Ascent from Darkness: A Severus Snape Story

The Dark Mark

A/N: Sorry the second chapter took a minute.
Let me know what you think!

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Snape straightened his cravat as he followed Lucius Malfoy back inside Borgin and Burkes. His heart raced and fluttered like the wings of a caged dragon inside his chest.

It was time.

They entered the storeroom, which had been converted into a temporary Death Eater headquarters. Black-cloaked, masked, hooded wizards and witches had formed a ritual circle - eerie in the flickering candlelight – and in the center of the ring stood the Dark Lord himself.

Lord Voldemort was an imposing figure. His once-handsome features had begun to develop an unnatural, slightly inhuman quality. His chestnut hair was still thick and wavy, but his skin was now impossibly pale. The pupils of his dark eyes were serpentine in shape, his nose narrow and thin. His mouth smiled cruelly as he stood amidst his devoted followers, wand in hand.

And devoted, they were.

The Dark Lord's disciples were fanatical in their dedication to him and his cause. He had preyed upon them all, and they were willing and easy marks for his considerable charisma.

First, there were the purists, like Charlotte Wynters, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They needed little to no persuasion in joining an effort to maintain the supremacy of those with untainted bloodlines. Their hatred of muggles and half-bloods was fueled by Voldemort, and they welcomed the opportunity to perpetuate the old ways.

Then there were the ambitious among them - hungry to gain power, riches, and notoriety. The Dark Lord had promised them gold, fame, and positions of prominence once the new world order was established, and they were willing to go to any lengths to acquire them.

And finally, the most ardent, most zealous believers of all. The marginalized. The outcast. The subjugated. The vulnerable, searching for protection and acceptance. These were the most dangerous devotees of the Dark Lord, the most desperate. They yearned to prove themselves worthy, burned to be found valuable in a world that had labeled them worthless. Motivated by fear, anger, hatred, self-loathing, and bitterness, they were particular targets of Voldemort as he assembled his army. He, too, had been marginalized and outcast. He, too, knew that deep longing for something greater than his circumstances had dictated. He sought those who - like him - had been overlooked and underestimated, knowing that they would cling to even the vaguest assurance of approval and inclusion.

Those like Severus Snape.

The Dark Lord raised his arms in invitation, and the Death Eaters parted. Lucius gently prodded Snape forward, then waved his wand over his own handsome face. His mask appeared, obscuring his visage, and he joined his brothers and sisters in the ring.

Severus approached the Dark Lord in the center of the circle as it enclosed around them again.

"Kneel," said Voldemort softly in a high, cold voice, and Severus did as he was bid.

As Snape knelt before his master and cast his eyes downward, he was not afraid.

Not at all.

In fact, he was quite proud. Finally, someone had acknowledged his worth. Someone had identified him as the prodigy he was. Someone had recognized his brilliant mind and his immense talent. Someone appreciated his extraordinary skill. Someone encouraged his proclivity for the Dark Arts and acknowledged his expertise. Someone had taught him to embrace his darkness, and not to fear it. Someone had finally seen who he was and what he could become. Someone had made him feel normal. Normal, for once in his miserable, misbegotten life.