CHAPTER FIVE: BEGINNINGS

Perhaps no wizard has achieved greater success at the Dark Lord's side than Severus Snape. Snape, the current Overseer of Hogsmeade and viewed by many as the Dark Lord's protegé, started from humble roots. Snape's mother, Eileen, was a member of the venerable Prince family. His father, however, was a lowly Muggle laborer. Through hard work and unquestionable magical talent, Snape was able to work himself high into the Dark Lord's inner circle, proving that all members of our society can flourish given the proper determination, work ethic, and devotion to our Lord.

-Excerpt from Rita Skeeter's 1987 book, Behind the Mask: Severus Snape

Hogsmeade, Scotland

1 September 1995

11:30 pm

Severus sipped his whiskey and stared blankly into the fire. He was bone tired. Days like today only served to remind him that he was getting old. This was one of the days when his bones ached, and neither the heat of the fire nor the false warmth of whiskey could warm them. He wasn't sure whether this was because he was getting old - he was only thirty-five, Merlin damnit - or due to the prolonged Crutiatus exposure he'd endured in his youth.

Severus pulled the blanket higher on his lap, and absently took another sip of whiskey. The Death Eaters had changed drastically since he'd joined at the age of seventeen. What had initially been a radical political group had changed to active terrorists - or brave vigilantes, depending on who you asked - to the power upholding Magical Britain. Most of them had families now, even the more wild of them had settled down and become domesticated. Hell, many of them had children starting Hogwarts this year.

It was rather disgusting, now that he thought about it. All of them had gone from being raging sacks of hormones post-Hogwarts to being relatively functional adults. There were several glaring exceptions, of course, and several who were proficient in both adulthood and insanity. Bellatrix Lestrange fell squarely into the second group. The Overseer of London was a sadist, and motherhood certainly hadn't softened her. Even worse, she'd passed on her foulest traits to her son.

Janus Lestrange was a menace. There were no two ways about it. He was one of the best duelists of his age, defeated only by Ronald Prewett, and forced into a draw with Draco Malfoy. He was arrogant, sadistic, and freely took liberties with witches. Bellatrix, of course, saw no error in her son's ways, and encouraged him. Severus had observed Janus from the shadows of Olympus Club, and unlike Hermione, who fought to continue her existence, Janus fought for the thrill. He would goad lesser wizards into guest fighting him, and utterly decimate them. His psychopathic tendencies were on display to anyone who cared to see them - not that anyone did.

For Severus, it was clear as day. He'd always been observant, and his skill in Legilimency allowed him to gather information directly from other wizards' minds. For all that Janus Lestrange was a menace, he was a fifteen year old boy who'd never bothered to properly protect his mind. Janus had learned basic Occlumency, of course - Bellatrix was paranoid enough to force both her children to learn - but they were the efforts of an unwilling child already interested in darker subjects.

Severus had seen horrors in Janus' mind. There were certain things no wizard should think of, especially not a fifteen year old. He would never forget the images he saw in the twisted mind of the boy who saw himself as the next Dark Lord.

The stairs creaked, and Severus started.

"It's just me," Aurora said softly.

Severus sighed. "I know."

"You're drinking again."

"Mm."

Aurora gently took the glass out of his hand. "I wish you wouldn't."

Severus kept staring at the fire. "I'm not my father," he said softly.

"I never said you were. I just...worry."

"You don't need to," Severus said shortly.

Aurora laid a warm hand on his shoulder. "I'm your wife; it's my job to worry."

"Worry about our children, not me."

Severus felt, rather than heard, Aurora's sigh as she settled her chin on his shoulder. "Don't be daft."

"I-"

"Shh. Let's go to bed; it'll be better in the morning."

Severus didn't respond.

"Severus?"

"It's Requiem. It can only get worse."

"And there's nothing you can personally do about it," Aurora said firmly.

Severus sighed.

"You need sleep. Both of us do."

Severus reluctantly allowed himself to be led upstairs, mind still spinning with thoughts of Requiem.

