8: The First He Lost

Chapter 8: The First He Lost

'Be assured, Mr Herrington, that your friend is well taken care of.'

'But what's wrong with Nadezhda? Her arm ...'

'Mr Herrington, I must ask you to leave now. You friend has fallen victim to a vicious hex, but Professor Snape and I are more than capable of taking care of the situation.'

'A hex? But she's been talking about a snake. And that bracelet ...'

'Mr Herrington!'

The Headmaster's raised voice made Snape peer past Nadezhda, who was now quietly sitting on a chair in front of him with her back towards Dumbledore and Charles. Dumbledore had managed to get the boy halfway out of the room, but Charles didn't look as if he liked the idea of leaving. Certainly, he would not want to blatantly disobey the Headmaster, but him lingering in the door, craning his neck, gave Snape very much the impression that Charles didn't want to leave his friend's side.

His friend's side. Snape couldn't help but feel a rush of affection towards the boy. After the way Nadezhda had ended their relationship, no one would have blamed Charles for not even wanting to be in the same room as her. It would have been more than understandable if he had turned his back on her and decided that her problems weren't any of his. Lily Evans had most certainly acted that way and done everything in her power to keep as far away from Snape as possible after their incident. But Charles Herrington was obviously different. He was still looking out for Nadezhda. He had taken care of her when she had needed him. Maybe, Snape hoped, their friendship could still be mended.

After once more assuring him that Nadezhda was in good hands, Dumbledore finally managed to usher Charles outside. He closed the door right in the boy's face and warded it in order to keep him out for good. Then he turned to face Snape.

'I assume there is no way to remove that bracelet,' he said calmly.

Snape shook his head, looking down at Nadezhda's wrist, where the snake still hung on with its fangs sunken into the girl's flesh. Her forearm was now starting to bruise, and Snape could not tell whether her wrist was swelling or if the snake was tightening its grip.

'I fear any attempt to remove the bracelet will prove futile at the best,' Snape informed the Headmaster. 'It might even be dangerous.' Certainly, the Dark Lord had taken measures against the removal of his precious gift.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Ingenious, though,' he pointed out, stepping beside Nadezhda and laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. The girl barely reacted. 'And so very typical for Tom to mark what he considers his.'

Snape sneered. He should have known. He should have known that the Dark Lord had made his choice already when he had first laid eyes upon the girl. He had wanted her from the very start. The whole idea of Barty having to teacher her the proper ways before she would be initiated had just been a farce. Had he not wanted her, he would have said so.

A new surge of flaming hot pain made Snape hiss and wrap his right hand around his left wrist. If he didn't respond to the summoning soon, the pain would increase and eventually make him pass out. And what would happen later, he did not even want to imagine. So far, he had never failed to respond to the Dark Lord's call, but he had heard rumours about what had happened to those who had failed.

'You do not know to where you are being summoned?' Dumbledore enquired. His hand was still resting on Nadezhda's shoulder, and it seemed to Snape that something in the girl's posture had changed. It seemed almost as if she was leaning into Dumbledore's comforting touch. Was the pain in her arm increasing, too?

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Snape shook his head to the Headmaster's question. He never knew to where he was summoned. None of the Death Eaters ever did. When the Dark Lord called upon them, they just Apparated, letting the damned mark guide them.

'And I assume you do not know why you are being summoned either,' Dumbledore continued.

Again, Snape shook his head, although he could guess what the summoning was about: the Dark Lord wanted the girl now. Oh, he had always possessed a flair for the dramatic. Initiating her on Halloween fitted just perfectly.

Dumbledore seemed to have come to the same conclusion. 'Leave then,' he said. 'Leave and take Nadezhda with you.'

Snape opened his mouth to protest. He could not guarantee the girl's safety. In fact, he was quite sure that him taking her to the Dark Lord would result in her carrying the mark before midnight. But Dumbledore never let him voice his concerns.

