The Miserables
Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing excepting non-canon characters. Sadly, that does not include Snape. And for those of you who didn't know, Alan Rickman is sexy.
Author's Note: To save the life of an innocent, he left the service of the Death Eaters, pursued by the Dark Lord. He hoped to find a better life for both of them, but he should have known that, as an enemy of Voldemort, happiness would be hard to find. Is it better to be miserable than dead? Severus Snape is about to find out.
A slightly AU fic based loosely on Victor Hugo's 'Les Miserables.'
* * *
-Prologue-
He entered the darkened room a greasy-haired boy of only eighteen, full of hatred and worldly ideals. The door was closed behind him by a masked figure. Was it Lucius? His black eyes glanced around, searching for his blonde friend. But dark robes and white masks hid figures and concealed features. All were identically terrifying.
"Severus Snape." The soft, almost seductive voice drew his attention to the center of the room. Seated on a twisted mockery of a throne was the man many had known as Tom Riddle, but who was now regarded, either fearfully or reverently- more the former than the latter- as Lord Voldemort. Silken black robes flowed over his tall, lithe form, pooling darkly around his feet. His vicious green eyes stared out at the boy. "Come, Severus. Come to me."
His purring voice conjured up the familiar images of power, glory, position, and prestige in the mind of the Hogwarts outcast. The boy's dark eyes flickered blackly as he approached Voldemort. The Dark Lord could give him all he desired, bring his dreams to reality. It would be as easy as stealing from an infant.
He knelt before Voldemort. "My Lord."
"Severus Snape, you have come before me to join the growing ranks of my loyal followers. Are you prepared to accept the duties that come with my Mark and to act according to my purposes until you are taken by Death?"
"I am prepared and willing, my Lord." Head bowed and hair falling across his face, he waited in shivering anticipation as Riddle surveyed him.
"I am satisfied," he pronounced, then turned his head to the side. "Bring me the Brand." A slinking Death Eater brought the desired item, placing it in the Dark Lord's hand. As soon as the metal touched his skin, it began to glow fiercely, both with heat and with powerful Dark Magic.
Voldemort grasped Severus' left arm, turning it so that his palm faced upwards. "May you serve wisely, else you be punished so that you wish you were never born." With that dark promise, he pressed the smoldering brand into the boy's skin.
Severus' last thought was that he was finally making the right choice. Then his body and mind were ravaged by hot, roiling waves of pain and he could not form a coherent thought for several minutes.
When he could, he realized that two Death Eaters were dragging him to his feet from where he had slumped to the ground. A third was pressing his white mask against his skin and covering his limp hair with his hood. He was one of them now.
The Dark Mark, still steaming with heat and burning with magic, was emblazoned on his forearm as a dark testament to his allegiance. It was allegiance he dared not break. The Mark was not only a testament; it was a binding contract.
He had entered the darkened room a greasy-haired boy of only eighteen, full of hatred and worldly ideals. But he left a black-souled man, imprisoned to a lifetime of evil.
And he would not, could not escape.
END PROLOGUE
Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing excepting non-canon characters. Sadly, that does not include Snape. And for those of you who didn't know, Alan Rickman is sexy.
Author's Note: To save the life of an innocent, he left the service of the Death Eaters, pursued by the Dark Lord. He hoped to find a better life for both of them, but he should have known that, as an enemy of Voldemort, happiness would be hard to find. Is it better to be miserable than dead? Severus Snape is about to find out.
A slightly AU fic based loosely on Victor Hugo's 'Les Miserables.'
* * *
-Prologue-
He entered the darkened room a greasy-haired boy of only eighteen, full of hatred and worldly ideals. The door was closed behind him by a masked figure. Was it Lucius? His black eyes glanced around, searching for his blonde friend. But dark robes and white masks hid figures and concealed features. All were identically terrifying.
"Severus Snape." The soft, almost seductive voice drew his attention to the center of the room. Seated on a twisted mockery of a throne was the man many had known as Tom Riddle, but who was now regarded, either fearfully or reverently- more the former than the latter- as Lord Voldemort. Silken black robes flowed over his tall, lithe form, pooling darkly around his feet. His vicious green eyes stared out at the boy. "Come, Severus. Come to me."
His purring voice conjured up the familiar images of power, glory, position, and prestige in the mind of the Hogwarts outcast. The boy's dark eyes flickered blackly as he approached Voldemort. The Dark Lord could give him all he desired, bring his dreams to reality. It would be as easy as stealing from an infant.
He knelt before Voldemort. "My Lord."
"Severus Snape, you have come before me to join the growing ranks of my loyal followers. Are you prepared to accept the duties that come with my Mark and to act according to my purposes until you are taken by Death?"
"I am prepared and willing, my Lord." Head bowed and hair falling across his face, he waited in shivering anticipation as Riddle surveyed him.
"I am satisfied," he pronounced, then turned his head to the side. "Bring me the Brand." A slinking Death Eater brought the desired item, placing it in the Dark Lord's hand. As soon as the metal touched his skin, it began to glow fiercely, both with heat and with powerful Dark Magic.
Voldemort grasped Severus' left arm, turning it so that his palm faced upwards. "May you serve wisely, else you be punished so that you wish you were never born." With that dark promise, he pressed the smoldering brand into the boy's skin.
Severus' last thought was that he was finally making the right choice. Then his body and mind were ravaged by hot, roiling waves of pain and he could not form a coherent thought for several minutes.
When he could, he realized that two Death Eaters were dragging him to his feet from where he had slumped to the ground. A third was pressing his white mask against his skin and covering his limp hair with his hood. He was one of them now.
The Dark Mark, still steaming with heat and burning with magic, was emblazoned on his forearm as a dark testament to his allegiance. It was allegiance he dared not break. The Mark was not only a testament; it was a binding contract.
He had entered the darkened room a greasy-haired boy of only eighteen, full of hatred and worldly ideals. But he left a black-souled man, imprisoned to a lifetime of evil.
And he would not, could not escape.
END PROLOGUE