jocundasykes

I've been working on the background details of this fic for a long time. I am probably using every blog post: https://jocundasykes.dreamwidth.org/tag/canon+information to inform my writing. I decided to finish off a chapter rather than plough on ahead and won't be posting it to AO3 until I'm done with the fic. There'll be 10 chapters in the first half of act 1. The outline is 27k! f me! 

I've got two versions of the summary..... struggling with making them sound actually interesting! would be SUPER interested if anyone here has any thoughts on the summaries, or on the fic itself. Where they think it's going, if any of this is boring, if any of this fits (or doesn't fit) with their imagination of Severus's home.

Thanks me luvvers.
 

For his last year of school, Severus Snape wants nothing more than to ace his exams and join the Death Eaters. But when the new boy, Henry Pevensie, kisses him, Severus mustn't turn his eyes from the goal. 

After all—this is all he's ever dreamed of.

or

Severus Snape is determined to make the most of seventh year, gain excellent NEWTs and join the ranks of the Death Eaters by next summer.

But a secret love affair with Pevensie, the new boy sorted into Slytherin, sends Severus’s plans awry.

As Severus is seduced deeper into the web of the Dark Lord, he is increasingly at odds with Pevensie and his secrets. As the Marking date draws nearer, Severus must choose between his dreams and the ugly reality before him.

* sorry this is not under the cut, I'm no good at doing that *
 

People don't give much credence that a powerful political organisation would want to recruit a seventeen-year-old. But the Dark Lord recognised certain special qualities in the young, and did not discriminate—when it came to age. The start of Severus Snape’s recruitment began one day, late in the summer holidays, when the days dragged their heavy heels after dies caniculares.

Three days remained when that letter arrived with a crash, rudely interrupting Dad's hangover as he slept on the sofa.

"Oi!" Dad bellowed.

Severus leapt up from his target practise and stuffed his wand under the mattress. Dead bluebottles littered both the windowsill and the outline of his Charms essay on 'The Use and Misuse of Standing Stones'. Through the wall, Baby Next Door wailed, joining in with Dad's chorale.

Unable to delay the inevitable, Severus marched downstairs, wearing a scowl and his nightshirt. 

Dad was lunging for an empty wine bottle, which Severus knew he'd wield like a Beater's club at the gigantic eagle owl perched on the kitchen table.

"It's just an owl," Severus pointed out, scooping her up and stepping out into the garden. Rigby ruffled her feathers and glared reproachfully at Severus.

Mum was hunched over a fag at the end of their postage-stamp garden, her back to the house. She didn't intervene.

"Get it OUT OF HERE!" Dad roared.

His shift stoking the boilers down the carpet mill didn't start till eight. Ever since he lost his job at the butchers, Dad had made mornings hell.

Severus snatched the scroll from Rigby's leg and threw her up and out into the foggy morning sky. She spread her huge wings and, as fast as a crossbow, shot out of the neighbourhood without a backward glance.

Severus read:

Dear S,

I write to convey the sad news of the passing of Roger Shaddick. The funeral is at eight, and you may find it fortuitous to attend. Apologies for the malapropos hour and forgive my hand; I shall ask Rigby to fly like the wind. It's at the same place we met before.

With kindest regards,

L

Severus traced the black 'M' wax seal and ducked back into the kitchen.

This must be it; his opportunity for a first Sponsor.

Dad flung his bottle into the bin with such force, the glass shattered, and Severus jumped.

"What do they want?" Dad said.

Roger Shaddick: the name was unfamiliar. According to the clock atop the mantelpiece, he had three minutes.

He looked into Dad's bloodshot eyes and said, "I'm going out."

"No, you're not!" He yelled. Severus took the stairs two at a time. "What right do you have to go off on a jolly, when you don't lift a FINGER in this house! You'll stay home and help your mother!"

Severus's face twisted, and he scrambled out of his nightshirt, hunting in his trunk for his plain black school robes.

Dad must've recruited Mum to the cause, for she screamed up the stairs, "Treat your father with respect! Show him some common courtesy!"

The neighbour's baby wailed louder than ever. 

Severus snatched his wand from under the bed, locking his bedroom door wordlessly, and repaired his scuffed shoes with an extra sticking charm.

Dad's footsteps thundered up the staircase. "Get the hell out of here, then! I don't want to see your—"

Severus Disapparated.

His feet met hard ground as he landed at the crossroads at Blusty Lodge. Trees bent double from the gales and his robes whipped out behind him as he turned, seeking the entryway amongst the wild moorland. Early dots of pink heather waved in the wind beside the hedgerows; one path snaked up to disappear into the shoulder of a hill, and another, perpendicular, disappeared between two young oaks.