'I'd rather you take her than that she be dragged away by someone else,' he stated, giving his Potions master a long and hard look before sinking to his knees before Nadezhda, giving her no other choice than to look at him.

'Child,' he started, 'I am not sending you away lightly. But I fear we have no choice.' He took her left hand and lifted her arm, which made the silver serpent glisten eerily. 'Voldemort is calling you, and I do not know what this snake will do to you if you do not heed his call.'

'Will I be allowed to come back?' Nadezhda asked quietly. 'If I receive his mark today, can I still come back to Hogwarts?'

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'Yes, Nadezhda, you will be allowed to come back. We will protect you.'

Protect her? Damn good job we have done so far! Snape thought. How dare Dumbledore make such promises? How was he planning to protect the girl once she was branded? With the mark on her arm, she'd be the property of the Dark Lord, and he would be able to do with her whatever he pleased. The walls of Hogwarts would not protect her from him.

Enough of this drivel! Enough of empty promises!

Swiftly, Snape snatched Nadezhda's hand from Dumbledore and pulled her into a standing position. She swayed for a moment but steadied herself before Snape had to reach out to hold her.

Good, Snape thought. Make sure that you will stand tall before the Dark Lord as well. At the very least, don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

~ ~ ~

Snape closed his eyes in the moment of Apparition, for once not in order to block out the feeling of nausea that accompanied that particular form of magical transportation, but to gather his thoughts. He very much wanted to protect the girl whose hand was still lying in his. But how, by Merlin, was he supposed to do that?

He had failed so far. He had not noticed that the Dark Lord had put his mark on the girl already on the night of her seventeenth birthday and dragged her into the fold without anyone knowing. And now he was calling her to judge her progress and make her his for good. Or break her, toss her aside and step over her body as if she were of no importance to anyone.

How? How could she be protected?

When he felt his feet hit solid ground, Snape opened his eyes and released his grip around Nadezhda's hand. Not that he wanted to let go, not really. Her little hand felt good in his, and the way she held onto him told Snape that she trusted him. But he didn't feel like he deserved her trust. He would not be able to help her. And holding her hand meant luring her into a false sense of security.

She stood quite steady beside him now; the Side-Along-Apparition didn't seem to have affected her too much. But she was still pale, and now that her hands were free once more, she wrapped her right one around her left wrist and clutched it tightly as if that could somehow stop the pain. Snape knew this reflex. But he also knew that it was useless. Nothing could lessen the pain of the Dark Lord's mark.

'Where are we?' Nadezhda asked quietly, letting her green eyes wander over the lawn in front of her.

Snape, too, looked around, more to win time than to actually figure out where they had Apparted to and wishing that they had been summoned to anywhere but this place.

'This,' he started tentatively, pointing at the house on the other side of the grounds, 'is Riddle Manor. The Dark Lord only summons his most trusted followers here and only on special occasions.'

'Like initiations.'

Nadezhda had spoken the word so quietly that it could have been mistaken for a whisper of the wind. But Snape had heard her, and he nodded, hoping against hope that there was another reason for their summoning. But he knew there wasn't.

Without another word, he placed his mask on his face. He seldom wore it, even found it ridiculous to wear it to a summoning where the only other people participating were Death Eaters of the innermost circle, Death Eaters who knew more about each other than any of them cared to admit. But today, Snape welcomed the shadow of the mask. It created a barrier, a protective wall behind which he could hide. He had to collect himself now, so he would be able to step in front of the Dark Lord with his mind clear and his emotions safely locked away. The Dark Lord mustn't know how much he cared about the girl he was delivering into the fold, how much he wished that he didn't have to. And Nadezhda, she didn't need to see Severus Snape. Better for her to see Snape, the Death Eater. It would make things easier once they returned to Hogwarts. Maybe, hopefully, she would be able to forgive her Head of House for having failed to protect her.

'Are you ready?' he asked, sneering at his own choice of words. Ready for what? Ready to receive a mark she didn't want to carry? Ready to be pushed into a bottomless abyss? How could anyone be ready for that?

