—————S—————

Minerva didn't question him when he told her he had to skip detention. One less thing he had to worry about. One less night away from Hermione.

As he walked through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, blessedly free of Lupin, he thought of the quickly dwindling time between him and Hermione.

In a perfect world, the one that Severus had been sure was coming to fruition before November, he and Hermione would still have seventh year together. They would come up with a plan, maybe even decide to go to the States. He would get his Mastery there, and Hermione could try to narrow down what she wanted to do. In that perfect, untainted world, he would have simply told Lucius that he was unable to attend his parties. He would have never met the Dark Lord, and he wouldn't have been pressured to. He'd have kept to himself, kept his head down, and gotten out without consorting with Death Eaters.

Lupin and Black would have told him about Lupin's condition, instead of learning about it by coming face to face with the werewolf. Perhaps he and Black could have a more open ... whatever it was they had. Lily and he could have continued their friendship. Well, maybe that was a stretch. Her jealous streak had driven a wedge between them, and while she was certainly having no problem making her way through the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, she still seemed miffed that he had stopped pining after her. Lily and he would have never made it to the end of Hogwarts as close as they had started; they were too different, but maybe they would have been on better terms.

But it didn't matter now. Because there was no such thing as a perfect life, especially not for him. It was never in the cards for Severus Snape to have that sort of luck.

And so, he put on the mask and drew the hood of his traveling cloak over his head before looking at a picture of his destination. The picture was of a wooded area, a distinct rectangular altar-shaped rock with a dead tree to its right. He could feel the slight breeze captured in the moving photo, smell the earth and hear the dry leaves on the ground. One moment he was in the Shack, ignoring the fear creeping into his chest, and the next, he felt the cool air of the night on his skin.

There were a couple other pops of Apparition around him before he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings.

His stomach dropped while his dinner launched into the back of his throat.

There were other masked men, much bigger than he was, clearly older. There were also others who were only a couple years out of Hogwarts; he could probably recognize them the moment they spoke. He didn't think there had been quite this many present when he killed his father; but then again, he hadn't paid much attention to the audience.

The Dark Lord was at the altar rock, where a man was tied. The man was bare-chested, breathing heavily, probably from the pain of having a rune carved into him.

Severus watched the others moving closer, slowly surrounding the Dark Lord and kneeling. Severus followed suit, bowing his head while his eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the scene.

"Friends," the Dark Lord greeted warmly. "Rise."

Severus only moved when the others did.

"You must be wondering why I have called you here this evening. It's simple, really. This man, this ... traitor ... has put two of our dear friends in Azkaban. For what reason? For cleansing our world."

" Toujours Pur ," a few close to Severus murmured.

He looked at the man on the altar: he was scowling, ignoring the sweat dripping down his face and into his ears. Severus realized that he didn't move other than to breathe.

"They were ridding our world of undeserving Mudbloods. They were trying to understand how the filthy Muggles manage to tap into the power they do not deserve to birth magical children. But this man stopped them. This man who pretended to be loyal to me!"

The Dark Lord's hand slashed through the air and a fresh gash appeared on the man's chest.

"This is what happens to those who betray this family. This is what happens when someone sides with those of bad blood! Crucio !"

Severus flinched inwardly, his body still as stone while watching the man twitch and thrash under the Unforgivable Curse.

His blood ran cold when he watched as those nearest the altar stepped forward once the Dark Lord ended the spell. One by one, they took their turn torturing the man. Could he torture a man he didn't know? Could he torture anyone for the sake of it? Well, if he didn't, he imagined he'd be killed. Probably as slowly as this poor soul. But you had to mean an Unforgivable. He...

"Severus," the Dark Lord said, beckoning him forward. "Have you ever cast the Cruciatus?"

"No... my Lord," he confessed, hearing a collective chuckle from the Death Eaters. It reminded him of the older men his father spent his time with. They would laugh whenever Severus would say anything: that he would get the hell out of Cokeworth, that he would never become a mill worker, that he wasn't going to be what everyone said he would be. They were all so condescending, and he loathed it. And he'd showed them, sort of. As far as anyone was concerned, Toby's boy was shipped off to boarding school. A scholarship, they were all told, because he was too damn smart. It had gotten him punched in the face a few times by those deadbeats' kids, but he'd showed them.

He channeled that rage now, not realizing the Dark Lord was encouraging him. Severus wanted to show those in the circle that he was powerful, that he was more than his age, that if they laughed at him with that same ugly condescension, he could hurt them. He was better than they were. He didn't believe in their shit, regardless of what language they chanted it in. He didn't think any of them were superior to him or his Muggle-born love, and he would show them, too.

" Crucio ," he said in an eerily calm voice, pointing his wand at the man with an emotionless expression he was sure would make them all believe he was bored.

And the man, the poor man, twitched and thrashed as though electrocuted. Was it the strongest Cruciatus cast? No, there was that woman who had a much better Unforgivable, and perhaps a couple others. But his was powerful, and the only sound that met Severus' ears were gurgled cries and the thud of a body repeatedly hitting stone.

