Harry Potter and the Curse of V'Ardian

Chapter 23

Of Return and Realisation

Standard Disclaimers Apply

oOoOo

Severus Snape apparated to his appointed place in the circle. It was dark, well on the way to midnight and Snape was annoyed. He had had an awful day, he was feeling unwell, and now he had been summoned. Life was rotten.

However, he knew that this was inevitable, and absolutely crucial to his future. The Potter boy looked as bad as Snape had ever seen him, tied upright to a pole in the centre of the circle. Cracks split the air as more Death Eaters arrived, taking their places in the circle. The burning was fading from Snape's own mark, a sure sign that tonight would not bring much trouble for the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord was happy.

The whispers of the cloaks stilled as Voldemort glanced around at the full circle, his eyes glowing red with some unknown desire or emotion. The wind was cold, the sky dark, and the threat of rain lingered over them creating a sense of unease. Snape's eyes flickered back to Harry, who had raised his head to look at Voldemort, though his face was weary and expressionless. Snape was sure that if the ropes had not been present, lashing him tightly, he would have fallen straight down. In all truth, Severus was surprised that the boy had lasted so long. He hadn't been easy on him, that night. He was sure the memory would haunt him forever, and it returned now as he stared at the boy. Snape sneered. It was another reason to hate the boy, because now he would stir memories of the things that Snape had done in his service to Voldemort.

Snape dreaded Potter's return to Hogwarts, if he ever did. When Dumbledore questioned Harry, asked him which Death Eater had done such a thing to him, his name would be the first on Harry's lips. Snape dragged his thoughts away from the future though, as Voldemort spoke.

"Welcome," he said, his voice little over a hiss, "to the death of Harry Potter."

The Death Eaters stirred, either in excitement or fear, and Snape tensed. The boy was useless; he had no wand, he could not defend himself. And after last time, well, Snape had heard about what had happened when Voldemort had returned the boy's wand and offered him a duel. Tonight, unless Snape intervened, the boy would die.

Voldemort advanced towards Harry, drawing his wand from his robes as he walked. Snape saw Harry's eyes were alert, following the motion, and then he realised why. It was Potter's wand, the one that was so like the Dark Lord's.

"That's mine," spat Harry, and Snape heard that his voice was strong. The boy certainly was brave. Foolish, but brave.

"Yes," murmured Voldemort, just loud enough that his voice reached the ears of the surrounding Death Eaters. "I have your wand. I must admit, although I can use it, it feels so wrong. So…pure." Voldemort paced around Harry, who could not turn his head far enough to see, so instead he stared stonily ahead. It must have been intimidating, like turning your back on a predator when you had no defences. Courageous, once again.

Voldemort returned to face Harry again and laid a long white finger on his cheek. Harry sagged against the pole, groaning in pain. His arms thrashed behind his back, trying to get free. Voledmort chuckled, deep in his chest, and whispered something unheard in Harry's ear. Harry gasped out a particularly vulgar swear word at Voldemort, wrenching his head away and out of contact with Voldemort. Voldemort stood back, frowning. He turned to address his silent followers.

"You see? I, Lord Voldemort, am stronger than this piece of half-blood filth. Who dare claim that he was ever stronger than I, that he would have the power to vanquish me?" Voldemort whipped around, wand raised, and Snape tensed himself, ready to act. He needn't have tried however, as Voldemort flicked Harry's wand and the ropes fell, leaving Harry leaning dependently on the pole. After a few seconds his knees buckled and he slid to the floor, hitting the clay earth with a soft thump. His head lolled for a second before he raised it defiantly to look at Voldemort. Hie eyes flashed in unnoticed determination.

Voldemort knelt in front of him, placing his hand underneath Harry's chin to hold his head up.

"You thought you could beat me, foolish child," Voldemort said softly. He leaned even closer, whispering in Harry's ear. He thrust Harry's wand against his chest. "You should have listened when I asked you to join me. Your death would have been quick and painless. But no, you listened to Dumbledore, so now you will die, and then I will kill everyone you ever loved, just like I killed your parents."

Although Snape couldn't hear what Voldemort said to the boy, he saw Harry's face cloud with anger, and everyone heard what he said in reply.

