Dark Livestream

Chapter 20: Nineteen

"So, sixth year?" prompted Theo, refilling his glass and then Pansy's...

On those nights the moon was at its brightest, the main thoroughfares of the Dark Lord's estate - with their high, arched windows on the exterior walls - were left unlit by magic or flame, so that those who walked the halls could view the lush night-flowering gardens outside. Severus had thought before that this place seemed too picturesque to belong to Lord Voldemort, too open, too bright; a year ago, it would have suited him even less so. Granted, he thought, idling at one window simply because he could, last year, everything was different.

The Severus Snape of that time would certainly not have dressed up for the occasion as he was doing - he would be hiding his shaking hands in the heavy drape of long sleeves, reluctance in his every bearing. There was nothing to be enthusiastic about over a summons to a Death Eater meeting then, unlike now - and fairly so.

For how were those dreadful meetings made? Chiefly: of Death Eaters trembling in their boots as they delivered their reports, receiving their allocation of no less than one Cruciatus each (and two on average) regardless of the news; of half-lit chandeliers casting sickly blue-green light on the Malfoys' dining room at all hours, the windows spelled from polished glass to mausoleum stone; of the pervasive smell of rot, snakeskin, blood, and mould that the Dark Lord had brought everywhere with him, a stench that clung high in the sinuses for hours afterward no matter what Severus did to clear them - so nauseating that one could rarely bring themselves to eat in the Manor at all, much less at the table.

All tactics the Dark Lord used to terrorize his sworn servants, needlessly, far more than he ever did to the rest of the British populace - 'favored' or otherwise, Severus was as much on eggshells as the rest of them, hanging on His every word for fear of being struck for inattention. Like beaten dogs, everyone, with that their only commonality.

But it hadn't always been this way - even if it'd been long enough that no one expected any better.

Harry stifled a laugh behind his hand. "Wasn't that a weird year? September was when Dumbles finally asked me to keep secrets, instead of just hiding things from me that would later come back to bite me in the arse. Not that he stopped doing that, per se..."

"What, no oaths?" Draco stared at Harry, astonished. "Even I-" He cut himself off, clearing his throat, and took another sip of his Firewhiskey, making a little 'go on' gesture with his free hand instead of finishing that thought. Plausible deniability, or something.

"I s'pose he might have wanted to, but if it prevented me from following up on the subject matter that had me visiting his office all the time..." Harry frowned a moment, lost in thought. "Well, then all the effort we put in tracking Slughorn down would have gone to waste, wouldn't it? It was at least part of why we went looking for him - the other part being that for once Severus was the only applicant for the Defense post..."

Bellatrix was not alone in clinging to the past, though she was the most delusional about it; Severus still recalled his earliest days as a Death Eater with a secretive fondness. He, a Slytherin of minimal blood status, had been noticed, pursued for his talents - by the Dark Lord himself! Lucius and Narcissa had been obliged to it by their parents' ties to Voldemort's faction, and Severus would later admit to following them into His service out of personal loyalty and friendship; but the truth of it was that said friendship had only ever been a foot in the door.