"Keep moving," one of them growled when Severus slipped a bit and felt gingerly about for a better purchase.

It was most unfortunate that he was still under the influence of the Veritaserum.

"Sod off, Malfoy," he shot back. "And disguising your voice doesn't do a damned bit of good if you insist on wearing that disgusting French cologne. You smell like a poofter."

Lucius Malfoy -- two years his senior, and one of his particular bêtes noirs when they coexisted in Slytherin -- jerked him around and stepped in uncomfortably close.

"You're going to regret that," Malfoy hissed. "We're to put all of you nicely to sleep for the trip back, but this is going to be much more satisfying -- for me."

And Severus felt a breeze against his cheek just before Malfoy's fist connected with the not inconsiderable Snape nose.

The last thing he determined before he hit the ground was to develop a preemptive antidote for Veritaserum.

The Leaving Feast was horrendous -- sitting through the interminable valedictions and the inevitable glorification of Gryffindor House (which, yet again, won the House Cup by virtue of last minute points from Dumbledore); the Leaving Ceremony was so much tripe -- Dumbledore maundering on about Hogwarts being a true home to its students, how it would always welcome them back.

Severus, for one, swore he'd kill himself before that became necessary.

And early the next morning, it was time to go. The dorms were chaotic: Severus had the satisfaction of sneering at all those who hadn't prepared.

He wasn't sneering quite so much on the Express, though. He'd taken the last compartment with Maximus Nott and Andromeda Black, and lost the knut toss for the trolley run; the trolley witch took forever to get to the train's end -- better to go fetch the goods yourself.

He managed, of course, to pass the four people he most particularly did not want to see: Potter, Black, Lupin, and Evans. And Pettigrew, of course, their pet arse-licker.

The boys were deep in discussion of something or other -- undoubtedly already plotting mischief for their next, and last, year at Hogwarts (all except Pettigrew, curled in the corner, gobbling an éclair). Evans was the only one who noticed him, glancing up from her book and then coolly returning to it with no acknowledgment.

He scowled and snapped his head forward and continued down the corridor.

He knew why she'd done it, why he shouldn't take it as a cut: she hadn't wanted the others to notice him. Even she knew it was too much to expect them to behave.

He felt a brief pang of guilt for his outburst during the infamous OWLs incident. She'd never come to his defence again -- but then she'd never snubbed him, either, simply maintained a cool disinterest.

When he returned down the corridor, laden with beverages, the shades had been pulled partway down the compartment windows -- just enough to block the view of passerbys' faces. He knew who had done it, and part of him was grateful.

He was astonished when, a half-hour later as the Express approached the next-to-last station, Nott suddenly rose, pulled his trunk and rucksack from the rack overhead, and mumbled, "You coming or not?"

He scrambled for his shabby luggage and hauled it out of the compartment, struggling to keep up with Nott.

"I knew your cousin Marcus," Nott said without further greeting. "Stupid bugger. Best thing he did was get himself killed."

Severus tended to agree, but kept silent.

"Often happens when a Gryffindor appears in a Slytherin family -- all the idiocy gets concentrated in one spot. I trust you're more intelligent than that, or you wouldn't be here."

"Of course."

"Good. House rules: stay out of trouble, keep my son out of it while you're at it -- that can be a task, I'm sure you already know -- and attend to your new studies, which will begin next week. As long as you do well in that I don't care what you do in your free time -- after you get your Apparition License, at least. I don't care who you fuck as long as it's not one of my daughters -- buggering the House Elves is not appreciated, either -- or what you ingest recreationally when you're not on duty.

"Follow those rules and I'll see that you have a generous stipend to live on at uni. Don't, and you won't. Your other fees will be paid by someone else -- don't ask who -- so you'll still go, but it won't be comfortable. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Your induction is tonight and it'll be late, so I suggest you get some sleep. You're down the hall from Maximus, he'll know which room. We leave at quarter to ten, so be ready."

"Yes, sir. I --"

Nott dismissed him with a curt nod.