But Nadezhda still nodded. 'I am ready,' she whispered, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. Snape saw her shoulders relax and her posture become straighter, and he knew that she was collecting herself behind her closed eyes just as she was behind his mask. When she opened her eyes, Snape stared for some moments into the cold emeralds. No fear, no apprehension. Nothing.

'Let us go then.'

Swiftly, Snape turned and approached the manor house, with every step adding yet another brick to his mental wall. By the time they reached the front door, his mind was empty of all emotions, and the girl he was leading to slaughter was standing unflinchingly by his side.

~ ~ ~

When they entered the large room that had once served as the dining room of the Riddle family, Snape's nostrils filled with a sourly sweet scent; copper and metal with a hint of rust and salt. Blood, he deduced.

He quickly scanned the room. There were ten Death Eaters present, flanking the room, five on each side. By the window stood Bellatrix Lestrange, wand still raised and her lips curled into a cruel yet almost ecstatic smile. Snape knew that look. It was the look Bellatrix bore whenever she had killed.

His eyes travelled to the far end of the room. There lay a man, face down in a puddle of his own blood. Snape didn't recognise him. But one thing, he knew for sure: there was too much blood on the floor for the man to be still alive.

'You missed a good show, Severus,' Yaxley pointed out. 'Dear Bella is in top shape today. McKibben never stood a chance.'

McKibben? Duncan McKibben?

Snape cast a quick glance at Nadezhda, who had entered the room at his side. Like many others in the room, she was looking at the dead body and the red puddle that was still extending beneath it. It was her father lying there, mangled, executed. But the girl didn't show any reaction.

Snape scowled behind his mask. He was well aware that Nadezhda held few affectionate feelings for her father, but no reaction at all? That was just not natural. But then again, Nadezhda seldom showed what was going on in her heart and mind.

How much longer would she be able to pretend? Snape wondered. And what would happen on the day her walls crumbled?

'Aren't you going to ask why we duelled?' Bellatrix asked in a petulant tone, pouting like a little girl and looking expectantly at Snape.

'I assumed that you would tell me sooner or later anyway,' Snape commented drily before removing his mask. None of the others were wearing theirs. 'Well?' he then asked despite himself. 'Why have you duelled?'

Bellatrix threw out her chest. 'That one,' she started, pointing at the corpse, 'claimed that I have been fooled. He claimed his daughter hadn't learnt any Dark magic at all so far.' She gave a high pitched giggle. 'Imagine that! He claimed that Barty has been lying to me!'

Bellatrix never noticed that Snape's heart skipped a beat. How had McKibben found out? Had he – once again – beaten the truth out of his daughter? And why on earth had the idiot felt the need to confront Bellatrix about it?

'I must say I am deeply insulted,' Bellatrix continued. 'As if I didn't know what is going on right under my nose. You've been teaching the girl your best moves, haven't you, love?'

She extended her hand, and Barty Crouch detached himself from the shadows in which he had been hiding. He looked pale, Snape thought. But then again, McKibben had hit the floor only a foot or two away from the boy. No wonder he looked peaky.

'Tell us what you've taught her so far,' Bellatrix demanded, patting Barty on the head as if he were a child.

'I ... I started with Sectumsempra,' Barty brought forth. 'She ... Nadezhda picked it up quickly. Before I knew it, the rabbits you had brought to Malfoy Manor were cut open.'

Before you knew it, indeed, Snape thought. You were fast asleep.

'What more? What more?' Bellatrix was almost levitating with excitement. She seemed convinced that her protégé had indeed succeeded in turning Nadezhda into a Dark witch.

'She ... she is good at cutting and slicing,' Barty reported. 'And you should see her Excorio! There wasn't a drop of blood on the floor when she was done with that rabbit.'

That was because it was no rabbit at all, you imbecile.