"No, Tom," said Harry, and his trembling hand reached up to grasp the other end of his wand. His voice lowered, but Snape could still hear him. He watched in silent confusion as Harry reached up his other hand and laid it on Voldemort's face. Harry's own face flinched and his voice trembled with pain when he spoke again, his voice low and deadly. "You have marked me, Tom, and now, I mark you."

There was a violent explosion of light that forced Snape backwards a step and Voldemort yelled in pain. He saw Voldemort and Harry, kneeling in front of each other as though fused together, and he wondered what was happening. The other Death Eaters were mumbling in fear, wondering what to do.

oOoOo

Harry felt the magic flow through him, strengthening him to a level he hadn't felt in months. It wasn't his magic, but it would do. It was violent, dark, and ruthless, and it hurt. Harry tried to take his hand away, but it seemed glued to Voldemort's face, and he could smell burning skin. It was the second time Harry had done this, though this time it was intentional, and he suddenly understood something that had been plaguing him for months. There was no time to consider this new development however, as he felt Voldemort regaining control.

And then, while Voldemort was weak and Harry was strong, Harry hissed out in Parseltongue as loud as he could, putting everything he had behind the spell. There was a flash of light, Snape blinked, and Harry Potter was gone.

oOoOo

A mere five minutes later, Snape apparated to Hogsmeade and hurriedly entered the Hog's Head to use the fire. He stepped out into the Hogwarts infirmary, glancing sharply around. With a start he realised that Potter was not in sight, and he swore. He rushed out into the hall, brushing impatiently passed several students. He raised his wand and his Patronus erupted from it, heading towards the headmaster's office. Snape didn't wait. He turned and stormed off towards Gryffindor Tower. As he walked, he thought back over the events of the last ten minutes. He had no idea what had happened.

When the light had receded and the Death Eaters had seen only a stunned Voldemort on the ground, many had panicked. Snape sneered and yelled at them to shut up, and to their good fortune, they did. He had woken the Dark Lord from his place in the circle and done nothing else. When Voldemort rose, his face was burnt and scarred where Harry had grabbed it, and Snape could see the same mark beneath his left eye as the one that Draco Malfoy carried. He blinked in surprise before shielding his mind. The Dark Lord was in a temper.

Snape was sure that Voldemort had been mad enough then to kill all of them, and he was sure it was only shame that had prompted him to allow them to leave. Snape had done so without a second thought, not waiting around as Voldemort started throwing curses at the slower Death Eaters.

Snape snapped at the Fat Lady to open the portrait hole and she did so, raising her nose in the air and sniffing, looking highly miffed at being spoken to in such a tone. Snape sent her a glare and stepped in, the common room silencing immediately. He looked around and saw no signs of the hysteria that would surely be present if Harry Potter suddenly turned up half dead and stalked further in to the room. He glared at the students and abruptly head for the boy's dormitory, hoping that Potter might have gone there. He wasn't.

He swore and stormed back out into the common room, ignoring the questions that some of the braver students dared to throw at him. He turned to where he had seen Ron and Hermione near the fireplace and spoke to them.

"If Potter turns up here, one of you will escort him to the hospital wing. The other will come and get me. Immediately." He didn't pause to see their reactions and left the common room heading for the Great Hall almost at a run. Where the hell had Potter gone? Surely he would have returned to Hogwarts? Then again, Snape didn't really know exactly what Potter had done, only that he had bypassed the Dark Lord's apparition wards. He had assumed that he would be able to bypass the Hogwarts wards as well, but that might not have been the case. What if he had run out of energy? He could have been anywhere between Howarts and the meeting place, and that was a long way.

Snape rushed out of the Entrance hall and into the cold night. He hadn't realised that it was raining here. He scanned the grounds through the light rain and mist, but nothing moved. He wasn't there. Snape started to tense up, thinking that maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Potter hadn't escaped. He rushed back into the Entrance Hall, and ran into Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva, where is Albus?" he asked impatiently. Her face was white.

"He is very sick, Severus. Poppy is seeing to him at the moment."

