Right in Front of Me (Book 1) by ShabbyBeachNest

Snape almost asphyxiated himself on the soft fruit, accidentally inhaling it down into his lungs. His eyes watered as he choked and coughed through his shock.

“You alright?” Lily asked, looking alarmed.

No. I am most definitely NOT alright!

“Fine…” he gasped.

How was this possible? How did she never receive a Hogwarts letter? How did the Weasleys not know about her?

“Here,” she said, still sounding a bit anxious as she quickly pulled a plastic water bottle from her purse and handed it to him. “Drink.”

He tipped the bottle to his lips, his airway finally beginning to clear. Taking a few gulps, he tried to hand the bottle back to her, but her eyes were no longer on him. Instead, he found her gaze fastened to the scars on his forearm, which he’d unintentionally just revealed.

Immediately pulling his arm away to shake his sleeve down, Lily said softly, “You’re not hiding anything I haven’t already seen.” Snape went still. He supposed that was true, but had been so wrapped up in everything that had gone on, he hadn’t considered that fact until this very moment. And if he was completely honest with himself, although he knew she’d already seen his scars, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her looking at them now.

As if sensing Snape’s uncertainty, Lily reached forward and gently grasped his hand. Her eyes flicked back to his, trapping him, not allowing retreat.

“May I?” she asked quietly.

A very large part of Snape wanted to rip his arm away from her tender grasp, scream at her, call her a stupid, naïve little idiot, show her what kind of man he truly was so that she’d back away and never want to lay eyes on him again.

But something kept him still, as still as a deer looking down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. And in that moment he couldn’t tell if he was the hunter or the deer…

He nodded slowly.

Slowly, Lily turned his hand and placed it palm-up within her own. Gently pushing his sleeve back to the crease of his elbow, her small fingertips lightly traced the many crisscrossing scars. She stared down at them a long time, as if memorizing their paths, trying to decipher the story behind each one.

Then, with an acceptance and understanding he’d only ever known from one other in his life, she raised his arm and placed a tender kiss on the inside of his wrist.

His breath caught in his throat. They watched each other for a long moment, her thumb gently grazing the place where her lips had been.

“You are a good man, Severus Snape.”

Snape had always prided himself on his ability to cut down those around him with mere words. It helped keep people at bay, always giving him the control he so desperately needed. But for the first time in his miserable, pathetic life, Snape was completely at a loss for words. It terrified him.

A sudden burning erupted on his left arm, and he hissed at the unexpected pain. The Dark Mark was scorching in its unanticipated intensity.

Voldemort was calling. And he was angry.

“I must go,” Snape said, jumping to his feet.

“Why?”

“I just… have to go.” He looked around, intending to find somewhere deserted that he could apparate, but turned back to her at the last moment. “Lily…” he said urgently, “Go home. It’s not safe.”

“What are you talking about? What’s wrong?” Her eyes were wide and anxious.

“Please Lily, just listen to me. Get Jillian and go home.”

He waited until she gave a jerky nod.

And with that he raced to find a hidden place so that he could apparate to the Dark Lord’s side.

He landed in the entranceway to Spinner’s End already running toward the stairs. Taking them three at a time, he rushed into his old bedroom and threw Harry’s trunk haphazardly onto the floor, using a wordless charm to enlarge it as it flew through the air. It landed at the foot of the bed with a large thud.
I would be as good as dead if they found that on me, he thought, spinning on his heel and hurrying into his own bedroom. He threw his Death Eater robes over his white button down and grabbed the hated mask, desperately trying to calm himself so he would be able to Occlude in the Dark Lord’s presence. Not bothering to return downstairs, he apparated directly to the gates of Malfoy Manner.

The sun was gone when arrived at his destination, swallowed up by a thick, unnatural grey carpet of fog. An unearthly cold settled into his bones, and Snape knew there were dementors somewhere nearby. An albino peacock followed his movements from high on a trimmed hedge as he hurried up the gravel driveway and made his salute, passing through the wrought iron gates as if they were naught but wisps of smoke. As he did so, he slipped the Death Eater’s mask over his blank face.

A large manor house suddenly appeared out of the gloom, the elaborate candelabras on the front stoop flickering eerie orange patterns onto the heavy wooden doors. Gravel cracked under his feet as he made his way toward the manor house, and as he climbed the stairs to the entrance three at a time, the intricately carved doors swung open to admit him.

The dimly lit entrance hall was huge, larger than his entire sitting room, and covered in a thick, plush carpet that padded his hasty footsteps. Reaching the door at the far end of the hall, his hand hovered over the brass knob for the space of a heartbeat, allowing Snape to slow his breathing and shut down his emotions, locking his memories deep behind the vault of his cold, deadened gaze.

He turned the handle, admitting himself quietly to the high ceilinged drawing room. The furniture had been banished, leaving only the highly polished wooden floors reflecting the flames in the enormous fireplace at the end of the room. The Dark Lord had his back turned to the semi-circle of Death Eaters surrounding him.

