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The Eye of the Dark Lord


Severus Snape was on the second floor of Hogwarts, well after the night had fallen on Christmas, carrying a parchment that had been sent to him by an owl from Lucius Malfoy. He had his back to the wall and he moved as silently through the dark as though he were made of night, ducking around the coats of arms and carefully counting doorways, trying to be sure that the one he chose would be the right one. Finally, he stopped and raised his wand, consulting the crude sketch Malfoy had done on the parchment. This must be it, he decided, and he took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.

The room was dark. Severus pushed the door closed behind him and raised his wand to illuminate the room. Minerva McGonagall’s office was pristinely neat and organized. The items on her desk were arranged just so. He looked up and spotted the small jar on the fireplace mantel labelled Floo Powder. Careful not to disturb anything in the room as he walked through, Severus reached for the Floo Powder and pulled it down from the shelf before kneeling down before the fireplace. A few burned logs sat, arranged in a little teepee, the bark charred and curling away, revealing the wood within. Severus took the lid from the jar and slipped his fingers in, his hands shaking as he tossed the green powder against the smoldering chars and cinders.

Severus did exactly as Lucius Malfoy had told him to do. He brought to mind the dark corridor and the paintings that lined it, the heavy wooden door that so terrified him, and he imagined that feeling when he stepped into the presence of the Dark Lord - that twisting, awful feeling of being too close to something too dangerous. He thought about the way that old velvet chair smelled, the one the Dark Lord always motioned for him to sit on during their “lessons” and the sound of the cackling fire, the way it flickered and glowed against the walls of the room. That fireplace - that was what he needed to focus on in order for this to work - and he leaned into the green smoke that hissed and cracked in the floo and pressed his face into it.

Every time he used floo powder, Severus half expected to be burned. He waited for the sensation, but it didn’t come. Instead, he blinked his eyes and he found himself staring up into the eyes of the Dark Lord, who was kneeling before him, a snake-like smile upon his face.

“Ah Severus…” he said in that strange, throaty voice of his, “I see you got our little message.” The Dark Lord pressed his fingers together, pleased.

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus replied, sounding an awful lot braver than he felt.

“I am very glad,” the Dark Lord said and he stood up so that Severus had to lean even further into the floo in order to see him. “I have a very special job for you to do and you, my good boy, are the only one whom I trust could do it.”

Despite his fear of the Dark Lord, Severus felt a rush of pride course through his veins. The pride of a wizard so great and so feared was like a natural high and it was addicting, this pleasing the Dark Lord. “What do you need, my Lord?” he asked, “I can do it.” His mother would be so pleased, too, Severus thought of the way she would smile. That’s what we need, Severus, that’s what we Princes need to regain our status! He would restore their wealth and their name yet, just as his mother wanted. He would prove worthy of the title Half Blood Prince and shed the name of Snape forever.

There was nothing he wanted more.

The Dark Lord was several feet away now, and, in the shadows behind him, Severus could see the vague shape of some of the elder Death Eaters, including Abraxus Malfoy and Orion Black, the two men who were closest to Voldemort. He set himself into that nasty velvet chair and Severus saw the undulating shape of the snake, Nagini, moving about the legs of the chair at the Dark Lord’s feet. “I wish for you to spy on Albus Dumbledore,” said the Dark Lord.

Severus hadn’t been expecting that. “Spy on Albus Dumbledore?” asked Severus, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I wish to know when he is and is not at the school, and what he is doing there. I wish to know what sort of riff raff are being allowed through the gates of Hogwarts and what sort of political associations he is making. Especially with this Quidditch Tournament he has organized. The last thing I need is for Albus Dumbledore to be making nice with the Magical American Governing Party. I need to know what is going on at the school at all times and you are to report back to me as frequently as is possible, by floo or by owl or whatever means you have, and tell me what it is that old fool is doing.” Voldemort’s voice had risen in intensity as he spoke until he had practically growled the last sentence or so, slamming his fist on the arm of the chair with a vengeful hatred. “I need you to be the eye of the Dark Lord at Hogwarts. Do you understand?”

Severus nodded. “Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “Sir, how am I supposed to --”

“Severus. Severus, my boy.” Voldemort smiled, a wicked grin turning the corners of his mouth. “Did you not teach me the power of legilimency yourself?”

“Yes sir,” Severus stammered.

The Dark Lord said, “So use it.”

“Yes sir,” Severus said again. But even as he said it, a sort of panic was rising up in him. Use legilimency - against Dumbledore? The Headmaster of Hogwarts? Easily the second most powerful wizard in the world? Severus felt as though he were a pawn - a piece in a game far too complicated for him to understand and maneuver and he felt afraid that he might make a wrong move… and then what? He pictured the violence of a game of wizard chess and winced at the thought of being crushed like one of the pieces.

There was a sound behind him and he jumped and looked over his shoulder.

“Go,” the Dark Lord commanded, “If you are caught here tonight, you are useless to me. Go.”

Severus didn’t need to be told again. He withdrew his head from the floo, knocking into the desk and sending the jar of floo powder to the floor, spilling green dust across the floor with a clatter as the jar. Along with it fell a brass plate of biscuits and a little tea cup. He hurried to his feet. Voices in the hallway paused and he heard footsteps coming toward the door. He spun ‘round, looking for some place to hide, and he spotted a small wardrobe and he dove for it, his heart racing as he leaped inside and pulled the door just-to. He’d gotten inside only just in time.