"Damn it!" yelled Snape, rounding on the transfiguration teacher. "Tell Poppy to return to the infirmary right away! Potter is here somewhere and he needs medical attention immediately!" Professor McGonagall's eyes widened in shock and she looked behind Snape.

"Where is he, Severus? Is he okay?"

"No, Minerva," Snape said harshly. "He is not. And I don't know exactly where-" Snape's words were cut off as the doors to the Entrance Hall creaked open ever so slightly. A second later it fell open more and Harry stumbled in, his eyes blank. Professor McGonagall raised a hand to her mouth.

"Dear God, Severus, what did they do to him?" she asked, rushing to his side to hold him up. He was covered in blood and filth, and Snape felt a stab of guilt. As Harry fell forward, unconscious, he muttered a levitation charm and lifted Harry into the air.

"Go and get Poppy, Minerva," he said. "I will take Potter to the hospital wing."

Professor McGonagall nodded, her face white, before hurrying off. Snape turned in the opposite direction, Harry floating ahead of him.

oOoOo

The first thing Harry did when he awoke was to panic. He wasn't panicking because he thought he was still in the cold cell, with Voldemort- far from it. He knew he was back at Hogwarts, remembered the events of then night before as clear as day. He looked down at his left arm and sighed in partial relief. His arms were covered with long sleeves, and hopefully they had been charmed onto him. He hoped no one had gotten a look at his arms. Once again the thought swam through his head. Thrice marked, thrice linked, thrice bound. He knew what it meant now, and he no longer held any hope that the prophecy was about him.

Harry sighed lightly. His eyes were shut against the glare from the window- the light hurt his eyes even though he can't have been in the cell for all that long. Another reason he kept his eyes closed was because of the presence at his side. People sat there, probably Ron and Hermione, and he didn't feel like talking just yet. They probably knew he was awake, and he knew he would have to face them soon, but he could always hope.

For once, luck came Harry's way as Madam Pomfrey's voice wafted over him.

"Out now, children. You can come back after dinner tonight and see Mr Potter." There were the usual complaints, but eventually they filed out, leaving Harry in peace and quiet. The curtains shut around his bed and he heard Madam Pomfrey rattling about near his bed. He cracked one eye open, the one that didn't hurt.

"Thanks," he murmured, surprised to find that his voice was scratchy and hoarse, his throat sore. He hadn't noticed that before.

"That's quite alright, Mr Potter," came Madam Pomfrey's brisk reply. "Although I didn't realise you were awake. How are you feeling?" She came bustling over, three potions in her arms.

"Absolute rubbish," Harry groaned. He tried to look to the side, but found that his limbs weren't obeying his commands. "Er, Madam Pomfrey, why can't I move?" Harry asked.

"The damage to your body was quite severe. I had you immobilised so that you didn't injure anything in your sleep." With a wave of her wand, the spell was removed, and Harry gave a sigh of pain as his body began to support itself.

"How long will I be in here," he asked with a grimace, taking the chance to look around. Madam Pomfrey gave him a stern look and passed him a vial of potion.

"You are far from recovered, young man. Professor Dumbledore will be coming to see you very soon, I expect, so you need your rest." Once again, Madam Pomfrey had successfully avoided his question.

"Now, you're on a pain relieving potion. When it wears of, just call me and I'll bring you another one."

"Okay, thankyou, Madam Pomfrey."

Harry gave a slight sigh as Madam Pomfrey left. Raising a hand to his head he felt a bandage covering his left eye. That wasn't good, thought Harry, not good at all. Most of his major injuries should be healed by now, and damage to an eye was a severe disadvantage.

Harry closed his eyes again. The light hurt. He was disturbed only minutes later as the curtains around his bed rustled, and someone came in. He assumed that it was Madam Pomfrey until they spoke.

"You look like crap, Potter," they said, the tone belying the animosity the words might usually have held. Harry's head whipped around.

"Malfoy."

"Glad you noticed," he said sarcastically, then lowered his voice. "Don't want Pomfrey to know I'm here. She'll kick me out for sure."

"How did you know I was here?" Harry croaked. Malfoy drew up a chair and sat beside Harry's bed.