"Sir, I -- Thank you. I know you don't have to --"

"Don't assume, Snape," Nott said sharply. "I'm not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. Lord Voldemort asked and I'm delivering, that's all. Although come to think of it, your other option was the Malfoys, and I wouldn't wish that on a dog -- not with your background. The arrogance alone would smother you within the week, not to mention Lucius' little games." He grinned unpleasantly. "Prove yourself over the summer and keep an eye on my son at uni and we'll consider the debt paid, bar one or two little favours further down the line. Now go unpack and rest. An Elf will bring a light supper for you later."

There were, oddly, two women -- he hadn't expected that: the pureblood families didn't keep their females sequestered, but they didn't encourage participation in politics, either. Bellatrix Black he recognized, of course -- she might have been five years ahead of him, but one didn't forget someone that notorious. He wondered why Andromeda wasn't there, but then she'd impressed him as more the brood-mare type, not a political activist.

The other woman was older, quite a bit older than Nott's mother: Severus elbowed Maximus Nott and asked, and Nott mumbled around a mouthful of food, "Umbridge's wife, a foreigner. Umbridge is Deputy Director of MLE."

But as for the Inductees... there simply weren't that many, if the looks of excitement and apprehension on their faces were any indication. (Chambers, Severus noted with disgust and superiority, was not among them.) Perhaps eight in all including himself and Nott, and another Slytherin, Quayle; two Ravenclaws, Farquhar and Bunting; a Gryffindor, Alex Wilkins; and, surprisingly, two Hufflepuffs whose names he couldn't recall (any Hufflepuff not on the Quidditch team wasn't worth remembering, and even that was a stretch).

Snape pushed the salmon about his plate, his stomach twisting in knots, and not a little irritated at the ritual symbolism represented by the feast (Hah. Salmon of Knowledge, my arse). He wanted this over with; he wanted it done. He could really care less about the politics involved. He simply wanted to get through the summer and get to bloody university.

Eventually the tables were cleared: with no fanfare the doors at the end of the Hall opened, and a tall, reed-thin man entered. Every man jumped to his feet, the newest members awkwardly struggling to process and emulate the protocol.

Severus had seen the man's pictures in the Prophet, of course: Lord Voldemort, leader of the minority Isolationist Party, a splinter group of the Conservative Wing of the Government.

But the pictures didn't quite capture the aura of the man, the force of his actual presence -- immense power and dignity. He cut a fine figure, his handsome features slightly careworn, as befitted the man who had led and fought for the minority in the Conservative Wing for over ten years.

He moved down the aisle accepting hushed accolades, occasionally stopping to speak with someone or other -- notably Lord Malfoy, behind whom Lucius stood and smirked; Bellatrix Black practically threw herself at Voldemort's feet, much to Severus' disgust, but the man merely smiled and laid a gentle hand on her cheek.

It took a good fifteen minutes, but Voldemort finally ascended the dais and wordlessly bade the assembly to sit.

He paused before speaking, searching the group, his eyes lingering on the new faces -- Severus merited no special attention, but he was unnerved nonetheless -- and then Voldemort shook his head ever so slightly in dismay and murmured, "So few. So few."

The older wizards in the Hall shifted uncomfortably: Voldemort neither acknowledged nor accused them for the poor turnout, but quietly composed himself before continuing, without notes and apparently improvising.

"We meet tonight, as we have every year for the last decade, to welcome our newest members into the Party."

His voice was extraordinary: soft velvet over steel, and Severus shivered at the sound and wriggled forward a bit in his chair. Voldemort's reputation as a mesmerising orator promised to prove true.