Further along the oak-lined path, the trees gave way to chestnut coppice, amongst which he found the post he'd been looking for and rapped it with his wand. A low archway shimmered into sight. Severus ducked through it and hurried up a twisting path, this time lined with twisted, ancient beeches, to a set of tall wrought-iron gates. A goateed man swathed in silver furs was deep in conversation with Narcissa Black, her black lace veil stirring in the breeze.

"Severus!" she cried, as he hurried up to the gates. "So pleased you could attend." Narcissa air-kissed him on the cheek.

"My condolences," Severus said.

"You must hurry," she said. "Igor shall escort you through. Apologies there's no time to introduce you!"

The wizard flashed him a silver-toothed smile, gripped Severus by the upper arm and marched him through the gates.

Though he'd visited a few weeks prior, Severus paused to admire the lodge. Atop the slope stood a grand Georgian house topped with a bell tower. Its face was decorated with blooming wisteria, and at its centre had white columns garnished with sphinxes flanking the sparkling stained-glass doors.

Igor turned back towards Narcissa without a word. 

"Thank you," Severus called over his shoulder.

Severus withdrew his wand, from which silver sparks shot out the tip in anticipation. He took a deep, steadying breath and channelled a feeling of weightlessness from his ankles through to his toes. With a flick of his wrist, he at once shot up the hill twice as fast as he could sprint. His stomach lurched pleasantly and, for a brief moment, he enjoyed the thrill of flying, the chill air throwing his hair and robes out behind him.

He slowed to a gentle landing as an unfazed house-elf opened one of the glass front doors and bowed deeply to the ground.

Severus strode into a stately entrance hall and followed the sound of someone speaking, his footsteps echoing on the white marble.

He stopped at an open door.

Thankfully, the rows of chairs had their backs to him, and he slipped in unnoticed. 

"… adding to our grief as the second martyr to fall by the callous hand of our government this month. The undignified, callous manner of his passing makes a mockery of Roger's tireless support, his unending dedication to…"

State-sanctioned vigilantism, more like.

Lucius's white-blond head shone in the morning light filtering through vast sash windows, but Severus didn't recognise any of the other mourners from behind.

A solemn wizard in a black cape lit some incense with his wand whilst an elderly woman began to sob great hacking gasps of breath, so loud that Severus couldn't listen to the eulogy even if he wanted to.

He stared at the back of the wizard's head in front of him, and thought. Lucius was well aware of Severus's dear ambition to join the Dark Order. You may find it fortuitous to attend. That must mean his first Sponsor was here amongst the few dozen mourners. Perhaps his second Sponsor, too.

The haunting of the Dark Lord's followers wasn't off-putting. It enraged him. 

Having regained her earlier discomposure, a witch announced, "My son may have passed, but I am—and always will be—a mother. I am keenly aware of the youngsters in today's society who have parents unsupportive of their children's hopes, fears and ambitions. Children filled with dread at ever saying the wrong thing.

"My son must have been treated, at times, as some kind of outcast child. Yet, he was the joy of our family, the pride and the hope of our lives. I am proud of him. And so is his father."

A trembling man standing next to her nodded.

"As you can tell from my being here today, this has not been an easy walk, but Roger's way was paved with his approval by his parents, the support from you all who have gathered here in grief, and the love and the prayers of friends. 

"When I sat down to write this, I realised that even though I was doing something that very few people had done before, I was still very much in the minority. A mother, supporting his son, in opposition to the Ministry and terrorism in all its forms. I believe that in the many facets of life, those who follow the crowd and don't stand up for magic are responsible for a majority of the world's violence. I thought about that for a long time, and I would feel that I had failed myself and my son by not doing more to stop it.

"And so: I will be your mother. We will provide shelter."

She clutched at the man's wrist and he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.

"It matters not who your parents are, or where you come from, you are all precious." The couple were aged enough to be everyone's parents. "This organisation is one family. And we must unite. Shoulder to shoulder. Now, more than ever before, we must find solace and the bosom of familial comfort in each other's homes and hearts."

She adjusted a fox fur stole around her neck and recited a poem. After the first few words, Severus stopped listening until the first wizard spoke again.

"And now, we shall stand, for a minute of reflective silence in remembrance of all of our fallen brothers- and sisters-in-arms."

Though they were hunted, Severus was undaunted. One either joined the winning side, or lost.

Once the minute was up, Severus copied everyone in raising their wands to the ceiling, and silently shot bronze and purple sparks into the air. 

The crowd milled through the side doors into a great pillared ballroom, resplendent with golden curtains and a balcony of mournful violinists. Golden friezes glittered below the architrave, and the ceiling panels were edged in delicate silver. The bronze chandeliers made the effect of the whole room nearly palatial. Even the floor was of pale green marble. The walls were of the same hue, and upon a pair of plinths by the doors stood urns, which lent a note of peculiar pathos to the scene.

As Severus entered, he took in the whole effect in an instant. He felt as though he had stepped into a different world. A door from the ballroom opened upon a terrace and he swept past the glass doors. In the centre of the terrace was a marble fountain which was alive with glistening, rainbow-tinted fish. 

