The Marked Man
by Rakina
Chapter 1: Much Depends On You, Harry.
He’s surrounded by darkness and discomfort. Harry twists and turns in the vain hope that something will ease his torment, but no.
“Stand aside…”
He can’t… even though he wants to move, he can’t. Harry is petrified, or stunned, or dead, or something….
“Severus…”
No! That voice is pleading and begging, quietly asking for a relief which Harry knows won’t come. He doesn’t want to watch what’s going to happen next. He’s seen it too many times already, yet the pain he suffers doesn’t get any less however many times his traumatised brain replays the scene. He tries to twist and squirm away. And he tries so hard not to look into that hated face, not to see the revolted look that monster is turning on Dumbledore. Dumbledore, the old wizard who is the essence of warmth and light, of wisdom and joy, stands confronted with hatred and darkness, and there can only be one ending here, one which Harry doesn’t want to see again.
“Severus… please…”
As the hated green light flashes once more behind his eyes, Harry awakes with a scream. He opens his eyes, and the afterglow image on his retinas shows the harsh lines of Severus Snape’s face, etched in the green glow of Avada Kedavra. That cruel green light has just killed Harry’s beloved mentor, and Harry wails his despair and hatred for the person whose image is etched in his mind and haunts his every night’s sleep. He hadn’t thought it possible that he might hate someone more than he hates Voldemort, but now he knows he does.
Snape.
“DON’T CALL ME COWARD!” Snape had yelled at him, rage contorting his already unpleasant features into something almost demonic. Harry considered him the epitome of evil. In the past his every interaction with the man had been tinged with dislike, and now his final opinion of him is that he’s hardly human.
How could a normal person have killed a man who trusted him, a man who gave him a probably undeserved second chance? Dumbledore had lived and worked by Snape’s side for many years; he had showed him respect and insisted that Harry treat him in the same manner. How could Dumbledore have been so wrong? Harry had asked him, repeatedly, how he could be so sure of Snape’s loyalty, and Dumbledore had only replied that he trusted Snape – completely. Harry hadn’t understood it then, and he regretted the headmaster’s trust now more than anything. Snape, the Head of the House of the Snake, had been the viper in their bosom, and he had struck with deadly efficiency.
“Harry?” Hermione’s head peeped round the bedroom door, the light from outside illuminated her worried expression. “Are you all right?”
Harry rubbed his face. “Oh, I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Nightmares again? Is it Voldemort?”
“No, it’s worse than that,” Harry snapped. “It’s that bastard Snape.”
“Does your scar hurt?”
“No. It only hurts when Voldemort’s involved,” Harry said testily.
“Then, how can it be worse?” Hermione asked somewhat tentatively.
“It’s not physically painful, Hermione. But it’s a bloody sight more hurtful to have to keep seeing him kill Dumbledore every night.” Harry stopped talking as the lump in his throat threatened to reveal itself in the wavering of his voice.
“Oh. Of course… I… I’m sorry,” Hermione stuttered, at a loss for what to say to help her friend.
Harry nodded, aware that nobody could help him. This torment was his, and his alone. Everyone missed the headmaster, but Harry, as the only witness to the murder from the side of Light, suffered more torments than the rest of them.
“If I ever come across Snape again…”
Hermione nodded. “I know, Harry. But you have to go on. You have to destroy the Horcruxes. That has to be the most important thing.”
Harry scowled at her. At moments like this, he was tempted to say “fuck the Horcruxes!” and leave the Wizarding world to get on with their Dark Lord. His real wish was to track down Snape; to right the wrong of Dumbledore’s betrayal.
“Good night, Hermione,” he said, forcefully. He needed her to leave before he upset her by saying something he didn’t mean.
To be hung, drawn and quartered was the historical punishment for treason. It had always made Harry feel sick when he’d read about it, but if there was anyone he could willingly condemn to that fate – hell, he could do it himself! – it was Snape. Snape dangling by a rope tied around his neck, his legs jerking in desperation to find purchase. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes of slow strangulation, his face darkening and his tongue protruding, until he was almost past recall. Almost. Then, cut him down, lay him on a table and while he returned to consciousness, disembowel him. Yeah, and see him watch as his entrails were pulled out from his gut and chucked on a fire. Watch and listen and smell the sickening stench of roasting human intestines. Eventually Snape would die, but only after Harry had seen him suffer enough for his betrayal. Filthy Death Eater scum. Then, Harry himself would happily take an axe and hack apart his body – quarter it. Snape didn’t deserve an honoured resting place or a funeral. He deserved a true traitor’s end.
Hermione left when she saw Harry’s bitter expression, closing the door quietly behind her. Harry’s hatred was understandable, but it was becoming all-consuming. It was even eclipsing his hatred of Voldemort. Hermione was concerned that Harry would get side-tracked from the important task he’d been entrusted with by Dumbledore himself – to find and destroy the Horcruxes. Snape was a side-issue, but Harry’s priority now seemed to be to find and kill Snape.
