word and pronouncing it with a sort of hissing growl.

The pain of the brand was like fire. Severus leaned his head back, relishing the pain with a smile, allowing it to burn away his humanity. When the burning subsided, he looked down to examine the jet-black mark, a skull with a serpent tongue, which faded to scarlet before his eyes. Finally, after all those years of ambition, he possessed the Dark Mark.

“Look at me,” Voldemort whispered.

Severus met the red eyes once again, feeling within him a lovely numbness left behind by the burning Dark Mark. His mind and heart were black and finally, finally, the pain was shut out. He was in a sort of in-between state, having blocked off the outside world and his most inner self, leaving behind nothing but…but…his own dark paradise.

“Every new Death Eater brings something special to the ranks, and I am sure you will be no exception, Severus.” Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it into Severus’ face.

“Bear your station with pride, and dedicate your talents to our cause and the world we will build.” Voldemort waved his wand in figure-eight movements, and smoke poured out of the tip.

The smoke enveloped Severus’ face, and he smiled. As the smoke condensed and formed into his own Death Eater mask, perfectly molded to his face, he allowed himself to sink into sweet oblivion.