Snape took his allocated place among the others, noticing without any emotion that he was not the last to arrive. That unfortunate honor fell to Amycus and Alecto Carrow, who hurried into the drawing room together not long after Snape, their footsteps echoing like thunder in the quiet. Before they could take their places within the circle, a cold, high voice rang out over the room.

“Amycus… Alecto… I find myself disappointed at your lack of urgency to join my side when I call.” Back still to the assembled group, Snape saw the Dark Lord reach into his robe and remove his wand as he spoke.

“I’m… I’m sorry, My Lord!” Amycus stammered in obvious terror. “We were—”

“Silence.” The Dark Lord’s snake-like voice echoed through the cold room, bouncing in unnatural echoes off the ceiling and dark corners. Amycus and Alecto stood frozen in place, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe.

The moment lengthened unendingly, and Alecto seemed to think this was a good sign. “Go!” she whispered harshly to her brother, trying to push him into their allotted places.

But in a swirl of black robes, the Dark Lord spun on the spot and cried, “Crucio!” The siblings crumpled instantly to the floor, screaming and writing in agony, their limbs twisting and jerking uncontrollably.

The rest of the Death Eaters gleefully looked on, enjoying the torture almost as much as their lord, almost smiling in relief beneath their masks that it was not they themselves that were at his mercy.

But Snape never took his gaze from the Dark Lord.

As suddenly as it began, the Dark Lord ended it. He stared down at the crumpled siblings moaning softly at his feet, caressing his wand as if it were a lover. “I hope that will sufficiently remind you not to delay the next time.”

Stumbling to their feet, Alecto murmured, “Y-Yes, My Lord. Thank you for the reminder.” Abandoning her brother on the floor, she hurried quickly to her space. The Dark Lord stared silently, mercilessly down at Amycus, until the man was finally able to rise on his own and take his place next to his sister.

His snakelike gaze scanned the group, anger radiating from him in palpable waves as he considered his most loyal disciples. He continued to stroke his wand, and the gesture was unquestionably threatening. His slit-like eyes narrowed even further, and the tension in the room was tangible as his followers tensed under his scrutiny.

“Harry Potter has gone missing,” he murmured severely. “The boy who has so eagerly plotted my demise, who has proven to be a continual thorn in my side, is nowhere to be found. And you – my most fervent supporters, who claim to want nothing more than my ascension to power – don’t seem to care.”

The assembled Death Eaters quivered like rats trapped by a rabid wolf.

“I think that a lesson in loyalty is in order. Lucius, step forward.”

Snape watched the man creep toward the Dark Lord out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy’s shoulders were straight and proud, but there was a slight tremble to his body.

“My Lord,” he said, dropping to one knee.

“Was it not you that assured me the boy was almost within our grasp? That he would be ours before he even had a chance to realize he was being hunted?”

Malfoy’s adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed hard, looking up at the Dark Lord.

“Yes, My Lord,” he stated, trying desperately to speak in confident tones. But his voice came out in a hushed, terrified whisper. They stared at each other for a long, horrifying moment. Malfoy’s hands fisted at his sides as he tried to control his trembling.

“Faciem Sectis,” the Dark Lord suddenly hissed, slicing his wand through the air as if he were wielding a knife. A scream burst from Malfoy as his hand went to his face, blood pouring beneath his palm and onto the front of his ropes. The man whimpered in agony.

“Remove your hand!” the Dark Lord commanded, and Malfoy had no choice but to do as he was told. Pulling his hand away, there was an audible gasp from some of the assembled. The entire right side of Malfoy’s face had a deep gash that ran from up into his scalp, down his eye, and ending at his jaw. The wound was so deep that his eye was visibly cut in two, and Snape could see his teeth, gums, and tongue as he panted in pain.

“I do not respond well to lies, Lucius. I can only hope that scarring the face you take such pride in will remind you to never lie to me again. Now remove yourself from my presence,” he said dismissively.

Malfoy rose unsteadily to his feet, staggering to the door. But he froze when the Dark Lord called out, “I did not grant you permission to leave, Lucius! Get back to your place! And put on your mask!”

Malfoy was not even trying to hide his trembling any longer. Or perhaps it was impossible to do so. The pain of the heavy metal mask against his mangled face must have been immeasurable.

The Dark Lord continued, his voice menacing. “You should be proud, Lucius. It was your son that provided the information that allowed me to welcome our next guest. Be sure to thank him later – he is the only reason you are not dead.” He paused, studying the blood continuing to pour from under the man’s mask. Then he suddenly called out, “Wormtail, fetch our visitor so that she may be introduced.”

The man jumped out of line as if he had been whipped. The only sound in the room for long moments was the crackle and snap of the logs in the fire.

Suddenly Wormtail reappeared, dragging a young girl who seemed to have a difficult time walking. She was whimpering in pain, hunched over as Wormtail pushed her forcibly forward. Snape did not recognize her until Wormtail shoved her with such force that she fell forward, landing directly at the Dark Lord’s feet.