Hermione went back into the small back bedroom in the newly-built cottage at Godric’s Hollow, determined to bring the subject up again tomorrow. Harry needed to move on so he could fulfil his real task.
*****
The three friends sat around the kitchen table, eating toast and drinking tea or pumpkin juice. This would have been their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, but none of them could have guessed they’d be here instead, at Harry’s cottage on the site of his parents’ old home, making plans to destroy the most evil wizard of this generation. Plans that would not include Albus Dumbledore.
They kept in touch with the Order of the Phoenix. Regular patronus messages were exchanged. Hints and rumours of the possible whereabouts of Horcruxes were passed on to them. Harry sometimes missed their company, even though he met them from time to time at Order meetings, but mostly he was happy to be with just Ron and Hermione, where he could plan without feeling pressurised or inadequate, or just plain young.
“Are you feeling all right, Harry?” Hermione asked, quietly.
“Yeah. Sorry about waking you, though.”
“You know that’s not important. Did you get back to sleep okay?”
“Yeah.”
Although the others waited to see if Harry would expand on his answer, he didn’t. The silence stretched out uncomfortably.
Relief came with the approach of a post-owl. This was a standard barn owl of the type the local wizard post office sent out with everyday mail. The owl clutched a copy of The Daily Prophet and a letter. Hermione grabbed the paper and started reading avidly. Ron read the scroll’s address and passed it over to Harry.
“A message from Kingsley,” he informed them as he read. “He says that Narcissa Malfoy has gone to stay with her friend Verity Cohen, near Buxton.”
“It might be worth a look-see. After all, I bet Malfoy will be in touch with her, and Malfoy left with Snape, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten, Ron. It’s a good idea; it might be worth a visit. We’ve got to start somewhere.”
“I thought the idea was to find the locket Horcrux first,” Hermione said.
“Well, yeah. We can do that too,” Harry said.
Hermione frowned, but before she could raise the issue that was troubling her, they were interrupted.
Crack!
A noise like house-elf apparition, or perhaps a stone being thrown against the window, made them all look round. No elf, no broken window, but instead a scroll of parchment drifting to the floor on the currents of a magical breeze. Its descent looked slow and mesmerising, almost choreographed. Three pairs of eyes followed it downwards, until Hermione pulled herself together and reached to pluck it out of the air.
“Ow!”
“What is it, Hermione?” Ron asked.
“It burnt me,” she said, nursing her hand against her chest.
Ron jumped up to examine her and Harry got up too and extended his hand towards the still-falling piece of parchment. He plucked it from the air without mishap.
It was just a standard piece of wizard stationery, as far as he could see. There was writing on it: bold letters in black ink read ~ Harry Potter ~.
“It’s got my name on it,” Harry told the others as he sat down again, the scroll grasped in his hand. “It didn’t burn me, so I should be all right to read it.”
Before the others could object that it might still be dangerous, he unrolled it and started to read.
My dearest Harry,
This paper will only appear in your presence and possibly that of Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley or Remus Lupin. These are the only people you should ever show this to or mention any of its contents to.
This letter is charmed to appear some time after my death and funeral and at an appropriate time for you to act. What I ask you to do should not be too onerous at this stage, and hopefully you will not think it suspicious.
Go, with Ron and Hermione if you wish, to visit Remus Lupin. He knows you will be coming and will do as I’ve previously instructed him. As you know, he is an expert on Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he will help you by casting an anti-memory-charm.
I must confess here that I used a limited memory spell to keep some knowledge hidden from your conscious mind, and from the possibility of Voldemort’s Legilimency. It was narrow in its focus and conceals just a few relevant facts from you, which Remus’ spell will bring into your consciousness once more. Be assured I did not remove anything from your mind, Harry. The use of such destructive spells is abhorrent to me.
When you find the information I have kept secret from you, I hope that you will see its importance and be able to understand my actions.
Please hurry to visit Remus. Much depends on your actions from now on.
I am so proud of you my boy,
~Albus~
Ron and Hermione sat together. Ron had his arm round his girlfriend’s shoulder, comforting her after the shock of the spell-burn, which hadn’t been serious but had just stopped her from taking the scroll. They watched the play of emotions pass over Harry’s face, anxious to know what was written inside that could affect him so. He looked quite stunned.
Wordlessly Harry passed the parchment to Ron and Hermione so they could read it together. Ron took it carefully, half-expecting it to burn him too, but it seemed that now Harry had read it the scroll was quite safe. As the couple read, the only comment forthcoming was Ron’s incredulous: “Bloody hell!”
