The Initiation

A light breeze stirred the balmy air, carrying with it the night scent of the forest. The soil felt spongy and moist as he walked on it, pine needles pricking the soles of his bare feet.

Strange things grew under the mighty canopy of the ancient trees, glowing a sickly green in the darkness. With only the scant light of the waning moon to guide his steps, he could barely make out the group of people waiting for him in the clearing. When he came closer magelights started to gleam softly, outlining two rows of hooded figures.

They formed an honour guard, the pathway between them laid out with freshly cut pine branches.

A few yards away he could make out the dim shape and glowing white masks of even more Death Eaters. As he had been told, he walked towards the dimly lit passage. The first two Death Eaters lowered their wooden staffs, barring the entrance. He stood before the crossed poles trying to compose himself, trying to keep his calm.

A staff hit the ground with a droning hollow noise. Another followed then another, till the whole clearing was awash with the heartbeat sound of wood hitting soil. It suddenly ceased, echoing on in the dark. The stone circle in the back lit up, blazingly bright. A hollow voice spoke his name:

Severus Snape!

“Yes”.

Do you come willing?

“Yes”.

Do you come knowing?

“Yes”.

Do you come true?

“Yes”.

The pounding rhythm of wood on forest soil began anew, slower this time. The barrier was lifted and he took a tentative step forward. Hands seized him, passing him from side to side, from person to person. He staggered from embrace to embrace.

Hands holding him; voices, male, female, old, young, whispering into his ears.

courage, secrecy, loyalty, honor, duty, obedience -

respect.

The hands released him into the ancient stone circle, pushing him to the ground.

He kneeled, head bowed in respect. The eerie pounding that had once again sped up suddenly ceased.

Bluish magelight began to glow and out of it stepped a handsome middle-aged man dressed in white. He seemed too glow from inside.

A hand touched Severus’ head lightly, then the light seemed to fill his mind and a voice whispered softly.

Do you come willing?

Yes

Yes

Do you come true?

Yes

Let me be the judge of that!

Severus Snape felt his memories, wishes and fears spread out before him, dissected, judged, discarded; but a spectator in his own mind.

Stand up, Severus Snape, you are worthy.

A feeling of belonging, of worth filled him, of pure and utter joy.

A hand reached out, grasping his, pulling him to his feet.

A stone blade was placed in his left hand, and Lord Voldemort grasped his hand in firm handshake.

Do you come willing?

Yes

Yes

Do you come true?

Yes

Then be!

The handshake tightened and the blade cut into their flesh. It hurt more than it should. Waves of pain swept through his body, centring in his left forearm. Their blood mingled and just before he thought he would pass out from sheer pain the handshake ceased and his forearm was grasped in a tight hold. A faint greenish glow cocooned them.

Then be!

The hand was removed from his forearm and where a second ago a bloody handprint had been now a green snake was winding around the outline of a skull.

The light seem to creep towards him. He stood, alone, once again facing the alley. Someone placed a cloak on his shoulders and a mask was handed to him to cover his face.

The rhythm picked up once again as he stepped into the passage. Once again hands seized him, once again soft voices whispered in his ear.

courage, secrecy, loyalty, honor, duty, obedience, respect --- brotherhood

The last word echoed with the drumming.

Then the passage lit up. One by one they removed their masks bowing to one of their own.

The night, like paper soaked in oil, had become translucent. The initiation and the celebration that followed under the waning northern moon was, like the night, surrendering to the new day. Britain’s summer sun set late and rose early, encroaching upon the better part of the night.

Severus Snape silently closed the French doors behind him. He took the small winding path that lead to the small pond in the more remote parts of the garden. The gravel crunched and squirted under his boots. A warm breeze carried eerie bits of music. Weeping willows, girding the water, rustled with the melody of the gusts. Drawing his cloak tighter around his thin shoulders, he sat on a mossy stone bench watching Malfoy Manor in its bright glory, like a blazing beacon against the greying indigo of the morning.

Severus Snape whistled tunelessly, marvelling at the warmth of the early June sun. The birds had just begun to sing, larks rising in the sapphire blue summer sky. Dew graced the grass, scattering in little rainbows of colour when he walked past. The air hummed, ripe with the pungent scent of wild geraniums. Every now and then he gently ran his thumb over the inside of his left arm, as if to reassure himself that everything was still there, was reality and not just a dream. He smiled to himself as he made his way to the castle, holding his head up high into the rising sun; life was good.