"I have connections," he said simply and, Harry thought, somewhat arrogantly. He rolled his eyes.

"Connections that tell you things or connections that you hear things from?"

"They are connections, Potter and that is all there is to it," he replied, his evasive answer telling the truth anyway. "Besides, it's all over the castle anyway. Some students saw Snape bringing you up here." Harry vaguely remembered Snape and McGonagall from the night before. Malfoy went silent and Harry looked at him curiously.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked. Malfoy looked at him, his face expressionless. Suddenly though, he lunged forward and grabbed Harry's arm, ripping back the sleeve. Harry felt a surge of rage and Malfoy lurched backwards, hand clutching the scar on his face.

"What the hell was that for?" he swore, glaring at Harry. Harry held his arm closer to his side, pulling the sleeve back down.

"You tell no one," he snarled, knowing that Malfoy had seen it.

Thrice marked, thrice linked, thrice bound.

Malfoy jerked his robes back into place irritably and smoothed his hair down.

"I had to know if it was true," he snarled in return, though his anger was only half-hearted.

"Screw you, Malfoy," sapt Harry, avoiding meeting his eyes. "Did your father tell you, or is this another thing from one of your useless contacts. Bloody hell, you couldn't even find out who the spy was at Hogwarts," he hissed, lowering his voice. Malfoy's eyes widened.

"There's a spy at Hogwarts? Who?" Harry ignored Malfoy's question.

"Why are you helping me, Malfoy? What is it you're really doing? I know there's something you're keeping from me, something you're doing. What is it?"

Malfoy paled slightly, but steadfastly denied Harry's claims. Harry sneered.

"You had better shape up, Malfoy, or our deal goes no further." malfoy stood up, fury coating his face.

"You know what? Screw you, Potter. You have no idea what it is costing me to do this." He took a few steps and pulled the curtain back, but turned back to Harry. "And never do that to me again," he said, referring to the pulse of magic that had gone through his scar before. "It makes you like him."

Malfoy looked out at the empty hospital word once and turned to Harry one more time before leaving.

"And don't worry. I won't tell anyone that he marked you."

oOoOo

When Malfoy left, Harry slowly raised his arm and pulled back the sleeve to see the ugly black mark that was now burned into his arm. It burned continuously, something his as sure a normal mark didn't do. He vaguely worried how many other people knew he had been marked. Did Snape know? The Dark Mark was black and burnt, and Harry quickly shoved it out of sight. He felt dirty, defiled, and the mark radiated a sense of evil that Harry felt he couldn't wash off him. He felt an overwhelming sense of frustration at the unfairness of it all, but he knew it couldn't be helped. There was nothing he could have done about it. It was prophesised, and now another piece of that same prophecy was complete. The first mark, the scar that the Dark Lord had marked him with so many years ago, was their first link. Then, only days ago, Voldemort had appeared, smirking in his cell.

"I want for them to see it, Harry, when I send your dead body back to them. I want them to see that I owned you."

It had hurt, getting the mark, but it had hurt Voldemort as well. A small consolation. And then, Harry had marked Voldemort, in the same way that he had marked Malfoy, and the circle was complete.

Thrice marked, thrice linked, thrice bound.

oOoOo

Dumbledore didn't come to see Harry that day, and when Harry asked Madam Pomfrey where he was, she said that he too was unwell, and that he would be done first thing the next morning. Vaguely wondering just how ill Dumbledore really was, Harry drifted off to sleep and didn't wake up until the next morning.

When he did wake up, it was with a stabbing pain behind his left eye and his body felt like it was on fire. With a slight groan he opened his eyes, and stifled another groan when he saw Dumbledore seated next to his bed, Snape standing behind him. Harry closed his eyes again. His head was pounding and evidently the pain-relieving potion had worn off.

"Harry, are you all right?" Dumbledore asked leaning over Harry.

"Of course he is, Albus," snapped Snape, glaring at Harry. "He's exaggerating, as usual."

Dumbledore leaned back to look at Snape.

"Come now, Severus, you can see the state of him. Be polite."

Snape scowled at the rebuke, but kept silent. Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a tray and placed it on the table next to Harry's bed.