Chapter 2: What He’d Never Wanted
“Well, I think we can say that’s changed the plans for today,” Harry said, looking at his friends’ stunned faces.
“Yeah… it’s got to be a trip to Lupin’s now, hasn’t it?” Ron replied.
Harry nodded. To say this turn of events was unexpected was the least of it. His obsessive need to go after Snape was forgotten, at least for the present.
“Do you know where Professor Lupin lives?” Hermione asked.
“Yeah, he’s got a little house in Mablethorpe. Hard to imagine Remus by the seaside, isn’t it? Just so we don’t trip his wards, I’ll send a patronus message first, saying we’ll arrive at midday. This is all just so weird…”
The others certainly agreed with that, and as Harry sent his stag patronus to Lupin telling the werewolf they’d arrive at midday, all three had a sense that something significant was about to be discovered.
*****
The three friends had become skilled Apparators since Dumbledore’s funeral. They seemed to be travelling far more than any of them had envisaged as likely when they’d taken their Apparition tests, but practise was the best way to perfect the skill, and they appeared neatly and precisely in the middle of Lupin’s back yard. It was a warm, sunny day, and Harry thought the white plastic patio table and chairs looked quite inviting.
Lupin came out to greet them. He looked as shabby as ever and his hair had continued to grey, but he looked happy enough. Hermione hoped that he had sorted things out with Tonks, but was too shy to ask him about it – she didn’t know him well enough to inquire into his personal affairs.
“I was expecting you, Harry. And you’ve brought Ron and Hermione, too. That’s good.”
Harry embraced Remus, genuinely pleased to see one of his closest and most trusted advisors again.
“We’d better go inside. Would you like some tea, or I have lemonade if you’d prefer a cold drink?”
“Lemonade would be great,” Harry said, and Ron and Hermione agreed.
When they were all seated around the kitchen table sipping the cool, tart drink, Harry began, “We received a letter this morning. It was quite a surprising thing, certainly not normal owl-post.”
Remus gave a small smile and nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“The letter just appeared – like it’d Apparated or something. Anyway, here it is, it’s easiest if you read it,” Harry said, fishing the letter from his jeans and passing it over to Remus.
Remus took the parchment and read it. Harry watched carefully to see his reaction, and Remus’ face showed little surprise as his eyes moved from side to side. The letter had said that Remus would know what to do, that Dumbledore had spoken to him about all this, and judging by his lack of surprise, that was looking likely.
“Yes, I wondered when this would happen,” Remus said when he’d finished reading and handed the letter back to Harry. “I knew you’d be told to come and see me after Dumbledore’s death. He’s gone to some lengths to keep whatever it is a secret, hasn’t he?”
“Don’t you have any idea what this is about, Professor?” Hermione asked.
“No. No real clue. I could make an educated guess, but that’s all it would be, so I’d rather not make a fool of myself by coming up with some weird theory. And Hermione and Ron – please call me Remus. I haven’t been your professor for a very long time now. We are all friends and allies here.”
Hermione looked a bit embarrassed that she’d been so aloof with the werewolf. She really liked Lupin and respected his knowledge, and didn’t want him to feel she was being stand-offish. “Of course, Remus,” she said quietly.
“So, what happens now?” Harry asked, anxious to get it sorted out.
“As the letter says, I’m to reverse a memory-charm. To do that, I shall use a spell. I also have a Memory Restoration Potion here, which can be used at the same time and will make everything a bit more certain. It was given to me for the use of the Order.”
Ron’s amiable face had darkened at the mention of a potion. “Bet I know who gave you that, Remus,” he muttered.
Lupin looked across the table at the redhead. “Well, there’d be no prizes for guessing. Severus was pretty useful, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Useful… and a traitorous murdering bastard!”
Hermione sipped her lemonade, looking embarrassed, while Ron nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Lupin said “Yes, well, if we start thinking about all that, we’re not going to make any progress today, are we? So let me just go and get the potion and we’ll take it from there.”
Lupin got up and left the kitchen in search of the Memory Restoration Potion. Harry realised his hands were clenched on the tabletop, and he made a conscious effort to relax them. Lupin was right, there was nothing to be gained by getting worked up about Snape today; they were here for something more positive. By the time Lupin returned holding a green bottle in his hand, Harry was breathing normally and telling himself he was calm.
“I think it’s best if we go into the lounge,” Remus said.
All three rose and followed him and Remus gestured for Harry to take a seat on the couch.
“Ron, would you close the curtains, please? It’s important we’re quiet and nobody interrupts when Harry starts remembering. When he has his memory back completely, he can tell us all about it, but if we interrupt the process, his recall may be affected. First Harry, I’ll give you the potion. In fact, you can drink it now,” Remus passed the bottle to Harry. “Ten drops is the standard dose, Harry.”