Severus ended the spell and returned to his place in the circle, shaking and screaming inside while he let out a heavy sigh.

"You have all expressed your displeasure, and I am pleased to see it was not found wanting," the Dark Lord announced. " Avada Kedavra ."

With a flash of green, the man on the stone stopped moving. He remained frozen with a grimace, eyes lifeless, but Severus could still see that he had died in pain and pissed off.

Voldemort shook his head at the man, as if they had just had a heart to heart in which the Dark Lord had expressed his deepest disappointment. With a lazy flick of his wand, the Dark Lord lit the corpse on fire.

"We are family," he said solemnly, "and family does not betray each other. Family stands together, stands strong. And we will stand strong together and I will be like your father. Leading you. Guiding you. Teaching you to be stronger. I will be like an elder brother, looking after your well-being, ensuring you reach your greatest potential." Then his face morphed from something benign to something horrid. "But if you turn your back on me, I will disown you. I will make you less than nothing. I will ensure that you suffer the worst and beg for death. He is dead! When we find his family, we will make them suffer exactly as he did."

Severus said nothing, but copied the other Death Eaters, raising a fist in the air in a solidarity he did not feel. Their proclamations and shouts of agreement would have drowned out any that he made regardless, and his mask kept him hidden should his figurative mask fall.

His eyes darted to the pile of ash on the stone. That would be him if he made the smallest mistake. If Hermione's blood status was discovered or his own duplicity came to light, that would be what remained of his body. Nothing left to find, a mystery to those who survived him.

"Come forward, Severus," the Dark Lord called.

No! No, no, no, I don't want this. I don't want this life. I don't, I don't.

But it was too late, wasn't it? He had been played right into this position, given no choice. He was pressured until there was no escape. He had to move forward, ever forward. If he didn't, he would end up like the wizard on the altar: nothing but ash, with a family under threat. Hermione under threat.

"Severus," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You have wealth at your fingertips and a list of masters begging to take you. You have a pure-blood lady who wants nothing more than to be on your arm. There is nothing that I can give you that most of my loyal friends ask of me. I know you pledged your loyalty to me, but what is it you want from me in return?"

Before Severus could blink, the Dark Lord grabbed his chin and tore through his mind.

Just after the mundane day-to-day that he kept on the surface, an altered memory surfaced of his conversation with the headmaster after his return from the Manor in December.

"Miss Granger will be in good hands when you've gone. I noticed Mr. Lupin is fond of her."

"She's planning on taking her N.E.W.T.s with me."

"She can plan what she wishes, but unfortunately, she needs all of her professors and the headmaster to approve. And I can't let her out into the wizarding world before it is absolutely necessary."

The tint of murderous rage that had been Severus' near constant companion at the thought of the headmaster colored the memory vividly. There was no Moody in the memory, just a schoolboy talking to the headmaster about his girlfriend's fate. But that hatred, the utter loathing Severus felt for the twinkling old geezer was plain as day. And sadly, very real.

Voldemort ripped himself from Severus' mind with absolute glee. "We are much alike," he said with a toothy grin. "Dumbledore frequently stuck his nose where it didn't belong while I was his student as well. Will you join me, Severus, if a spot at my side means Dumbledore's torture and death?"

Whether it was the nature of his Occlumency or the fact that Severus really hated the headmaster, he found his response came easily and quickly.

"Yes, my Lord," he said with a bow.

"Then kneel."

He dropped to his knees, and without being prompted, held out his left arm, his robes sliding down to reveal the pristine skin on his arm. He could feel the approval in the air, the pride, but he ignored it. Severus focused on Hermione, on remembering that this was the best way he could protect her.

"Do you swear your eternal loyalty to me?" Riddle asked.

"I swear," Severus said automatically, thinking only of the bushy-haired girl who held his heart, whom he would do anything for.

Riddle began to speak in a foreign language. After a moment of not understanding, Severus realized it wasn't Latin. The strange language was just distracting enough that Severus was nearly physically startled by the touch of a wand to his left forearm.

At first, it was a warm tingle, and then it became a blistering inferno that made Severus want to retch. It was like holding a heated metal stirring rod to his arm. Sweat broke out on his temples from the sheer effort to not scream in agony, and all the muscles in his body tensed.

The voice in the back of his mind reminded him that this was only the first ten seconds, and he would endure more of this.

His breaths were short and ragged. His head was probably pounding because of how tight he clenched his jaw, but the pain in his arm overrode all other pain receptors.

The hissing language stopped, but the pain didn't.

"We are family now, Severus," Riddle said from above him. "When I need you, you will feel it in this Mark, and you will come to me from wherever you are. Rise, brother Severus." Severus obeyed with shaky legs. He lifted his head to meet the red-tinged gaze of the Dark Lord, who smiled at him with a twisted sort of fondness. "You're an elite. Your skills, talent, potential, have all led you to my inner circle. Death Eaters, welcome your brother."

There was a notable lack of bowed heads from one side of the circle, but Severus was too focused on keeping still, keeping sane, to care.