"Tonight," he continued, addressing the Inductees directly, "you join a party with a long and venerable heritage in our kingdom's history. As you know -- were you paying attention in Professor Binns' class, and few of us will fault you if you weren't -- the Isolationist Party, or the Conservative Wing as we now know it, was officially recognized in 1532, and became the Majority in 1642 after a hundred-year struggle for recognition. The advances of 1642," he said, smiling, "were of course tied directly to the instability of the Muggle World and of the English Crown, which admirably proved our forebears' belief in the necessity of isolation. The 1692 International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was their greatest contribution -- a bit late for our colonial cousins, perhaps --" (another thin-lipped smile), "-- but then they have ever chosen their own path, with disastrous results."

The Elders chuckled at the folly of the Americans, who'd learned the value of the isolationist credo the hard way.

"That, too -- the wanton murder of our kin -- proved how fragile are the threads of Fate on which our survival depends," Voldemort continued as the laughter died down. "At the time, our World quite sensibly recognized this, and the Conservative isolationist view was unchallenged for centuries -- until Grindelwald. You, our children, cannot remember that time of course -- but I can, and your grandfathers. We remember the atrocities committed in his name and in those of his Muggle allies. I do not debate that those atrocities were horrific things -- the tremendous loss of human life, and the cruelty with which it was carried out. What I refute," he said distinctly, "is the ability and the responsibility of the Wizarding World to solve those problems. We did our part: we stood fast against Grindelwald when the rest of Wizarding Europe had crumpled under his heel.

"But that time also proved that our existence as a separate entity was once again threatened by the larger world. The scientific and technological advances that the Muggle war produced came close to revealing us to the world. Only the immediate action of our most brilliant researchers succeeded in deflecting Muggle attention from us."

Severus fancied that Voldemort's eyes lingered on him for a split second longer than the rest, and in his mind a small seed of doubt took root. He'd always supposed Father had simply been a failed academic -- but was there more to the story than that?

But Voldemort's eyes had moved on.

"I can state definitively that the Ministry since that time -- and until recently -- worked tirelessly to keep up with Muggle encroachments into our world. It was a constant struggle, an unceasing challenge, but one necessary for our survival.

"Salazar Slytherin recognised the threat that coexistence posed long before the witch hunts decimated Europe and Scotland, long before Salem. His foresight in founding Hogwarts, in centralising education, minimised the effects of the frenzy in England and protected many of our forebears. Yet his counsel was rejected by the other Founders: his philosophies are, today, neglected. Our government so lost its focus and dedication as to contemplate cooperation -- not merely sub rosa aid, but actual cooperation -- with the British Muggle government at a time when our own society was imperiled by Grindelwald! And the man who urged that cooperation -- who nearly achieved it -- is, today, considered a hero. You know him," Voldemort gently informed the inductees, "as Headmaster Dumbledore.

"The Prime Minister at the time was a wise man, however, and refused to take so momentous a step -- the deliberate unveiling of our world -- at a time of such upheaval and destruction: but the current administration, while claiming to uphold the Conservative values, has in fact embraced the Moderate view which arose during the time of Grindelwald. I am told that the current Prime Minister is on good collegial terms with his Muggle counterpart: has not only informed him of our existence, but shown him our world. How long, I ask you, will this information remain unexploited? How long before it becomes expedient for Muggle politicians to use the fact of our existence as a weapon to force our compliance in whatever they wish? And the Majority opinion is that we should allow this infection to fester for an undetermined length of time on the grounds of 'peaceful co-existence on a limited basis.'

"The Moderates cite practical reasons: the cost of maintaining the barriers that protect us. The resources 'wasted' in the constant research and planning required to keep a step ahead of Muggle innovations. The lack of understanding that separates us from our less-skilled 'cousins,' that divides us from the rest of humanity. But I ask you --" he said intently, leaning forward, "-- did the Muggles try to understand us as individuals or a society when we were revealed to them, or did they behave like savages? Did our humanity concern them when they killed countless witches and wizards by flame and water -- when they even descended into such madness as to accuse their own folk and condemn them to the same gruesome fates, simply because those poor individuals retained some of the wisdom and the more practical skills we had previously shared? Did they not use us as an excuse to persecute even more innocents because of greed and jealousy? I defy you to stand in the Hall of Martyrs in the Ministry -- that long wall listing the names of the dead, of Muggle as well as Wizard -- and claim otherwise.