"Sit up now, Mr Potter," she said, helping him up. Harry struggled up against the pillows, trying not to move too much. He looked down at the food in front of him in disgust. He coughed, wincing slightly when it hurt his chest.

"You know what, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "I'm really not hungry."

Harry glanced at Snape, aware that Snape would understand.

"Mr Potter, you haven't eaten anything decent for more than two weeks. Just eat a little." Harry gave up.

"What's wrong with my eye?" he asked, feeling the heavy white bandage there. Madam Pomfrey eyed him in concern.

"Your eye socket has been shattered. You're very lucky you haven't lost your eye. It's having trouble healing because it's been there for at least a week. You might still lose your eye."

Great, thought Harry. Just what I need.

"What else is wrong with him, Poppy? What are all these scars from?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing at the multitude of scars that he could see on Harry's exposed skin. Madam Pomfrey made a grunt of discontent.

"Well, I assume it was from torture, Albus," she said, lowering her voice as though hoping Harry wouldn't hear her. His vampire ears picked up everything. "Numerous cutting hexes, bludgeoning curses, cruciatus curse, and many others. Absolutely despicable," she sniffed in disdain. Snape stirred ever so slightly at the end of Harry's bed. Dumbledore turned to Snape.

"Did you see this, Severus?" he asked.

"Some of it, yes."

"And you did nothing to stop it?"

"I did not risk my cover until it was absolutely necessary. If it had gone any further I would have stepped forward."

Dumbledore nodded and turned back to Harry.

"Who did this to you, Harry?" he asked in concern, a slight frown on his face.

"There were a few of them, at different times," said Harry. "I don't remember their names."

"Mr Potter," interrupted Madam Pomfrey, "surely you know who tortured you like this. These injuries, most of them came at the same time."

"I said I don't remember," Harry said icily. "And I doubt I'm going to."

oOoOo

Harry wasn't quite sure why he didn't tell Dumbledore the truth about Snape. Maybe it was because of some lingering fear of him, of what he would do to Harry if he revealed the truth. Maybe it was because he considered it, in some indirect way, to be a part of their deal. What happened between them, stayed between them. Maybe because he didn't want Katherine to find out that her father was the one who had damaged Harry so badly, even though, as far as Harry knew at least, she had yet to see him. Or maybe it was out of a sense of shame that he refrained from telling Dumbledore. He didn't want to admit that Snape had seen him so weak, had in fact been the one to cause that weakness.

Or maybe it was because, deep down, Harry honestly didn't want to hurt Snape any more than the man had already been hurt. He knew what it was like to lose family and friends, to be alone, to be despised and snubbed for something that you couldn't help any more than anyone else could. Because, against everything Harry had ever felt about Snape, and against what his mind was telling him, Harry felt a reluctant connection to the ever taciturn and bitter man.

Yes, maybe that was why he kept his silence.

oOoOo

Harry muddled his way through the endless stream of tearful cries of thanks and pity as he usually did when he finally decided to speak to his friends and their families. Mrs Weasley cried and hugged him quite hard, making him wince. She noticed his grimace of pain and cried some more, despairing over the actions of those who had harmed her Harry. Ginny thanked him almost voicelessly and faded in to the background while Neville's grandmother swooped down on Harry to thank him.

"You would never believe it, Mr Potter, but Neville is going to be fine. The doctor's said he was stronger than his parents. Imagine that!" She shook her head as though she could never believe that poor, kind, modest, bumbling Neville could ever have achieved such a feat and Harry smiled blandly, inwardly cursing the woman for being so thoughtless. He believed she cared about him, he really did, but she failed to grasp the simple fact that her grandson was much more than he seemed to be. Even if he was completely untalented, which Harry had come to understand that he was far from, Neville was one of the most decent people he had ever met. His grandmother should have been proud of him.

Harry refused to speak about what had happened to him. He didn't want to tell them that he truly believed it hadn't been that bad of an experience. It had been bad of course, but they acted as if he had died. Honestly, he was used to pain. Maybe not as much as he had gone through, but it certainly hadn't seemed too overwhelming at the time.

