For the Quidditch League Competition Round 5. My character for this round was Evan Rosier and I had to write a scene about a day at work. Optional Chaser prompts: Sealing, tiptoe, When the Lights Go Down- Faith Hill

"When you feel that hole inside your soul

and you wonder what you're made of,

well, we all find out

when the lights go down" -F.H.

Evan Rosier looked up as the bell rang above the door of the dingy apothecary on the corner of Knockturn Alley. The street was practically deserted at that time of night, but old Mr. Mulpepper insisted upon keeping the shop open until nine anyway. Evan didn't see why, but he needed the money so he figured he ought not to complain.

At first, Evan feigned a friendly countenance to greet the new customer only to meet the gaze of one surly Severus Snape. Evan dropped the façade in an instant and nodded his head, continuing to make a show of dusting a shelf for the sake of looking busy.

"What do you want?" Evan asked.

Snape walked up to the counter and inspected the array of ingredients that covered the shelves behind a sheet of glass- the ingredients that were more expensive or else more lethal. He rested his arms on the counter causing his sleeve to ride up his arm and Evan could see the skull decorating Snape's pale skin. It wasn't the first time he'd seen such a mark, but it was first time anyone had been so casual about letting it see the light.

Not that Evan was all that surprised. It wasn't a secret that Snape had a certain affinity for the Dark Arts. Evan remembered learning quite a few useful curses from him when they were still at Hogwarts. Not to mention the fact that Snape wasn't just here to buy something. Evan wasn't a fool.

Snape cleared his throat. "I need Moonseed."

Evan smirked. Of course Snape would need to come to his shop for something like that. No apothecary in Diagon Alley would even consider carrying it.

"And who are we poisoning this time?" Evan asked, turning to look for the ingredient behind the glass.

"You make it sound as if I make it a habit of poisoning anybody," Snape replied. "I just do what I'm told."

There was a hint of bitterness in the statement that Evan pretended not to notice. He knew better than to antagonize Snape when he was irritated.

"How much? It's ten Galleons a kilo these days, you know?"

Snape wrinkled his nose at the price. "If I thought I could get it anywhere else I'd tell you where you could shove it." He set a bag of gold onto the counter with loud clunk and began sifting through the coins. "A half should be sufficient," he said after a moment's contemplation.

Evan nodded and began to measure out the correct amount. The Moonseeds were crescent shaped, hence the name, and smelled sickly sweet. He was careful not to get too close, though he wasn't sure what would happen if he did.

"So," Snape continued, taking his time counting out the money, "have you thought about the offer?"

Evan quickly looked about the shop despite the fact that aside from the two of them it was completely empty.

"What offer?" he mumbled.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Rosier, don't tiptoe around the subject. You know what I mean." He shoved the coins across the counter and pulled at his sleeve so that the snake protruding from the skull's mouth was completely uncovered and Evan couldn't look away.

"Are you in or are you out?" Snape asked. "The Dark Lord is interested in your… abilities."

"Abilities?" Evan repeated. The idea that the Dark Lord had heard anything about him at all was unsettling to say the least. What if he failed to live up to whatever ridiculous standards were set in place? "What sort of abilities?"

Snape tapped his fingers impatiently on the countertop, drumming a rhythm matching time with Evan's heartbeat, fast and throbbing. "You are skilled at dueling. You know certain spells that would be useful in combat."

"Yeah, well, you would know, wouldn't you?"

Snape smirked. "Time's running out and I want to know your decision. Soon. And I don't think I need to tell you what will be in store for you if you resist. Do I?"

No. No, he didn't. It wasn't the first time Evan had been approached by a Death Eater. That's what they were calling themselves these days. He was a casual supporter and up until now, that was all he'd ever planned on being, but Snape had made a tempting offer the last time he'd come round, but still…

Evan exchanged the Moonseeds for the money. "What would I have to do?"

Snape smirked. "I'll send an owl the next time we meet. All you have to do is show up."

"And then?"

"And then do what you're told. It's very simple, I assure you." Snape turned to leave with a dramatic sweep of his robes, satisfied that he'd achieved what he'd come for. "I'll be in touch, Rosier."

The door was opened, and Snape had practically already gone through it when Evan called after him.

"Oi! Snape!"

Snape turned.

"Do you think he'll win? If it comes to that, I mean…"

The other man gave him a hard look though his face was expressionless. Evan didn't know what to make of it. Reading Snape was impossible.

"I think," Snape said carefully, "it already has come to that. And yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

And with that he was gone, Apparating away with a pop! and sealing Evan's fate.

It wasn't until months later that Evan's precious abilities would fail him, that he'd see just how wrong he'd been to assume that Severus Snape had a clue about anything. It's not until he met his match in Alastor Moody that he wondered if perhaps he ought to have kept to himself, stayed safe and out of the way in the apothecary shop. He wondered if maybe being an enabler, selling poison for a few Galleons would have been enough.

He raised his wand, sparks flying in every direction, took careful aim just as Moody did the same.

He heard the curse leave his mouth- one of the few that Snape had taught him so long ago. Sectumsempra! He could feel it slither out of his mouth, his tongue hissing the syllables and stumbling over his last word just as his opponent's curse hit him square in the chest.

And if Evan learned anything about war, it was that nobody wins. Not really.