"You will be missed. Return to Hogwarts, you won't be there much longer."

Unable to open his lips for fear of what might come out, Severus bowed low. His knees buckled, and for a moment, it was as though he was showing complete servitude. Either way, it seemed to please the bastard. He turned, walking as steadily as he could.

Destination, Determination, Deliberation , he repeated in the back of his mind as he imagined the Shrieking Shack. He needed to get there immediately. And with a slight turn of his body, he felt the compression consume him until he landed on his knees, though he couldn't tell if he'd Splinched himself or not.

All Severus knew before everything went blank, was that he opened his eyes and screamed.

—————H—————

Severus was sedated in the hospital wing, but he twitched and thrashed despite the potion in his system. She remained at his side, holding his left hand, wishing there was a way to ease his pain, to sooth him, although very much aware that there wasn't.

Hermione had known he was meeting Voldemort, and with the image of last time seared into her mind, she'd ignored his casual dismissal of her offer to wait for him. She, Sirius, and Remus had watched him on the map until he disappeared, and then they headed to the Shack.

"Are you sure you don't want us there, Kitten?" Sirius had asked quietly.

She'd shaken her head. "I don't want him to lash out if he's had a rough night. He may have agreed it wasn't you there that night, but he still isn't comfortable with Remus, and you don't stir the fondest memories."

The boys had nodded sheepishly, and Hermione snuck out. It hadn't been curfew yet, but she had still wished she'd had the invisibility cloak. Invisibility would help on the way back, and she didn't think Severus would miraculously make it back before curfew.

And he hadn't.

When he appeared in the Shack with a loud crack, his back to her, he was gripping his left arm at the elbow, holding it away from him, screaming and shaking. She'd tried to calm him, but he didn't seem to notice she was there. After a long loud scream, he'd passed out.

Somehow, she didn't think that levitating him through the halls would be the smartest idea, especially with Professor Scamander extra vigilant with the year coming to a close. Explaining to an Auror why she was floating a Death Eater down the halls of Hogwarts didn't sound fun.

Despite the fact her boyfriend was twitching on her lap, Hermione had tried to conjure a Patronus. It had taken far longer than she would have liked, focusing her efforts on a happy memory when one of her worst was in real-time felt impossible.

"Come on, Hermione. If Harry can do it, so can you. You're powerful. You're strong. And Severus needs help!" she said to herself, willing all that was in her into the spell.

She'd been pleased, and quite enchanted, when the elegant raven swooped from her wand, circled around them, and then landed on Severus' head. She'd thought of who would help her best and willed the bird to find him and tell him what happened and where they were.

Alastor Moody had appeared within five minutes.

"What happened?" he asked, kneeling beside them. She explained as he picked up Severus' arm and pulled back the sleeve.

"Fuck!" Moody cursed.

"What is it? What's the matter?" Hermione asked. She caught sight of the Dark Mark, red and livid, with blisters around it.

"He's been Marked, and it's reacting badly," Moody replied, taking hold of Hermione's arm, still holding on to Severus. "Gonna be a bit of a trip, girl." That was the only warning he'd given before Apparating.

From his office, she supposed, they Flooed directly into the Hogwarts infirmary, and as soon as they were clear of the fireplace, she'd been tasked with Flooing Minerva to come to the infirmary. Moody had placed Severus on the nearest bed, and as soon as he touched the bed, he'd begun screaming again.

Hermione had dashed to join him, gripping his right hand, and watching as the matron came out of her office the same moment Minerva came out of the fireplace.

"What is wrong with the boy?" Madam Pomfrey asked, great concern on her features before Moody grabbed Severus' arm and showed her. The matron shrunk back.

"Not what ya think, Poppy," Moody warned.

"Not what I think?" Pomfrey had hissed, glancing around the otherwise empty infirmary. "How can I misinterpret such an ugly Mark?"

"Albus all but held the boy down and offered his arm to You-Know-Who himself," Minerva growled.

The matron looked from Severus to Minerva before she sighed heavily. "I need to grab some potions, explain on the way."

Minerva must have, because when they returned, the matron's sour look was a stark contrast to the gentle, mindful way she tended to the raw skin of Severus' arm. She'd gotten him to drink a Calming Draught and then a sedative, before she began applying Essence of Murtlap, a burn balm, and nearly everything else she could think of. She then wrapped it in a bandage and bid Minerva to go to her office for a drink. Hermione doubted they were going to have tea.

Moody had clapped her on the arm. "Impressive Patronus, Granger," he'd said before hobbling away, probably to tell the headmaster of Severus' condition.

Once alone, Hermione watched Severus until she fell asleep. When she'd woken with a crick in her neck from sleeping in a chair, she immediately turned to check on Severus' arm.

She'd seen the Mark, of course, just not on anyone's skin. Before she went to Hogwarts, she'd made sure to read up on the important events of the wizarding world. She had learned precisely who Harry was before she ever met him, and knew what the Dark Mark looked like, and it had been seared into her mind. She never thought it would look so painful, like a brand instead of a freshly inked tattoo.