Most of all though, Harry didn't want to tell them that he had almost been welcoming the end. No one told them just how close he had come to death, in fact, Harry doubted anyone besides Snape and Voldemort knew. Harry wondered what would have happened, had he been unable to escape. Would he have let death take him, or would he have fought it? Would he have admitted it was his time, or would he have struggled to face another day of this life? He knew why he had tried to escape. He had a duty to fulfil. If it hadn't been such a large responsibility, Harry might have forgone the chance to fulfil the prophecy and let Voldemort end his life that day. Anything to escape the lack of anonymity and happiness his life seemed to have.

So, Harry Potter had lived to see another day, and he wondered if it was all worth it. It was easy to think depressing thoughts when he was feeling this way, but this emotion seemed to be a constant in his life and it was hard not to think that this was all his life would ever be. It would get better, he tried to convince himself, all the while wondering if he wanted to die or not. It would get better.

oOoOo

That night Snape brought Harry a glass vial filled with blood. Harry drank it hurriedly before the craving could overwhelm him and thrust that empty contained back at Snape in disgust.

"Thankyou," he said. Snape didn't answer and Harry hadn't expected him to. Feeling quite rejuvenated, though still in pain, Harry looked up to see the Potions Master still standing there, eyeing him in distaste. He thought about the words that might have come from any other person then.

I want to thank you. For saving my daughter. For keeping my secret. For not telling everyone that I did it.

But they did not come, as Harry had known they wouldn't. And now, Harry thought he might be beginning to understand why. Severus Snape no longer saw James Potter when he looked at Harry, at least not to the extent that he used to. He no longer hated James Potter, or Harry himself, but what Harry stood for. When Snape looked at Harry now, he could see all of the mistakes he had ever made. They were present in that scar in the middle of Harry's forehead, reminding him of how he had once been a loyal Death Eater, and how he had sold Lily and James Potter to Voldemort. They were present in the boys green eyes, who reminded him so much of Lily, who had once been so kind. They were present in the scars that now covered the boy's body, reminding him of all the times he had been forced to torture helpless human beings, wizard and Muggle. The horrors of his past were present in the boys face, the cold calculating look the only thing he could not associate with James Potter, who had made his school life a misery.

Harry Potter reminded Snape of everything that was wrong with his life, and that would never change. He realised he was staring, and Potter was staring back at him in the semi-darkness of the hospital ward.

"You're rather good at curses," said Harry. Snape left.

oOoOo

Harry was in the hospital wing for a week before he was allowed to leave. Katherine did not come and see him, though he had known she would not come with Ron and Hermione by his side at every possible chance. Harry willed himself to remember that Hermione and Ron were the closest friends he had ever had. He cared for them deeply.

It was hard to feel positive emotion. It felt like it didn't matter. Was this how Riddle had started out? Becoming cold and emotionless? So Harry stuck a smile on his face and prepared to face the reactions and questions of the students when he was let out of Madam Pomfrey's almost obsessive care.

It was early in the morning when she approached him and told him he could leave as soon as she had removed the bandage from his eye. She left him to get dressed and Harry made sure his sleeves were pulled right down, covering his scars. It was not only the Dark Mark or the mark of V'Ardian that Harry worried about. Snape had done a good job, and the proof lay right there on his skin. He didn't want people asking questions.

Madam Pomfrey came back in all her bustling efficiency with an armful of medical objects, some of which Harry could not identify. She slowly began unwinding the bandage from around his head, rolling the white material as she went. At last Harry felt the cool air touch his skin but he felt slightly stunned. Madam Pomfrey stood back and smiled at her work.

"Well, you've got a scar, but other than that… how does it feel?"

Harry smiled his biggest smile, jumping off of the bed.

"Great, Madam Pomfrey," he lied. "I can see perfectly."

oOoOo

A/N: How was it? I liked writing this chapter so you had better like it. Please review, and thanks to those who have already done so. Thankyou to the reader who pointed out my error in chapter twelve; it has now been rectified. Also, I have decided that Dumbledore is going to die as he did in HPHBP. I have an idea as to how, and it will be in similar circumstances as the book, but I would like to hear your opinion. How do you think he should die?- Wujjawoo

Chapter 24: Of Dreams and Deception