The First Meeting
Snape peered interestedly through the eyeholes of his mask. Lucius had told him a little about some of the other Death Eaters, mentioning no names of course, and Snape hoped to able to fit the descriptions to the hooded figures standing with him in the circle. He was irritated by his own ignorance – at Hogwarts he had always known the answers – in fact Dumbledore once said – no! – he mustn't think of Dumbledore anymore. Trust. The word seared across his mind. Wasn't it trust that had destroyed his family? Wasn't it trust that had made him think he could start again at Hogwarts? Wasn't it trust that had led him to the werewolf? He allowed himself a grim smile behind the safe confines of his mask. Black and Potter! They were so full of themselves! Flaunting their defiance of the Dark Lord as if they were safe from his power...
Snape shifted his weight, trying to ease the tension in his legs, and the movement caused the sleeve of his robes to brush against his left arm. The pain, Lord Voldemort had said, would serve to show him the fragility of flesh. Snape knew this, and saw the logic behind it, and yet... But the oath he had sworn 12 hours ago could not be undone, and the dull ache of his newly-made Dark Mark was a reminder that Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was now his master.
"Kneel down!" hissed the Death Eater to his left, and Snape realised that he had been so lost in his own thoughts that he had failed to notice the arrival of Lord Voldemort. He hesitated a moment - the idea of kneeling down to any human being was repugnant to him, no matter how powerful they were - but the pain in his forearm was immediate, as if he were being branded again. He knelt down.
"Welcome, dear friends," said Voldemort, softly. "You will have noticed, I am sure, that we have a new member with us tonight. He is young and naïve – but we know that he will not be so for long, don't we?"
There was a murmur of appreciation from the masked figures. Snape could feel himself becoming indignant. Naïve? He knew exactly what he was doing! After so many conversations with Lucius Malfoy about the philosophies and beliefs of the Death Eaters he felt he knew as much as any about what they would be doing. He thoroughly agreed with the idea that wizards should live apart from muggles (his own parents had shown him that...) and if this involved the use of violence to scare them – well, so be it. As for Lord Voldemort's desire to conquer death – Snape's intellect was excited by the challenge. He had already started making notes on magical (and non-magical) ingredients that served to prolong life. People who stood in the way of this were fools. They were holding back the proper development of the wizarding world, standing in the way of progress. People like Potter, Black, Dumbled – no! The Dark Lord was still speaking.
" – completed his first mission, he will be a true Death Eater! However," and Voldemort's voice took on a harsher tone, "some of my older servants would do well to remember the oath they took." He pointed his wand at a tall figure opposite Snape, and a silver rope uncoiled from the end, dragging the man into the centre of the circle. "You were supposed to kill Dorcas Meadowes," said Voldemort, "and yet my sources tell me she is still alive. Is this incompetence or disobedience? Do you not feel the burning of my mark upon your arm?"
The man was cowering now, on his hands and knees, grovelling towards the hem of Voldemort's robes. Snape turned away in embarrassment, unable to witness such debasement. However –
"You!" Voldemort's wand was pointing at Snape now and, guided by a sharp twinge in his arm, he slowly stepped forward. "This man has failed me. He is a muggle-loving fool, unable to follow the simplest command. He must be punished. You will perform the Cruciatus curse. Now."
There was no warmth in Voldemort's voice, no better side to appeal to. Snape realised that this was a test of his own nerve. But the Cruciatus curse? He had never used it, except once on a bluebottle during a particularly bleak Christmas. Gradually, as he stood uncertainly in the centre of the circle, a new and stronger pain began to build and spread from the mark on his left arm – as if his bones were splintering, his muscles tearing, his veins exploding. He knew, now, that this agony would not cease until he had obeyed his new master. He couldn't bear it anymore. He raised his wand in the air and, through gritted teeth, whispered, "Crucio."
Snape watched as if from a great distance as the man on the ground writhed and twitched – but it was over in seconds. The pain in his own arm, which had seemed to diminish slightly, redoubled - and Voldemort said, "More."
Seeing now that there was nothing he could do to avoid this, no-one else who would take responsibility for either his own or this man's pain, Snape said, "Crucio," and breathed more calmly as his left arm relaxed. He managed to hold his concentration for more than a minute this time, maintaining a steady pressure with the Cruciatus curse, before the effort became too much and he lowered his wand.
"Again," said the Dark Lord, implacably.
"Please!" cried the man, as tears streamed down his face. "I tried, my Lord, I wanted to obey your commands. It was just so hard. Let me try again! Ple-"
"CRUCIO!" cried Snape, trying to drown out the man's voice, to stop him from awakening any kind of response within Snape's own conscience. "CRUCIO!" he cried again, as tears of relief rose up in his own eyes. There was no pain in his arm now – it had all transferred to this man; this incompetent, disobedient man. Snape knew that this was how it should be, how the Dark Lord wanted it to be. He felt that he was a channel for Lord Voldemort's anger. It was Lord Voldemort punishing this man, not Snape. The pain was Lord Voldemort's responsibility. He was the Dark Lord's servant. He was no longer even aware of the man screaming on the ground, the man whose body was stretched in a spasm so unnatural that it looked as though he would break in two. He was nothing. Everything he had ever been was gone. He could never go back. Not now. How could he face Du –
As Snape's concentration on the curse wavered, the screaming stopped. It was over.
"So," Voldemort said, looking at the man trembling at his feet, "you have felt the wrath of Lord Voldemort. But still I sense the rebellion inside you, the reluctance to carry out my bidding. Will nothing teach you? Perhaps so. Maybe if I sent our keen young friend here to visit your family..."
The man fell to the ground, clutching at Voldemort's robes. "No, my Lord! I swear, I will do whatever you wish. Only spare them – my family, my children..."
"Yes, it is as I thought," said Voldemort, quietly, "You do care more for your family than for my own wishes. You are disloyal. It seems that nothing will change that. Your family will be killed." At this the man gave a small whimper and turned to the Death Eaters who were still gathered in a circle all around, as if he hoped they would protect him. For the first time that evening, Voldemort smiled, "but first I will kill you."
And, before Snape could turn away, before he could even close his eyes, Voldemort had screamed the killing curse. There was a flash of green light and, as Snape's eyes re-adjusted to the dark, he saw that the man's lifeless body now lay, arms outstretched as if in supplication, at his own feet.