Parvarti Patil.

She whimpered on the floor. “Please,” she begged, “no more. I don’t know anything! Please…” She raised her eyes in terror, and for the first time Snape saw the extent of her injuries. Her face was swollen and bruised, multiple cuts still dripping blood. The girl had obviously been badly beaten.

The Dark Lord stood glaring down at her. “Tut tut, girl. Is that any way to greet your betters?” The girl only continued to whimper in pain, and he murmured, “Just tell me what I want to know, and it will end.”

“I swear, I don’t know anything!” she cried, tears beginning to stream down her face beneath her swollen and blackened lids.

“I think you do,” the Dark Lord said in a voice that was almost a caress. “I have been informed that two years ago you attended the Yule Ball with Harry Potter – you are housemates, even in the same year. I believe you know much more than you are willing to admit…”

The girl broke, her hands clasped before her as she beseechingly bowed at his feet. “Please, please, I don’t know him very well! We’re not friends. He barely even talks to me. Her-Hermione Granger and Ron Weas-Ron Weasley, they’re his f-friends! They will know where he is!”

“Perhaps you need a bit more persuasion to loosen your tongue!” The Dark Lord hissed, his eyes glowing red as they narrowed at the girl below him. Snape felt the cold hand of guilt beginning to squeeze his chest. He was having a difficult time keeping his Occlumency shields in place.

Do something! His mind screamed at him. But what? What could he do?

“Take off your shirt,” the Dark Lord spat at Parvarti.

“W-what?!”

“I said take off your shirt!”

Parvarti was openly weeping, trembling so hard that she was having a difficult time complying. She tried desperately to cover herself with her hands as she dropped her shirt beside her.

“Now stand against the wall.”

The girl rose, but fell once again when she tried to take a step. She was forced to crawl the rest of the way, clinging to the wall for support as she stood. Her face and forearms were pressed against the cold stone, her terrified weeping muffled by the knuckles she had stuffed into her mouth.

“Flagellum!” The Dark Lord cried, wielding his wand like a whip. With a loud snap! a lash appeared across Parvarti’s back. The girl shrieked in agony, but the Dark Lord continued in spite – or perhaps because of – her cries.

The girl could no longer stand by the time the Dark Lord stopped, and Snape had lost count of the lashes with bile in his throat.

“Such a pity to waste even a drop of your pure blood, girl,” he muttered, looking down at her bleeding back for a long, thoughtful moment. “It was my intention to kill you this night, but perhaps we can spare you that unfortunate event.” He turned to the gathered Death Eaters. “She will make a fine broodmare for one of my followers. Coming from a pureblood family, she can provide you with unpolluted heirs. Who in my circle shall be rewarded for their loyalty…?” His eyes raked the group before he finally settled on someone.

“Antonin!” he cried, as if Dolohov was about to receive the greatest of gifts. “You bore your years in Azkaban like a true disciple, never wavering in your loyalty to me. Come Antonin, claim your prize,” and he motioned with a sweep of his hand toward the half-naked, bleeding girl sobbing in the corner.

Dolohov stepped forward, bowing at the Dark Lord’s feet with an eager, “Thank you, My Lord! Thank you!”

“Enjoy your time together, Antonin.”

Dolohov rose, walking quickly toward Parvarti. The girl cringed into herself, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to disappear. When Dolohov grabbed her roughly by the arm, she began screeching in terror, trying to fight him off. But in her current state, she was easily overpowered.

“NO! Please! Don’t do this! I swear I don’t know anything! I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!!”

Dolohov dragged her screaming from the room, but her shrieks continued to echo in the entrance hall until they ended with a sudden crack! of apparition.

Snape was unexpectedly glad of the ghastly mask covering his features. He doubted he could keep the look of horror off his face, and the scene he’d just witnessed made his stomach violently roil and churn. If not for his iron will just barely keeping his Occlumency shields contained, he would have retched right there on the floor.

Being beaten so severely made him cringe in horror for the girl. But knowing firsthand the terror that Dolohov was about to inflict on her almost made him lose control.

I should have done something! I should have prevented it!

“Severus,” the Dark Lord said, interrupting his disturbing thoughts. Snape had to forcibly swallow back the bile before he could answer.

“My Lord?”

“You are with the Potter boy on a daily basis, Severus. There must be something you can tell me, something you have learned in your time at the school.”

“No, My Lord,” he said quickly, “I know nothing.”

The Dark Lord sneered, baring his teeth in anger.

“I must admit that I find myself displeased with you, Severus,” he murmured menacingly. “Crucio!”

As the agony ripped through Snape’s body and threw him to the floor, the only thing that penetrated his mind was relief. The pain of the Cruciatus curse was excruciating, making every nerve ending in his body explode in anguish. But it allowed him to shove his torment and guilt down, down, down… until all he could feel was empty numbness.