The Lazy Hippogriff, London

1 September 1995

11:55 pm

Nymphadora Black was on her way to getting well and thoroughly pissed. She eyed the remaining Firewhiskey in her glass and knocked it back.

"Really, Black? You think your picks are that bad?"

Nymphadora ignored Rowle and signaled the barkeep for another drink.

"You got what, the halfblood bastard and two idiots?" Rowle jibed, sliding onto the stool next to her and nearly spilling his ale in the process. "What will the Dark Lord think of your planning then?"

"He won't give a whit," Nymphadora replied shortly.

Rowle's eyes narrowed. "How can you know that?"

Nymphadora downed more Firewhiskey. "Rowle, are you seriously trying to threaten me in a pub?" She snorted lightly. "That's low, even for you."

Rowle slammed his tankard on the bar, spilling copious amounts of ale. "I can end you, Black," he said in the overly precise words of a drunk, "One word from me to the right pair of ears about you favoring halfbloods, and it'll be game over for you. Your precious favor with the Dark Lord won't last long when he realizes you're just a jumped up halfblood."

In less than a heartbeat, Nymphadora drew her wand, and jabbed it into Rowle's throat. His eyes went wide. "Don't fucking presume to threaten me," she hissed. "I won Requiem on pure merit, and while I might be a halfblood, my blood is far purer than yours."

Their argument quickly was drawing attention, and Nymphadora flicked her wand. Rowle collapsed onto the floor, head bashing into the stool on the way down. The pub owner bustled over.

"I'm going to have to ask you to -"

Nymphadora cut him off. "This wizard was making threats against my person." She nudged Rowle with her toe. "And clearly, he's had far too much to drink."

The barkeep looked at her, then at Rowle. "Seems to me like there was a bit more of a disturbance."

Nymphadora raised her left hand, ostensibly to push back her hair, and allowed the sleeve of her robe to fall back. The barkeep's eyes bulged, and Nymphadora pulled her sleeve back over the Dark Mark. "I see we understand each other?"

The barkeep opened his mouth, then closed it. "My apologies, Ms. Black."

"None needed," Nymphadora replied easily. "I'm glad you can understand where I'm coming from." She slipped the man a few Galleons. "It may be best to call the Aurors," she said, voice just loud enough to carry throughout the bar. "It's not the first time Rowle's gotten like this after a few drinks."

"Bjorn Rowle? He was a -"

"He won in '88, yeah. Still can't hold his beer." Nymphadora kicked him again. "He's not going to be waking up anytime soon." She eyed the glass in her hand, no longer feeling the need to get pissed. Feeling disgusted with herself, she turned on the spot and disapparated.

She inhaled deeply. No matter how thoroughly 12 Grimmauld Place was cleaned, a faint smell of dust and decay hung in the air. It had bothered her when she'd initially moved in with her mother when she was nine, but she'd gotten used to it over the years. She'd hated 12 Grimmauld Place at first; it'd been dark, dusty, and full of Dark antiques. Somehow, in the intervening years, it'd turned into home. Admittedly, she didn't stay there often anymore. Her work for the Dark Lord resulted in frequent travel, and as a Requiem mentor, she had a temporary suite at Hogwarts.

Nymphadora slowly made her way up to the third floor. After her mother's very public divorce of her father in 1982, the two of them moved into 12 Grimmauld Place. Nymphadora remembered the early years with her father fondly, but he'd apparently been a bad man. Her mother refused to talk about him, and had done all the paperwork to legally change their surnames to Black. To this day, Nymphadora wasn't sure if her father was dead or alive.

She paused on the stairs. Light was streaming out of the drawing room, and she had the feeling someone had forgotten to shutter the Everburning Flames. It wouldn't be the first time that'd happened. Sighing, she plodded down the hallway and into the drawing room. Much to her surprise, it was occupied.

Nymphadora raised an eyebrow. "You're up late."

The man in the chair started, and several sheets of parchment scattered. "Dora! I thought you'd be up at Hogwarts."

"I was out at the pub and didn't want to Floo back to Scotland. What're you up to, reading?"

