Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Dark Contract
In a far-off eastern suburb of London stood a house that locals avoided. Many eerie tales surrounded it. The exterior was painted a deep green—no one in their right mind would choose such a sickly, polluted-lake color. Its front door was a heavy black iron slab, equally unappealing. High walls surrounded the property, topped with upward-facing spikes. Inside the enclosure grew a dark, ominous forest. A house shrouded in dense green trees and draped in a matching green facade radiated such an evil aura that even passing by required tremendous courage.
Many odd legends clung to the house. Mr. Jacob, a middle-aged man with a Mediterranean bald spot, often told his tale in the local diner.
"I turned and ran—swear I’ve never run faster in my life!" he said. His wife had left him a decade ago, supposedly due to his boastful exaggerations. But the locals knew the truth—he’d squandered all their savings on booze and gambling. His wife, a beauty, had left town with a dentist from the next village.
No one sat next to Jacob as he spoke; the regulars had heard the story countless times. Most considered him a delusional drunk, though no one bothered to tell him to seek help.
"A woman rode a broomstick," he insisted, hiccupping through his red, drunken face. "Long, curly black hair. I swear! I think a witch lives in that house."
"Oh, Jacob," said a tall red-haired man at the next table. "You’re telling the screaming witch story again?"
The other men at his table laughed."Yeah, yeah, bloodcurdling screams from that place—you told us after downing a whole bottle of whiskey."
"The real miracle," a third man said in a sharp voice, "is that Jacob even had the cash for a whole bottle."
Jacob flushed even redder and mumbled, "I really saw and heard it. There’s something evil in there."
"Then I suggest you talk to Reverend Gareth for an exorcism," the first redhead said. He finished his sandwich, dropped money on the table, and stood."Got to run! Tomorrow’s movie night at my place—don’t forget!" he told the others.
He pushed open the glass door and stepped into the night, glancing up at the full, bright moon. Hands in his pockets, he hummed as he walked home.
Then he heard it—a shrill scream.
He stopped, turning toward the sound. The green house was nearly hidden in the dark. He shook his head and listened again. Only the wind rustled the street trees, a television buzzed from a distant home, and an owl hooted overhead.
"Heavens, Jacob’s paranoia is contagious," the redhead muttered, continuing on his way.
Pushing open the black iron gate, slipping past the spiked walls, through thick shadowy underbrush, the man finally stood before the green house. Moonlight glimmered faintly over the lake at the door.
He wore a black cloak, hood drawn up to hide his face. In his left hand he held a staff, which he lightly tapped against the silver snake-shaped fixture on the door. Strangely, the snake twitched, then slithered to the center of the door and coiled into a knocker. The man pulled it, and the door creaked open.
The house’s foyer was vast. Beyond the entrance loomed a large, empty hall, a wide staircase rising at its center. The man bypassed the stairs, turning right down a corridor. At its end, a narrow staircase descended.
The basement was smaller than the house’s main level—perhaps only a portion of the structure extended underground. The man removed his cloak, covered his nose with a grimace, and approached a group ahead.
The air stank. The closer he got, the worse it became."He still won’t submit?" he asked.
A woman with thick black curls turned, her upper lids heavy with fury."I don’t get why the Dark Lord doesn’t just kill him," she snarled."This has taken me two whole weeks!"
"Bellatrix," said the man beside her, "have some patience. You know he must agree of his own will."
"Oh, Rodolphus, easy for you to say," Bellatrix Lestrange snapped."You’re not the one bound to form the contract. You don’t have to spend every meal in this filth, with this stinking half-blood driving me mad!"
The newcomer brushed aside his long platinum bangs and peered at the floor."What now?"
"Use your eyes, Lucius," Bellatrix said. "He passed out again. He always does."
"Probably because he hasn’t eaten in five days," her husband muttered, disgusted."He drinks the dirty water off the floor—and those whippings…"
"Shut up, Rodolphus!" Bellatrix shrieked. "This is how the contract works. The Dark Lord taught me!" Her eyes sparkled at the name."I must fulfill the task he gave me."
Lucius Malfoy ignored the bickering couple, turning instead to observe the figure on the ground.
The man’s greasy hair clung to his face, matted with what was likely dried blood. Beneath the grime, it was still black. His eyes were shut, his large hooked nose crooked to one side. His clothes were torn and reeking. Lucius knew it was because he hadn’t bathed in two weeks and had repeatedly soiled himself. What skin was visible was caked in dried blood.
Chains bound each of his wrists—now almost skeletal—from thick iron cuffs bolted to the ceiling above. He had likely just been let down. His legs bent at odd angles; Lucius recalled they’d been broken on his first day here.
"For Merlin’s sake," Lucius said at last, turning to the couple."Could you stop arguing and finish the job? The Dark Lord arrives tomorrow. He’ll want the place clean and orderly." He gripped his cane, fingers brushing the carved snakehead."Don’t forget your house-elves were all seized by the Ministry."
"Oh, Lucius," Bellatrix said sarcastically, arms folded."Let me remind you it was your house the Order raided."
A dangerous glint flashed in Lucius’s eyes."Then I’ll leave you to it. But I wonder how pleased the Dark Lord will be if he finds you’ve failed at even this." He turned and left.
"The Dark Lord won’t punish me!" Bellatrix screamed after him."I’m his most loyal servant!" She raised her wand and shouted, "Aguamenti!"
A blast of water sprayed the unconscious man’s face.
He jerked and twitched, eyes fluttering open—dark, empty, confused. He gagged and retched, but his stomach was empty. Bellatrix stopped the stream and pointed her wand at the ceiling pulley. The chains began to wind, raising his arms, then his entire body. His broken legs barely grazed the floor.
He hung, head bowed, until he summoned the strength to lift it."...Dinner time already?"
Bellatrix scowled and nodded to a burly man. He stepped forward and lashed the hanging body with a whip. The man screamed.
"Severus Snape," Bellatrix hissed, "accept the contract. You know the Dark Lord won’t let you die. What good does this do you? Accept it!"
The basement rang with the sound of lashes and screams."Sandwich—no tomato," Snape gasped. "You know I hate—" Another crack of the whip silenced him.
"I can’t take this anymore!" Bellatrix screeched."The Dark Lord is moving into the Lestrange estate tomorrow. I need a house slave!"
Snape’s bloody face twisted in confusion."Lucius’s…"
"Lucius let the Order overrun his home. You should know—you were there. What’s so funny?" she shouted, then hissed, "Crucio!"
Snape arched in agony, shrieking as his body convulsed. The chains groaned under the strain. Only after a long moment did she lower her wand.
"Accept the contract, Severus. A piece of bread. A cup of clean water. Right now."She crouched beside him.
Snape panted, trembling. After a long pause, he whispered, "I… accept."
Bellatrix froze, then burst into manic laughter. "Merlin, I knew I could do it. Crabbe!" she shouted. The chains lowered, and Snape crashed to the floor. "Clean him, feed him, bring him to the hall. The ritual must begin immediately."
Still grumbling, Crabbe removed the man’s cuffs, cast a basic cleansing charm, slung Snape over his shoulder, and carried him upstairs.
In the second-floor bathroom, he dumped the man on the floor and turned on the shower. Crimson water swirled into the drain. Snape lay still under the torrent, pain coursing through his wounds, but made no sound. He braced himself for what was coming next—prepared to lose all dignity.
So long as he lived, there was hope.