"I for one cannot put my faith in the so-called 'enlightenment' of the Muggle World. For all their faith in their science and their 'advanced' technology, they are at heart the same as their ancestors -- ruled by fear, not reason: persecuting those who are different or who refuse to conform to their standard of 'normality.' They have never been willing to accept that the world is far more fantastic and diverse than their own limited understanding can comprehend, and thus they must denigrate, demean, demonify -- and ultimately attempt to destroy that which they fear. And my proof for their continued fear and irrationality? Simply look at their own recent history: at wars conducted for greed, for religious differences, for intolerance of 'otherness.' Even the great Democratic Experiment of the United States -- which many of our kindred not only participated in, but for which they shed their blood -- is fatally flawed because of their lust for power and their disrespect for peoples not of their creed, their status, their ethcnicity.

"We have tried to impress upon the Majority our fears, and we have been rebuffed. We have failed. I have failed you in this -- No, it is true," he said firmly over cries of those who tried to refute the statement. "I have tried for ten years to warn of the consequences of such a rash course, and for my pains I have been asked by the Council, this very evening before joining you, to resign my position as Head of the Isolationist Party due to my opposition to the continued employment of Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster of Hogwarts School."

Many of the Elders rose from their seats amid cries of "No!" and "Shame!": Voldemort had to shout above the hubbub, "Yes, they have even descended to an attempt to ouster your elected leader, a petty and vindictive act to which I have refused to accede."

That caused an even greater uproar as outrage turned to cheers and applause, which Voldemort had to quell with an upraised hand.

"What is it that they fear so greatly? Why am I now considered a threat to the government?" he continued when order had been restored. "What could cause such dissent among a government as to inspire forced resignations? And why, you ask me, is the appointment of a glorified schoolmaster such a bother? Why not yield on the matter?

"Because the secrecy of our existence has always been imperiled most from within. It depends most not upon the deliberate action of some foolish political pundit, but on carelessness and even innocence. It hangs upon the word of a child. One unthinking word from a Muggleborn child or from their parents, and we are endangered: we are, quite possibly, undone.

"I will not dispute that Albus Dumbledore is a great hero, the most powerful wizard of his time: but his time is past. And instead of encouraging this aged, revered hero to take his well-earned rest, the current government asked him -- nay, begged him -- to take the responsibility of teaching our children, and to that end he has instituted 'reforms.'

"The Elders among you remember him as a wise and fair teacher. But as Headmaster his agenda is clear and unwise: homogeneity. The obliteration of unique identity and pride of heritage. You see here," Voldemort said, and swept his hand through the air toward the inductees, "the most vibrant flowers of the pureblood families --"

Severus and Maximus squirmed at the unfortunate choice of flowers -- it made them feel like pansies.

"-- our best and brightest. Yet there are so few here. This is the fruit of Dumbledore's efforts: these few are the only brave souls who dare to take a stand for the Right.

"And why? Because Dumbledore's reforms break from the old traditions. Ask these young ones," Voldemort demanded. "Ask your sons how their lives were ordered under Dumbledore's influence. No longer are the Houses valued for their unique qualities; no longer are they taught within their own Houses, with those of their own background. They are forced to compete, on an hourly basis, with all the rest -- no matter their heritage, no matter the incompatibilities that are thus forced upon them -- Gryffindor and Slytherin thrown together, often with disastrous results: pureblood and Muggleborn blood encouraged to overlook their differences, despite the threat that the latter poses to the former, and despite the subsequent degradation of the curriculum because teachers must teach to the lowest level of understanding -- those who have no prior background in or knowledge of our world, who cannot possibly understand the importance of discretion and circumspection. No longer is excellence rewarded purely and solely for merit, no, points are awarded for 'bravery' and 'wisdom' and 'cooperation' -- purely subjective and arbitrary decisions of the Headmaster's whim and will. The old distinctions are only observed on the Quidditch Pitch -- and why, in Merlin's name? -- Because it makes for a better game.