The door to McGonagall’s office opened and two people walked in, their forms cast in silhouette against the dying fire. Severus breathed so lightly, he was nearly holding his breath, clutching robes around himself to hide, peeping through the slight crack he had left in the door.

“Somebody besides McGonagall has been using McGonagall’s connection to the Floo Network,” said a low woman’s voice. The second figure nodded, turning in the light and Severus recognized in the relief of the flickering flame the face of Derek Bell, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Severus’s eyes turned to the first figure, wondering who it could be that Derek was roaming about the castle with at this small hour. “There can be no good reason why a student would be out of bed, using the Floo Network at this hour… Especially not if they’re going to run away like that. I wonder where he got to? Did you see anyone in the hall?”

The voice sounded quite familiar.

“No one,” Derek replied. “It was too dark.”

The woman knelt down beside the fire and withdrew her wand and started to magick the cookies back into their brass tin. Derek made to kneel to help her, when another sound made them both turn to the doorway. Mrs. Norris’s tail flicked around the frame of the door.

“Damn that cat,” Derek gasped.

The woman looked up. “Go back to your common room. Now.”

“But -”

“Go, now.”

“What if they catch you here?” Derek asked.

“It’s better me than you,” the woman answered. “Go. I’ll be fine. You have much more to lose for being caught in a teacher’s office. Go.”

Derek hesitated but finally turned and ducked out the door, leaving the first figure behind. She continued dutifully to pick up the mess she’d found, using reparo to fix the jar. She’d just gotten to her feet, about to clear up the green floo powder, when the door opened once more and in came the shuffling, rasping of Mr. Filch.

“Well, well, well, what have we here? My how things never change,” Mr. Filch’s voice was rough as ever.

“Good evening, Mr. Filch,” said the woman, and when she turned, at last, Severus could see her face and he gasped in surprise. It was Chriselda Blythe - the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. What was she doing out and about the castle at such hours with a student?

“What’re you doing?” grumbled Filch, looking over the floo powder still strewn across the floor.

“Oh I was just out for a stroll,” she replied, “When I came upon a commotion here in Professor McGonagall’s office and --”

“Ha! A stroll indeed!” barked Filch, interrupting Chriselda Blythe with his mirth. He grinned evilly, “Trying to use the restricted Floo Network, were we?” he rasped.

Chriselda Blythe put her hands on her hips, “If I wanted to use the Network myself, I would do so from my own office, wouldn’t I?” she demanded. “All of the teachers offices have access to the Network.”

Good to know, thought Severus, stowing the information in his mind. Lucius Malfoy had been under the impression that only the Heads of House and the Headmaster himself had access to the network. But if all of the professors had access, well that opened up a much wider set of options for when he needed to report to the Dark Lord. Assuming he was able to get any information to tell him to begin with, of course, he thought with another roll to his stomach.

“Clearly, this was a student’s doing,” Chriselda was saying.

Filch grinned evilly. “Blaming your ill-doing on an ickle student. Of course you are. Always was one to point fingers, weren’t you, Miss. Blythe?”

Chriselda’s face reddened. “That was a long time ago, Mr. Filch, I was a student then myself.”

“Perhaps… though not quite so long as to mean you’ve changed,” Mr. Filch replied. He rubbed his chin. “Yes I do think the Headmaster will be right interested in all of this. Especially since we both know, Miss. Blythe, that this isn’t the first time I’ve caught you out of your quarters after dark this term.”

Chriselda bristled slightly. “I don’t know what it is you are talking about.”

Mr. Filch cackled. “I saw you - you and that boy - sneaking across the grounds. I waited hours in the entrance hall to catch you and if you hadn’t set up that spectacular diversion -- tricking Mrs. Norris into thinking there were students out of bed in the upper wings! -- I would’ve caught you then. Traipsing filthy mud through my clean halls, over my neatly polished floors! I know it was you who done it.” He rubbed his palms together, “And the Headmaster will be most interested to know why.”

Severus would have liked to know why as well, now that it was brought up. What was Chriselda Blythe up to, out of quarters in the night like Filch was saying?

“Come with me,” Mr. Filch said, “I think a visit to the Headmaster is in order.”

Chriselda Blythe looked quite nervous, but she dusted off her robes and took a deep breath and, chin held high, she followed after Mr. Filch, leaving behind the spilled floo powder and the smoldering remains of the fire.

Severus stayed in the wardrobe for some time, giving the pair of them leeway so that he would not be heard emerging from his hiding place. He had been lucky enough not to be caught once, he didn’t fancy giving the chances another go. When he finally climbed out of the wardrobe, he paused to scoop up the powder from the floor onto a bit of parchment he knicked from McGonagall’s desk. He folded it carefully into a little pouch and tucked it into the pocket of his robes. This way, he wouldn’t need to disturb anyone else’s floo powder the next time he had to do this.

Silent as a snake, Severus moved through the dark halls, back through the castle, down into the dungeons and back to his bed in the Slytherin house. It wasn’t until he’d put on his pyjamas and crawled beneath the dark green comforter that he allowed himself to ponder once again the idea of being a spy for the Dark Lord. He hugged his knees to his chest, imagining what it might be like to invade the mind of a wizard like Albus Dumbledore… Would he be able to do it? He wondered, and, if he could, would Albus Dumbledore know he was there?