Alright, this is not my first story, but it's only my second one ever posting on here. MAJOR WARNING, so listen up:
DARK!HARRY Dumbledore!BASHING
HOT AND STEAMY SLASH, OR GUYXGUY
VOLDEMORT/HARRY
If you have any problem with any of these things, are too young or too immature to read this, go away.
That's what the back button is for. I don't need flamers, and I promise you, I'm not gonna give a rats butt
if you don't like my writing or this pairing. Cuz for every one of you, there is at least four that do.
Disclaimer: I do not own this, or any of the characters. And even though I do in fact own these books, I do not own the rights to any of them.
So go bother JK Rowling for making this pairing so scrumptious if you got a problem with it.
A/N: Alright, I am so very sorry the wait. I'm in process of moving(ish) and where I've been I have no access to Internet. Therefore, this has been sitting on my computer for a while now, waiting to be updated. Then, after I was (somewhat) settled down and had access to Internet, FF was a butthead and refused to let me update, for some reason. Again, no smut, but plot progress! Because, I, for one, believe that plot is just as important as the smut, even if the smut is delicious (: Thank you to my reviewers, who are the ones who have kept me going these though times, so, if you would please, press that little button and tell me what you thought? (: Thanks!
Detention. Harry hated that word. Especially when uttered by the greasy haired 'professor' Snape. Those were always so very pleasant. Yes, about as pleasant as that boil on Aunt Marge's bum, Harry thought bitterly. His hands were burning from having to sort out unidentified parts of dead animals into three separate bins. One for rotten, one for useable, and one for the ones he was unsure of. Thankfully, he was nearly finished.
Glancing around himself, he cursed the dark dungeons under his breath. He truly detested them. Looking up, his green eyes settled on the Potion's Master, who sat at his desk with a quill in hand. It seemed to Harry he was grading papers; he could see little splotches of red ink flying at how fast the quill was swirling across each page. Eager to wash his hands of the foul, sticky, burning liquid that stuck to his hands, he cleared his throat. The man didn't look up at him, but he spoke anyway.
"I'm done now, Professor. Can I go now?" He waited, watching the man who continued to ignore him, reading the next essay in his pile, drops of red ink flying as he graded it. Pressing his lips together in annoyance, he glanced around himself again, searching for the time. Finding no clock to read such from, he turned his gaze back to the man in front of him. "Professor?" he called again, a little louder. When the man still did not look up, he growled under his breath and exclaimed louder, "Professor!"
Finally, the man slowly looked up at him, his dark eyes seeming to be swirling in anger, though it did nothing to frighten the boy. Setting his quill down, he slowly rose from his chair to make his way over to Harry, with the same deliberate slowness he used when ignoring the boy. He could basically feel the boy's anger rolling off of him in waves, and made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. As soon as they made eyes contact, it wasn't Harry that sat before him in his dungeon; instead, it was his mother, glaring up at him with anger swirling in her brilliant green eyes, her mouth turned down in frustration.
Tearing his eyes away, he took a deep breath while looking around his dungeon again. Glancing back over, he eyed the teen up and down, but did not meet his gaze. Yes, most definitely it was Harry, not Lily that sat before him. Never would he ever forget the scent she always carried, like a gentle breeze on the wind. Even when they were surrounded by the heavy scent of numerous potions, he could always make out her gentle scent. The boy that sat before him was undoubtably her child; he could still smell him, even over the potions. While it was not an unpleasant scent, it was not what he seeked.
Looking down at the bins, he scowled. "Mr. Potter?" The boy looked up at him with a quirked eyebrow, a scowl dancing at his lips. Gesturing to the third bin, he said, "Why is there hearts, toes, and livers in this bin?" Following his gaze, the teen peered into the bin before looking up at him with a look that clearly insulted his intelligence.
"You told me to put the ones I wasn't sure of into that bin," the tone he used was similar to that used on an especially slow student, and grated on the Potion Master's nerves.
"Yes, but only for the time being. You were to go back and reexamine them, then properly sort them." The teen openly scowled at him, his emerald eyes narrowing into a glare.
"How the bloody hell am I supposed to tell when I couldn't tell the first time?" he deamnded, fury building at the back of his throat.
Giving a condescending smirk, the man sneered at him, "Smell them again, obviously." With that, he whirled away, he robes following him with a light 'woosh' sound. Growling under his breath, Harry began to smell the organs again, grimacing each time the smell hit his nose, especially as he had to continue to smell them; he wasn't quite sure about any of them. Eventually he just decided which it smelt closest to and threw them into the buckets.
