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The giving itself had been at a gathering. Not a full meeting, something smaller, a dozen Death Eaters in the drawing room at Spinner's End of all places. The Dark Lord had spoken Snape's failings aloud in a voice like silk over broken glass. Too independent. Too untrustworthy. Too clever by half and loyal by none. Then he had turned to Lucius and said,
"He is yours. Do with him as you will. Prove your devotion."