Sirius made a helpless gesture. "Somewhat? I couldn't sleep. It's too quiet here, with all the kids gone. It doesn't bother Astra - she kicked me out of bed because I was too fidgety. Told me to go get Dreamless Sleep or something."

"So you ended up in the drawing room."

Sirius nodded.

"Reading."

"And writing," Sirius said, gesturing towards the parchment. "Running the family business, of course."

Nymphadora snorted. All the Black family investments were handled by the goblins. "Sure."

Sirius made a face. "It's actually family business. Lucius sent me a letter."

"What does he want?"

"To, ah, 'engage in a mutually profitable venture'."

"The Knockturn Alley sort of venture?"

Sirius shrugged. "Dunno. Probably funding some sort of propaganda scheme - oh, don't look at me like that," Sirius added after seeing Nymphadora's disproving expression. "Just because you work for Him doesn't mean you can't admit it's propaganda."

"I'm going to bed. Make sure you ward the door properly so light doesn't flood the hall. The last thing we need is another doxie invasion." Nymphadora turned on her heel, and left. Behind her, Sirius breathed a sigh of relief and cast a veritable wall of wards at the door.

He waited for a moment, ensuring he was completely alone, and pulled back the heavy Oriental carpet under his desk. Sirius drew a thin silver dagger from the pocket of his robes, and carefully sliced open the palm of his hand. Taking a deep breath, Sirius smeared the blood across the floorboards, and the Black crest flared as if it'd been burned into the floor. The boards melted away, and Sirius carefully climbed into the hidden room. It was small, and the walls were covered with photographs. There was no furniture, only a small box in the corner.

With a whispered word and flick of his wand, Sirius opened it and withdrew a small piece of parchment - one of several that rested in the box. Sirius cupped the parchment in his hands for a heartbeat, then blew on it softly.

An outline of a phoenix flashed gold as the parchment burst into flame. Sirius stared longingly at the largest photograph where a tall, messy haired wizard stood next to a witch with long red hair.

"I haven't forgotten my promise, James. One day, I'll finally see everything right."

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

2 September 1995

6:50 am

Hermione awoke with a start when her curtains were blasted aside. Instinctively, she reached out with a blast of wandless magic as she bolted upright, hand reaching for her wand. Her fingers closed around the handle, the incantation for Stupify on her lips when her arms and legs snapped together.

A voice chuckled over her shoulder. "Better than I was expecting."

Hermione lay on her bed, helpless and furious, as the owner of the voice made their way into her field of vision. Nymphadora Black stood over her, hair tumbling down in wild black waves and steel in her grey eyes. With a flick of Nymphadora's wand, Hermione could move again. Hermione sat up, wand leveled at her mentor.

"How did you get in here?"

"Carefully. You did better than expected."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Nymphadora smirked. "You had a quicker response to my forced entry than I anticipated. I find it's a good way to test my new mentees - gives me a clear picture of how you instinctively react to situations, and what sort of offensive magic you've been exposed to. The baseline exams let me know what I'm working with, but I've found this is far better." Nymphadora cocked her head to the side. "You have a particular bent towards offensive magic."

Hermione kept her face blank. "Do I?"

"Don't play stupid. I'll need to assess your skills more to determine the best avenue for you to progress. Meet me in Dueling Chamber Three once you've dressed."

"Where is that?"

Nymphadora scrutinized her again. "Right. You didn't go to Hogwarts. I'll wait outside your quarters and show you."

Hermione bit back a sarcastic reply as Nymphadora left. Out of all the things she'd expected from Requiem, this wasn't one of them. She knew, of course, that mentors typically took a hand in training their mentees. However, the mentor-mentee training wasn't broadcast, so Hermione had no idea what to expect. She'd had some vague concept of classroom style lessons, and an aloof mentor recommending her book after book on etiquette.

Nymphadora's hands-on approach wasn't what she'd anticipated. Of course, the older witch could simply be evaluating Hermione to determine if she was even worth the attention. If previous Requiem patterns held true, each mentor was given one strong candidate, and the other two typically were weaker. Hermione didn't know anything about Nymphadora's other two mentees, and she silently resolved to remedy that as soon as possible.

