ishafel

Pure crack. I'm not apologizing and I can't explain.

Summary: Severus betrayed the Dark Lord for a reason. It's not what you thought it was.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lucius Malfoy says. “Lord Voldemort. Like him or not, he's killed a lot of Mud— people.”

“Mud People?” Rabastan mutters, from behind Snape. “Magicking fucking hell.”

But Snape doesn't turn, even though he agrees. He's watching Lord Voldemort come bounding onto the stage, wearing black leathers with his Death Eater mask. This is all Malfoy's fault, and the sad thing is, it wasn't even the worst idea he came up with.

A rock band is better than an interpretative dance troupe.

Setting themselves on fire would be better than trying to dance their hatred of Muggles.

There is a smudge of white powder on the tip of Malfoy's nose, which explains his recent lack of judgment. It does very little to explain the Dark Lord's. “Is that the Morsmorde over his crotch?” Rabastan hisses.

Without meaning to, Snape's covered his eyes with his hands. If only he had more hands, he could cover his ears, too. He lets a finger slip down a little. It is the Morsmorde, embroidered in silver and leering out at the audience. “No,” Snape says, in case admitting it will make it true.

Snape knows, because he was present for the argument, that they're starting the first set with “Die Muggle Die.” The audience doesn't know, because all of the Lord Voldemort and the Death Eater Band songs sound pretty much the same. Rudolphus can only play one chord, after all, and Bellatrix doesn't so much play the drums as beat them like a red-headed Weasley.

“Die Muggle Die” is going to be followed by “Crucio,” “The Ballad of Salazar and Helena,” and the “Death to the Wizarding Parliament Rag.” It's a short set list, but it's not like anyone is likely to ask the Dark Lord for a refund.

“This is going brilliantly, don't you think?” Malfoy screams from just behind Snape's left ear. Rabastan goes for his wand before he realizes who it is. Once he sees, he starts to cast an Unforgivable anyway, but Snape catches his wrist. Better to wait until Malfoy comes down a little. At present he won't even feel it.

“Define brilliant,” he growls, watching the Dark Lord undulate like a fifty-year old wizard in leather trousers.

Malfoy just shrugs. “It beats grubbing around in ditches in the rain, trying to catch Aurors shagging!”

“It would, if it weren't for the fact that we have to listen to this shite.”

Snape smirks at Rabastan. “I don't know how you can say that, Lestrange. And you call yourself a music lover.”

“I've tortured children with better rhythm,” Rabastan whispers back, but he keeps an eye on Malfoy to see if he's listening. He isn't. He never listens.

Lord Voldemort is starting the “Wizarding Parliament Rag.” It's distinguishable from the “Ballad of Salazar and Helena” only because he closes his eyes when he sings ballads.

“I wrote the encore,” Malfoy says, although he wasn't asked. “It's called “Purebloods Forever.” I think they're really going to love it.”

“That sounds enchanting,” Severus replies, when the pause seems to have stretched on forever. “Do tell us where you got your inspiration.”

Rabastan elbows him, hard. “I guess I'm just naturally inspired,” Malfoy says, and wipes his nose on his Death Eating robes. “It comes of being a pureblood, I suppose.”

“That's very rock and roll of you,” Severus says, as the set ends and the cheering starts. There's nothing like the threat of imminent dismemberment to really make a crowd enthusiastic. Someone has to do it, so he waves his wand in the air and yells, “Encore!” and listens to Malfoy giggle and to Rabastan moan.

The next morning he goes to Dumbledore and turns his coat.