Returning to his desk, Snape regarded the boy carefully, tilting his head so Harry wouldn't be able to tell Snape was watching him. There was something different, something off about the boy. Not only was he treating his friends differently, but he was holding himself different. He still had the Gryffindor pride shining through his being, but there seemed to be... dare he say it... Slytherin spark in his eyes? He wasn't as loud, as boisterous, and seemed to be hiding something. He had been hissing under his breath the entire time, not as though he was speaking to someone, but as though using the snake language had become so natural for him he talked to himself in the tongue.
Concentrating, he preformed the Legilimency Spell nonverbally, without touching his wand, directing it at the boy who sat in his office. Upon entering, he made sure that he was unnoticed, going through the memories of that day, backwards, as though rewinding a tape. The first thing he came across that surprised him was his complete and utter hatred of his so called friends. It surprised him, when they had been so inseparable only a few months before. He made note of it, then continued, dwelling back further through his day.
Going quickly, he hurriedly passed through the day, searching for what on earth had brought him to feel in such a way to his friends. Then, in his first memory of the day, he came across his Dark Lord Voldemort. Nearly gasping aloud, he had to force himself to remain physically unaffected by the memory. It was such a shock to him that he couldn't even form the words to ask the boy anything. Then, he continued to dwell back further, his cheeks slightly darkening when he realized just what his student had been doing with his Dark Lord.
How long has this been going on? The man began to fly through his memories, surprise overcoming him more by the second. He could not believe just how active the Dark Lord was as a part of Harry's life. He hardly seemed to go a day without speaking to him, always seemed to have something to say about the boy's life. How had he not seen it? Why was his Lord doing this? Was it a new part of his plan to kill the boy? Why had he not informed his Death Eaters of such?
All in all, he was very much so confused.
Then he came upon the day that Voldemort had first made contact with the boy. Though he was loathe to watch the memory, he went through it carefully, examining the man's every action. There did not seem to be any malice to the man's actions, no intent to harm him. Their act of... well, sex itself seemed to be preformed in such a way as to not hurt the boy. Then, his words uttered at the end of the night seemed more of a promise of protection than a curse of harm upon him.
Very much so confused.
Going through the teen's memories quickly but carefully, in the order they happened, he picked up on the same vibes throughout. Benevolence, not malevolence. Goodwill, not ill. It seemed as though the boy was just as hesitant as he was to believe the man's words, but there did not seem to be any indicator that the man was lying. Snape knew from experience that the man was not a liar. Still... it went against everything he thought the Dark Lord stood for, to extend a hand to the boy.
Looking up, he looked the boy over as he grimaced at the smell of a rotten heart. Shaking his head, he returned to the memories, his apprehension increasing by the second. Though he had not come across any evidence of such, he worried over foul play from the Dark Lord. What if it was simply another one of the man's plans, an easy way to despose of the boy? He had stood beside the man and allowed him to kill the only woman he had ever loved; he was not about to stand by and let him kill her son.
Still... what is it wasn't a rouse? What if he was being completely honest? It was always plausible that the man did honestly, truly want the boy on his side. After all, it would be far easier to make the world fall if Harry Potter joined the Dark side. However, what would happen to the boy after the world fell? It was easy to believe that Voldemort would simply kill him afterwards. The man didn't want to share world domination with anyone. He was a one man band, with an entourage of millions, not a two man show.
Running his fingers through his hair, he looked up at Harry when he abruptly stood, finished sorting the various parts into their proper bins. "I'm finished, and I'm going to bed now." Severus knew it was a lie; he could read him as easily as he could read the essays laying on his desk in front of him. Instead, he was eager to hurry to meet Voldemort on the Astronomy Tower. After changing his foul smelling clothes and showering first, of course.
Clearing his throat, he sat up a little straighter, unsure of whether to tell Dumbledore or allow Harry to go about his way. Pressing his lips together, he nodded, waving a hand to dismiss him to run to his dormitory. "Thanks," the word almost seemed genuine, not uttered with sarcasm or distaste; probably thankful he didn't keep him any longer. Just because he had allowed him to leave did not mean he was sure about allowing him to go with Voldemort, especially without alerting Dumbledore to his presence.
"Potter," he called, when the teen was at the door. Groaning under his breath, he paused and turned to look at the man, an unspoken 'what?' on his features. Clearing his throat nervously, the man continued, "Sometimes it is to ourselves we owe our actions. Sometimes to others. Every action has a consequence, even if not seen immediately. Think things through before rushing into a decision you cannot change after making."
