Strength of a lion

Severus Snape watched Dolohov’s retreating back, that man had spent far to much time under that curse. Or perhaps it was Azkaban, or even a culmination of 25 odd years in the service of a madman. Yes that could drive anyone insane. Looking around at those Deatheaters assembled, some of the oldest and most trusted of Voldemort’s ranks, he couldn’t identify a sane one among them, the only one that came close was Lucius. One had to be insane to put up with there type of work without a union.

So the little mudblood had been captured, no two guesses as to who that was. There were so many mudbloods, but only one truly fit the description as being ‘the mudblood’. He quickly quashed any emotion other than destain for his fellow humans before he turned back to the dark lord.

They were in a meeting discussing the next plans for the war. The dark lord had just started to gloat before he was interrupted by Dolohov. The thin lips already stretched across Voldemort’s skeletal features, stretched further in a smirk. He spread his arms out, including those lower then himself in his masterfully evil plan.
‘Gentleman I have in my possession the mudblood that could just win me this war. Potter will come for his whore, and I shall kill him.’

The Dark Lord was hardly a stupid man, one could also not call him Naïve, he just seemed to forget that the Potter brat was no longer an eleven year old boy. Although Snape himself hardly saw what the boy would be able to do while they had in their possession what passed for his brain.

The meeting ‘council’ consisted of twelve members of the inner circle including Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers, along with several other deatheaters giving status reports on their different efforts in the war.

There was the usual praise for the dark lord on how brilliant his plans were. Everybody knew that if something didn’t go right then it was their fault, blame could hardly be placed at the hand of the dark lord. The meeting was concluded, everyone having been given their orders. There was the usual mudblood attacks to take place, terror and violence one of the dark lord’s main policies. There was also the need to extract all death eater money from gringotts, it was being circulated that the ministry was attempting to cut of all known and suspected deatheater’s funds. This in itself would send many more people to the dark lords side. There were potions and spells, curses and hexes to be created or found that would give the deatheaters the edge.

As Snape made his way out of the Dark Lord’s presence, his black cloak billowing behid him, stalking alone to his own chambers he thought of his current position in the inner circle. Each inner circle deatheater had their own specialities. While their violent tendencies were a common trait among those chosen, it was their skills in their own personal fields that gained them there position. The dark lord had high expectations for all members, nothing but brilliance was accepted, anything less was greatly punished.

Lucius was an expert in the ‘Dark arts’, It had been Lucius who had found the means to the Dark Lord’s ‘immortal’ status. He and the Dark Lord were supposedly the only ones who knew the specifics of the Horocruxes. That information had been highly guarded by both parties. Snape had not divulged the information that he himself knew. Lucius also had political knowledge and the gift of foresight in that area. A true Slytherin he had been able to manipulate to ministry of magic for years to first his Lord’s and then his own agenda. He also provided a lot of the funds to the cause.

Bellatrix Lestrange (nee Black) had been a brilliant tactician, while a fast, resourceful, vicious part of any battle her position was usually by the side of the Dark Lord, standing behind the front lines, helping in the deployment of troops. She had planned out many a successful death eater raid. Although her mind had obviously deteriorated while in Azkaban, the Dark Lord kept her, like his little pet that she was. She was blatantly insane, and her plans and tactics reflected this. They were erratic, crazed, constantly changing, and they worked. They harnessed the element of surprise because no sane person could predict, not even the deatheaters, how she would control her pawns. She was the Dark Lord’s favourite, they both shared a lot of the same characteristics; psychotic tendencies, bloodlust, a deep-seated hatred of anything mudblood.

The Lestrange brothers were a team; Roldophus and Rabastan were the creative pair. They were responsible for the deaths of many through newly invented, revamped, newly found and extremely old curses, hexes and other pieces of magic that were likely to make the blood spill, and the death toll rise. They had been vital to Voldemort’s reign of terror.

Snape himself was a new member to the inner circle. He had been kept out prior due to his spy status. Voldemort was smart enough to control the amount of information he gave away to someone in such a position. Snape had always been well aware of this fact, as had Dumbledore for that matter. Now however that he had killed Dumbledore himself, that and his potion master status was being rewarded by Voldemort, hence his new found status.

Snape reached his room. It was dank and dark inside, very Spartan in design and furnishing. It held a single bed, a desk with a spindly wooden chair, and a small bathroom off from the right wall. For so long Snape had sought power in its all its forms. Growing up abused he had always sought power in order to gain control. Control of others, of himself, of his inner demons, and of course his long dead father. He had reached the point that so many years ago he though would give him such control. He had finally done it, and all it had taken was twenty odd years of servitude to two masters, the scorn and derision from generations of wizards and witches, a teacher’s salary, and the death of one of the greatest wizards of all time.

The mirror above the sink broke as Snape’s fist smashed into it, embedding mirror pieces in his flesh, a trail of blood running down the dirty to sink to the drain. How he hated himself, Voldemort, Deatheaters, Harry bloody Potter, ‘The golden fucking trio’, Dumbledore, and the fucking Blacks (anything associated with that fucking name had only ever brought him pain); Sirius, Bellatrix, Narcissa, Draco; all interlinked, all there to fuck him over.

He was a traitor, regardless if whether he had been forced into it or not, he was a traitor, and without Dumbledore there, he would always be a traitor. He could no longer do anything to help defeat Voldemort, he was now ‘officially’ on his side. He was fucked, and he knew it.

He looked down at his bloody hand, flexing it, feeling the shards dig in deeper. The blood trails were fascinating. Donovan had said he had the mudblood. They had captured the little know-it-all, and he couldn’t do a god-damn thing about it because he was a traitor. A traitor, and a follower, and the boy was right he was a coward. He could have let himself die instead of killing Dumbledore, he could have disregarded the old mans orders, he could’ve, should’ve, didn’t. and there had always been consequences to his weakness, and now the little bint was going to be tortured and killed because he was to weak, to cowardly to much of a follower to change anything.

Snape banished the pieces of glass with his wand, washing away the blood, and casting a charm to stitch the skin back together. Even the charm had a nefarious background to it. It had been taught to him by the Dark Lord in the art of torture, back when he had been young and faithful. He then made his way to his potions lab, to start on the Dark Lord’s list.