The old woman and her husband were in his line of sight and he veered away; he wasn't certain he'd ever met Roger Shaddick.

Severus grabbed a tiny triangular sandwich from a house-elf's tray, and craned his neck, longing for a cup of tea. Stuffing the cheese-and-pickle sandwich into his mouth, he passed an old warlock ranting about tonight's full moon, and approached Lucius, who was muttering to a man with unkempt dark hair and a beard. 

"Here he is," Lucius said with a tight smile. "Severus is starting his final year at Hogwarts next week."

Severus swallowed the remnants of his mouthful as Lucius turned to him and said, "I would like you to meet Rabastan Lestrange."

They shook hands, and Severus picked up a tea from a passing tray. 

Rabastan uncorked a hip flask and tipped a drop into everyone's teacups. A spit of light flashed through the air. The flame was wild and unruly, but it had a strange beauty, like the first deep red rose of summer, and it vanished as quickly as it came.

"I'll fetch my brother," Rabastan said, and disappeared.

"A man of few words," Lucius muttered. "Quite refreshing from the usual small talk. You and he are the only single wizards in the room not wanting to know if Priscilla's engaged to that odious boy."

Severus nodded and sipped his tea, which scalded his tongue, the fiery liquid creeping down his oesophagus, burning as it went. He cleared his throat.

Lucius's sister moved in their circles, but her blonde pin-curls and white furs were nowhere in sight.

"She didn't know Shaddick, then?" Severus asked.

Lucius smirked. "Prissy's gone abroad on ... business."

Severus raised his teacup. "To her health."

Lucius drank to that, then surveyed the ballroom with his cool, grey eyes. "Have you created any new little charms since we last spoke?"

Severus shook his head. Lucius loved new magic almost as much as Severus did. "I find I'm more inspired when at the castle."

A dark-haired man, with a trimmed beard and serious face, wended his way through the crowd towards them holding a plate of buffet food. 

"Ah. Rodolphus," Lucius said.

"My word," the man said, holding out a hand before Severus had a chance to offer his own. "On the whisky already, I see, Severus." He nodded to Severus's smoking teacup, then appraised him.

"Roger's passing was a great loss," Severus said. Then he bit his tongue. Funeral conversations were not one of his skills.

"Mmm," Rodolphus grunted around his sandwich. The glass eyes of the stole around his neck glinted. "So young." He swallowed and continued, "Almost twenty-three. Is it true you can fly without a broom?" 

"It is."

Nobody spoke whilst Rodolphus devoured his second sandwich. Lucius politely looked out at the crowd.

Rodolphus gestured around the ballroom. "And you're sure this is what you want?"

"More than anything."

"You're clearly gifted. But I don't know of your family. They won't hold you back? Or be a... liability?"

Severus gestured to the room with his teacup. "This will be my new family."

Rodolphus's gaze flitted to Lucius, who nodded.

Then Rodolphus looked him up and down again. "Well, well, well. I hope for the sake of your future, you can secure yourself a second Sponsor," he said, before spinning on his heel and leaving.

Severus closed his mouth.

"Is he—?" 

"Your first Sponsor. May I be the first to offer you my congratulations?" Lucius said smoothly, the corners of his mouth curving up into a satisfied smile.

It was as though his insides were filled with air. He could fly!

Lucius's smile was infectious, the last of Severus's apprehensions vanishing with it. He returned it, and felt the grin, freshly forged and full of promise, all the way down to his knees. "Something good has come out of a sombre occasion. I owe you my gratitude for arranging this."

"Quid pro quo."

Before Severus could respond, Rabastan strode up and clapped Severus on the back. "It shan't be long, now, until we welcome you into the fold. I hope you're a better duellist than my brother's late protégé," he said, nodding to the room they'd come from.

Severus's stomach dropped like a stone and he drank deeply from his teacup. The firewhisky made his eyes water, so schooling his face into a neutral expression was easy. Was it normal to replace a dead man? Should he be concerned?

Some strangers engaged Lucius in conversation about his wayward brother Julius and his socialite widow girlfriend Celeste de Witte, and Severus turned his thoughts to more productive lines of enquiry, such as how he'd get his second Sponsor and be admitted to the ranks of the organisation.

Not everyone was like Lucius. Not everyone believed in Severus's potential.

Amongst the motley crew present at the wake were an ancient warlock, a pale sickly man skulking in the corner whom Severus suspected was a vampire, and a Hufflepuff witch who was a few years above him in school.

Handsome and ugly, young and wizened, human and beast, all were welcome here to better this land, to advance the boundaries of magical research, to win a war. His second Sponsor might be in this crowd. Unwilling to push his luck, Severus remained mute at Lucius's side, and resolved to at least wait until Hogwarts to write to him about this.

Not least because he'd used his last roll of parchment for his homework, and couldn't afford an owl.