Hermione quickly got dressed in clothes practical for dueling - loose trousers bound snugly around her calves, a blouse with snug sleeves, and her dragonhide boots. Her wand sheath went on her right arm, and her burgundy over robe completed the look. Hermione eyed her escrima sticks thoughtfully. Unfortunately, they'd be all but useless in a wanded duel, as they were most effective in close quarters. Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. If there was a way she could charm them, however, perhaps they could become useful.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione exited her quarters to where her mentor was waiting.

Nymphadora gave her a brusque nod. "Good to see you've got some common sense. Dueling chambers one through five are located in the dungeons," Nymphadora continued as they walked. "You'll be spending a lot of your time there. While you have good reflexes, you'll need a significant amount of practice on spell work. I'm going to be quite frank with you, Hermione - you have a distinct disadvantage not attending Hogwarts."

"I'm aware."

"Mm. I'm sure my aunt made that clear to you when you were selected."

"There was...advice given about observing proper etiquette," Hermione said delicately. "But others have expressed that opinion."

Nymphadora eyed her shrewdly. "My cousin?"

"His friends."

"Ah. Cordelia would do that."

"She is of the opinion that anyone who is not a pureblood and Hogwarts educated doesn't have a chance at winning."

"As offensive as you may find that, Cordelia isn't incorrect. All the Requiem winners to date have attended Hogwarts, and I was the first - and so far the only - halfblood winner."

"I'll have to change that, then," Hermione said stoutly.

"You won't have an easy path ahead of you."

"I did my research."

"You'll need to work at least twice as hard as any other candidate," Nymphadora said quietly. "I don't say this to discourage you, but to be honest."

"I understand."

"These are the Dueling Chambers," Nymphadora said abruptly, gesturing to the row of doors in front of them, each labeled with a heavy bronze number. "Once the Hogwarts Dueling Team begins practicing, they will be in chambers one through three. Requiem candidates have access to chambers four and five. Three's my favorite, so we'll be using that one today."

"Why's it your favorite?" Hermione asked curiously.

Nymphadora cracked a grin. "I spent a lot of time there during my Hogwarts years. Dueling room three is where the Mamba division practices, and I was moved up to the Mamba division at the beginning of four year."

"Isn't that early?"

Nymphadora nodded. "I had a lot to prove. I was a halfblood Black in Hufflepuff, and clumsier than a three-legged hippogriff. Needless to say, most people didn't take too kindly to that."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. Nymphadora was one of the many witches in the Dark Lord's retinue that moved with the perfect, liquid grace that seemed to be bred into every pureblood.

"You're skeptical of something, out with it. Surprised I was a Hufflepuff?"

"No. I'm surprised you were clumsy."

Nymphadora's mouth tightened, and her eyes darkened imperceptibly. "I was quickly...discouraged not to be." She tapped her wand against the bronze three, and the door swung inwards. "Follow me."

Hermione followed her into the chamber. Dueling Chamber Three was similar to the other dueling chambers she'd seen broadcasted during the later stages of Requiem. Bleacher-like seats lined the walls, and the center of the room contained a sunken oval ring ten meters wide and fifteen meters long. The entire chamber was made of black granite, and Hermione could feel the hum of magic in the walls.

Nymphadora made her way down to the ring. "The chamber is already outfitted with dueling wards to prevent magical backlash, and protect spectators, should there be any. The wards are activated with a small clockwise twist, along with the incantation incipio. Try activating them."

"Incipio!" Something in the room changed, and Hermione could see a shield shimmering along the perimeter of the ring.

"Good. Take your place."

Hermione backed up several meters, and raised her wand. Nymphadora conjured a white handkerchief and levitated it with a flick of her wand. "When the handkerchief reaches the floor, we begin."

Hermione's senses honed in on the handkerchief, mind whirling as she planned out her first attack. She couldn't remember Nymphadora's exact fighting style, but she did know the other witch was very fast.

The handkerchief hit the floor, and Hermione was blasted into the air.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!