"But these are simply childish things, you say. These are silly, inconsequential schoolday trifles. I disagree.

"Rowena Ravenclaw said 'Thou shalt place a child's feet upon the proper path, and suffer him not to stray from it: for the child maketh the man.' Yet we have entrusted our children, from the age of eleven on, to a man neither respects those words nor heeds them. Nor does he respect our wishes to have them raised with the traditional values that are vital for our continued survival. He has, most insidiously, undermined those values -- by attempting to subvert the minds of our future generations, and our government ignores our pleas in this as well -- gives him free rein to do - as - he - sees - fit."

"We cannot allow this to continue. For too long we have struggled to work within the Conservative Wing -- with reason, with diplomacy, with the unassailable rightness and wisdom of our ancestors as our guide; and still the Majority denies us a voice in our own governance, relegates us to the scrap heap of history. We are anachronisms, they tell us. It is not practical in this day and age, they say. It will offend, they whine.

"I have come to the conclusion that while we have failed to achieve our goal through the accepted channels, we are not in the wrong. It is our methods that are wanting, not our beliefs.

"Well, no more. If they will not listen to reason, then it is time for stronger measures. To win the war without -- to assure the protection and survival of our society -- we must fight the war within. To declare, in terms so clear as to be unmistakable, that we cannot be ignored, that we will fight to the last breath for our beliefs and our kind.

"One of our oldest and greatest families, the ancient bloodline of Nigellus, bears a motto I have long admired and which I propose to take as our own. It shall be our lodestone; our guiding star, if you will -- for dedication to the sentiment it expresses is the only way to maintain our resolve through the opposition we will face. From this night forward, let our motto be, 'Toujours pur.'"

Severus rather thought that the resultant din in the Hall could be heard all the way to the Ministry, no matter where the Hall actually was.

"Bow when you enter, and stay at the door until he asks you to come forward," Nott hissed in his ear. "Remember to address him as 'my Lord.'"

That was ridiculous, of course -- Severus knew damned well that the titles had no real meaning in the Wizarding World apart from signalling an archaic connection to the old Muggle nobility. But after that speech, and seeing what he had to gain by accepting this man.... Well, he'd call him Lord, Master, and Savior, if that's what it took.

Severus nodded and shook off Nott's hand, and slipped into the room.

It was very dark -- purposely so -- with a few candles artfully placed so as to catch the Inductees in their glow but leave the two other occupants mostly in darkness. Voldemort sat in a great chair halfway down the room, a candlelabrum on a side table illuminated only half his face: the other half remained in shadow, a chiaroscuro enigma. The second man stood well back in the shadows, behind the chair.

"Severus Snape, my Lord," the stranger said, and Severus belatedly made his bow.

"Ah. Come a bit nearer, lad, where I can see you," Voldemort said quietly, and a slender, graceful hand beckoned Severus closer. "Kneel here, so I can see your face."

Severus did so, feeling extremely silly.

"The Snapes are an old and venerable family, ranked nearly as high as Nigellus," Voldemort said. "I am most pleased that you have joined us. The last of your line, are you not?"

"There is Matthew, my Lord --"

"Who has chosen against us. Matthew has no part in our future, Severus -- in that of the Organisation, or in the world we will create. So you are, in a very real sense, an orphan. Like myself."

Voldemort smiled, quite kindly, and said idly to the man behind him, "Yes, Justinian, I think you are quite right about this one. Did you note how he pricked up his ears when I mentioned the warding advances?"

"I did, my Lord," said the stranger, and stepped forward; Severus was finally able to put a voice to a face, and realised Voldemort's right-hand man was the same who had recruited him -- Justinian Malfoy, Lucius' father.

Severus repressed a shudder. He assumed the son was a reflection of the father, and he resolved to follow Nott Senior's house rules to the letter.

