The Potions Master and the Ravenclaw

"You Are Everything to Me"

Author's Note: So sorry it has taken me a minute to update (especially with such a cliffhanger). Work has been crazy.

Please comment and let me know what you think.

I appreciate you all!

...

"Will you take the Dark Mark?"

Voldemort's red eyes bored into Madeline's  as she returned his stare, a trickle of panic prickling her scalp.

Her mind was reeling. She knew she had to think quickly. Of course she didn't want it, but she had to play the part. If she hesitated even a second more, she'd give herself away. He could hurt her. Torture her. Kill her. Or worse, hurt Severus. She couldn't allow it. She would do anything to keep her husband safe. She would not be the reason Voldemort discovered his true allegiance. She would protect him at all costs.

She'd have to do it. She'd have to take the Dark Mark.

With her mind occluded to the absolute hilt, Madeline fixed a sweet and submissive expression on her face, smiling up at the Dark Lord.

"Of course, my lord. Though I can hardly believe I deserve it, it would be an honor to bear your mark," she said. "You are too gracious."

A cold and chilling grin spread across his hideous face.

"I am pleased, Madeline. Very pleased." He lowered his wand and turned to Snape. "Severus. Come here and give me your arm so that I may call the others to me. This requires a celebration."

Snape was so terrified that his face had actually gone numb, though he remained outwardly calm. His mind was spinning as rapidly as Madeline's. He could not allow this. He would not let her be marked. Not his beautiful, precious girl. He was incredibly relieved that she had not faltered or hesitated; he had taught her well. But how could he prevent this without exposing them both as spies? He heard the Dark Lord asking him to show him his own mark so he could summon the rest of the Death Eaters.

Snape moved toward Voldemort, unbuttoning his cuff and rolling up his sleeve. He felt as if he were floating outside of his own body looking down on himself. He was trapped in his worst nightmare. Almost in a trance, he held his bare arm out to his master, unable to look at his wife.

He was failing her. He had sworn to protect her, but he was failing her. He thought he might lose consciousness.

God, he didn't think he could stand to watch the mark being burned into her perfect alabaster skin. Would she scream as the ink stained her arm with the serpent and skull?

He remembered exactly how it felt when he had taken it himself. The pain had been excruciating, but he had borne it with pride. He'd hardly flinched, then. His new brothers had embraced him, impressed with his steely resolve. He remembered Lucius grinning like the Cheshire Cat and slapping him on the back, and Mulciber shoving a glass of fire whiskey into his hand with a conspiratorial smirk. He supposed he had his father to thank for his exceptional tolerance for pain.

Madeline, too, had an unusually high threshold, and for the same reason. Her mother had tortured her, but nothing she'd done would prepare her for this. She'd be marked forever with a dark and evil curse. He loathed the thought of her suffering, and it was his fault.

All his fault.

And he hated himself for it.

The Dark Lord's icy, skeletal fingers closed around Snape's wrist and his wand slowly drew ever closer to his mark. As soon as it touched his skin, every Death Eater would instantly join them to witnesses his wife being branded by Voldemort. A rage rose up in him, then.