That time, Nadezhda had transformed a pillow into what had resembled a flayed rabbit. At first, Barty had bought it, and when he had become suspicious, Nadezhda had distracted him in the most adult way. And when he had been at his most vulnerable, at a point where so many man before him had lost the little sense they normally possessed, Nadezhda had – for the first time – used a Memory Charm on him. And now Barty was convinced that she had done everything he had bid her to do. For him, she was on the best way of turning into Bellatrix Lestrange.

'Let us see how good a teacher you are then, Barty.'

Everyone in the room spun around and fell to their knees only moments later. None of them had noticed the Dark Lord entering. For as much as they knew, he might have been there the whole time and listened to their conversation. Maybe, he had even seen Duncan McKibben die.

When they were told to rise, the Death Eaters were confronted with one of the oddest images imaginable. The Dark Lord was carrying something white and fluffy in his arms. It was a puppy, they could make out. And the Dark Lord was petting it absent-mindedly.

'I found this little fellow in the garden, trapped under a pile of firewood,' he explained. 'It seems to have lost its way.'

He released the pup without a warning, and the little animal landed hard on its feet, ears laid back and tail between his hind legs. One didn't need to be an expert on dogs to see that the little thing was scared out of its wits.

'Get rid of it,' the Dark Lord commanded casually, his cold eyes focused on Nadezhda.

'My Lord?'

'Get rid of it,' Voldemort repeated, slower now and pronouncing every syllable very clearly.

'How, my Lord?'

The girl was trying to win time, so much was obvious, but the Dark Lord wouldn't have any of it. 'There is no use torturing the beast,' he pointed out. 'So as much as Barty praises your Excorio, there is no need to show it off today. Cut the throat,' he suggested. 'And be quick. We have greater things to achieve today.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

The few moments it took for Nadezhda to produce her wand seemed the longest in Snape's life. He saw every single one of her movements, the little, almost imperceptible twitch of a muscle at the back of her jaw and the slight tremble of the hand she was trying to hide in the folds of her robe. He was sure that everyone else must have noticed as well. But the Death Eaters stood looking at their Lord, and Voldemort in his turn was looking at the dog, expecting to see it drop dead. No one was looking at Nadezhda. No one except her Head of House.

'Now, child,' Voldemort commanded in a voice so soft that one could have expected him to offer tea and biscuits next. But Snape knew better. The Dark Lord wanted his wishes fulfilled now. Failure to do so would be severely punished.

Nadezhda raised her wand and uttered the curse. There was a short yelp from the pup, and then it collapsed into a puddle of its own blood. It was over in a heartbeat.

'Bravo,' the Dark Lord commented as he turned over the dead pup with his foot to inspect the cut. 'Right through the carotid artery and the jugular vein. And here some of us thought you didn't have it in you.'

Snape glanced at his student who in her turn was staring at her wand. Her hand was shaking badly now, and she was so pale that the blood on the floor could as well have been hers. She looked terrified. No wonder! She thought she had cast the curse. She thought that she had taken an innocent life. But she was wrong. She had no idea that the dark-clad wizard standing right by her side had cast a nonverbal curse a split second before she had opened her mouth and that the gash across the puppy's throat had not been her doing. But Snape could not tell her. For the time being, he had to let her believe that she had cast her first deadly curse.

'Bellatrix will take care of you today,' the Dark Lord announced, smiling at Nadezhda. 'If she deems you worthy, she will bring you back to me tonight, and I will allow you to receive my Mark. If not ...' He shrugged and waved his hand in the air. A second later, the dead puppy was gone. McKibben's corpse, however, seemed not to bother him.

'Severus,' he continued, 'your task today will be to make sure that Miss McKibben will not be missed by any of her teachers for the rest of the day. As her Head of House, I am certain you can come up with a plausible excuse for her playing truant.'

He was being sent back to Hogwarts? Without Nadezhda?

'Return an hour after midnight,' Voldemort added and headed towards the door. 'Tonight will be a night to celebrate.'

Snape swallowed drily but still bowed in acceptance. The Dark Lord's orders could not be questioned, he knew that. There was not even any point in trying. He simply had to accept the fact that he had failed to protect his student.