"It's quite true, you know," Voldemort continued soberly. "You father was the chief researcher for the Office of Wards and Unplottable Charms during the war: the Ministry's own were so incompetent at the time that they recruited many academics.... You didn't know?"

"No," Severus said around the lump in his throat. "He'd never talk about the war."

"Ah, yes, of course. He was constrained, you see -- the Department of Mysteries requires all its researchers to take a binding oath of secrecy. Why they don't simply Obliviate such people when they've exhausted their usefulness I'll never know...." He sighed. "I understand that your father was given a Time-Turner and fulfilled both his duties brilliantly -- obviously, or we should not, I think, be having this conversation.

"It is also," he said more viciously, "perhaps why he ended as he did -- the stress of the job to begin with, and his treatment after. To have driven oneself to the point of breakdown, and then receive no recognition -- not even a general honour after the war -- and to be accorded no pension or share of the profits on the patents.... For he didn't, you know. Those patents went to the Ministry, and they still pocket the profits of your father's brilliance. I think that is at least partly to blame for his condition by the time you knew him, and for the state you find yourself in today."

Severus was frozen on the spot, horrified, and struggled not to lose it in front of the two men.

"A great pity," Malfoy murmured. "I had him myself at university. You could see even then how brilliant he must have been. Once."

"Quite," Voldemort said with a sigh. "But enough -- what's past is past, and we are concerned with the future, in which, Severus, I suspect you will play a significant role. Have you settled in with Nott? Are the arrangements satisfactory?"

Severus swallowed and said "Yes, my Lord."

"Good. I confess I take rather more interest in you than usual. I have a soft spot for those who, unlike Lucius and Maximus, do not have the advantage of a father to protect and guide them." He smiled again and leaned forward. "Are you ready to proceed, then?"

Severus nodded, bewildered.

"Turn your shirtcuff back, Snape," Malfoy said sharply. "--No, the left, the left --"

Severus fumbled with his cuff, embarrassed with its shabbiness, and finally managed to pull his sleeve back; Voldemort leaned even further forward to hold his wrist -- Severus could see his face perfectly clearly now, and the deep, darkly-lashed grey eyes -- and suddenly grasped Severus' chin with his other hand and stared even more intently into his eyes --

It wasn't bad at all, at first, a gentle probing around the edges of his consciousness -- but something caught the intruder's interest and that alien awareness suddenly pushed through his mental barriers and began a systematic rifling through his memory, discarding some images and incidents with a mere glance, and others -- all too often the most humiliating of Severus' short life -- held up to light and examined in excruciating detail, discovering all his secrets, his passions, hates, grudges, shames -- all of it, and he was powerless to stop it.

Vodemort loosed Severus' chin and the boy fell backward, the hand on his wrist still keeping a connection between them.

Legilimency, Severus thought stupidly, still reeling from the intrusion. The bast-- and I was the bloody best in the Form in Occlumency --

"Now I know you fully, Severus," Voldemort said. "I can be confident in you, and I know what Mark will suit you best, now."

He shifted to hold Severus' wrist with his left hand and reached for his wand, lying on the table beside the chair.

"Did Nott neglect to tell you about the Mark? But you only arrived in his care today, I suppose there was no time. This shall, of necessity, hurt a bit," he said calmly, "but the ache will subside in a few days, and the Mark will fade over time until it seems a slight roughening of the skin. But when you are called to a meeting it will itch, and you may use it as a kind of Portkey."

Severus bit back a question -- nobody had said anything about a bloody Mark -- and he wasn't thrilled with the idea of pain.

On the other hand, he simply wanted this over, now. Preferably without making a fool of himself or further exposing his ignorance.

Voldemort laughed. "No, boy, it won't hurt as it shall at its creation --"

Bloody hell, can he still read --

"-- for there are certain magics involved which require the pain, but in the calling it will ache a bit, no more. That is at the discretion of the Caller, and I shan't have reason to cause you pain, shall I?"

Severus shook his head, and gritted his teeth. This was not going to be pleasant.

Voldemort jerked his head, and at the signal Malfoy moved behind Severus and prodded him to rise to his knees, then planted both hands on Severus' shoulders and wedged a knee snugly behind his back.

"And since you are adept at runes, or so Justinian tells me, as I create the Mark I want you to tell us what they mean. Feel free to elucidate, Justinian," Voldemort said idly, and applied his wand to the pale, smooth flesh of Severus' left forearm.

And then he began chanting -- not in Latin, but in an ancient Nordic tongue; the skin of Severus' arm began to ache and heat up, the warmth spreading downward and soon becoming an uncomfortable burn.

The worst pain happened as Voldemort drew the first symbol -- a jagged, three-legged rune like a crude "S," that felt as if it were being carved into the very bone -- and Malfoy prodded Severus in the back.

"Eihwaz," he gasped, trying not to whimper in the breaths between each word. "Initiation and -- and transformation...."

"And Death, boy," Malfoy added. "Don't forget the negative aspects."

"--And Death," Severus gasped, and Voldemort smiled in the midst of his chanting and proceeded to the next rune.

"Thurisaz," Severus blurted out, and bit his tongue against the pain. "Discipline."

"To whom, boy?" Malfoy demanded.

"To self, to others... to the Caller, presumably --"

"That most of all," Malfoy said. "Self-abnegation to the will of the Master."

Voldemort had already moved on to the next rune -- a northward-pointing arrow.

"T- Teiwaz," the boy stuttered, and blinked at the sweat running into his eyes. "Duty, courage, the w- warrior path."

"Dedication to the cause," Malfoy said. "Fearlessness in the face of the enemy. Willingness to sacrifice self for others."

Voldemort concluded the marking: there was a final, brief burst of power that was both horrible and enticing, and then he let go of Severus' arm as Malfoy moved away abruptly, sending him sprawling.

Dark Magics, Severus thought dully even as the reptilian part of his brain screamed at him to quit rationalising and to run as far away as possible. Why would he --

"Welcome, Severus Snape," Voldemort said softly. "Welcome to the Organisation. I expect great things from you, in time, and know you will not disappoint me."

The meeting was apparently over.

Malfoy jerked him to his feet and moved him to the door, shoving him back through it to the waiting Nott Senior.

"Didn't disgrace yourself, did you?" Nott growled as he steered Severus to another side room.

"No," Severus gasped, and cried out as the fabric of his shirt-cuff brushed the Mark.

"For the gods' sake, boy, get hold of yourself!" Nott hissed. "If you think that's bad, wait until you start your studies next week."

He shoved Severus down on a spindly-legged chair.

"Wait here -- Maximus is next, and I'll be damned if I make two extra Apparitions just because you're feeling poorly." And with that Nott shut the door and hurried back in the direction of the Hall, his heels clicking on the stone.

Severus stared at the livid Mark. His forearm was swelling at the outrage, the bone aching as if he'd broken it, and there was an insidious tingling spreading throughout his body: he wondered if it were shock or the Dark Magic winding its way through his blood. Tainting him.

But the Dark Arts are forbidden, he thought. Why would a respected politician need to use them for an induction, for Merlin's sake?

Pain-induced adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and Severus' stomach was beginning to roil in a distressingly familiar manner. He had to get to the loo, fast. He tried the door to his left, the one Nott had shoved him through -- warded; he stumbled across the room to another, but it was also warded, and in his current condition he couldn't manage a simple Alohamora, let alone ward-breaking. He'd run out of options, and his stomach had had enough.

He staggered to the corner and was violently and ignominiously sick in a potted aspidistra, risking the vicious fangs of this particular plant. (He wasn't the first, apparently -- others had obviously used the same tactic, which perhaps explained this usually-feisty variety's rather feeble efforts to bite him.)

The lady of the manor (whoever she was) would not be pleased that her pet carnivore would likely be dead in the morning; and Severus vaguely wondered what Professor Sprout might say about the merits of puke as an herbicide.