He watched Lily's eyes widen, fear flickering across the face of her son before he turned his gaze back on the papers that were to be graded. He waited until he heard the door close before leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. For once in his life, he did not know what was the right decision. He had known it was the right decision to befriend Lily. He had known it was the right decision to join the Death Eaters. He had known it was the right decision to spy for Dumbledore on Voldemort, for Voldemort on Dumbledore.
He did not know what to do right now.
Should he let Lily's son run into Voldemort's open arms, when it seemed that was all he wanted to do? Should he stop him? Did he have the right to stop him? After all, it seemed as though Dumbledore was growing more senile by the day. The longer the war played out, the clearer it was for him to see that Dumbledore was going to turn Harry into a martyr for the Light. He could not let that happen, let the old man kill Harry for the good of wizardkind. Then again, was letting the boy go to Voldemort any different?
"Oh, Lily, what the bloody hell should I do?" he mumured under his breath. She seemed to be on his mind more often lately than usual, but that was to be expected. When suddenly staring into her eyes everyday after watching her die everytime he closed his eyes, it was understandable that he thought of her often. Intervening itself was a dangerous thing; obviously his Dark Lord did not want anyone to know what he had planned, or he would have told someone. Lucius would have (probably) been his first choice to tell, and the man would have told him.
If Lucius did not know, no one knew. It would not be good for him to be making a stir about it. So it nixed the idea of calling the man up and discussing it with him. After all, it was nice to have someone to go through the pros and cons of the action. However, Lucius would probably tell him to let the boy go to their Dark Lord. After all, who were they to deny Him anything He wanted?
They were but His loyal servants.
Heaving a sigh, he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and withdrew a bottle of his favorite Firewhiskey and a small glass. Setting both on his desk, he rested back in his chair with a sigh. Pouring himself half a glass, he drew it to his lips and took a sip, relishing in the burning fire that swept down his throat. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, his mind swirling with the numerous possibilities. Sometimes, being a Legilimens was a curse. Sometimes, he really hated it.
However, he would have preferred to know of this beforehand than be among the shocked idiots that stood around dumbly when Harry suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth. Vaguely, he wondered why his Dark Lord hadn't had Harry learn Occlumency. After all, it wasn't as though the boy was particularly gifted in keeping his thoughts from anyone, and if Dumbledore came across him, then he would know instantly what was happening. Perhaps He hadn't been planning on the boy staying in Hogwarts long enough to encounter the old man.
Of course! He sat straight up, the answer coming to him in a rush. He had seen the mark on his neck, but hadn't really noted it, dismissing it to those 'tattoos' that muggles were so found of getting. He chastised himself, for not noticing it earlier for what it truly was. The Mark of Ouroboros... So that was why He hadn't forced the teen to learn Occlumency! It was unneeded! He knew of the various spells preformed with that mark, and only one of those required the mark on the neck.
It put his mind at ease, knowing finally what the man wanted in him. Taking another sip of Firewhiskey, he relaxed back in his chair. The mark... it stopped anyone from being able to enter his mind unbidden, among other things. It was a mark of possession, similar to the Dark Mark on his arm. However, he knew that Harry was much more than simply a Death Eater, now that he knew about the mark. Taking another sip, he wondered if Voldemort was finally tapping into the most powerful kind of magic of all.
Harry felt his pulse thundering in his ear, shaken to his core. Did Snape know? It certainly seemed that way, with the words he had spoken. Was it a warning? Was he telling him not to go? Was he telling him to go? Merlin, it was so frustrating! Not to mention nerve wracking. If he knew, he could tell Dumbledore. If he told Dumbledore, the old coot would stop him! Or at least, he would try to. He wasn't sure the measures Tom would take to stop such. He truly didn't want anyone to die, not even that fool.
He all but ran to his dormitory, eager to snag clothes to change into. After all, he still had to shower, and it was already 11 o'clock. Tom had said midnight, he believed, and he didn't like to be kept waiting. Before he left, he still had to shower, among other things. He didn't know what to bring, if he should pack his trunk and meet him there, or just bring his broom and Invisibility Cloak.
"Ugh," he muttered under his breath, rushing around the castle. He carried his Invisibility cloak, but didn't have it on; he didn't want it absorb the smell. Instead, he held the Marauders' Map in front of him, glancing down at it every few seconds to ensure that no one that would get him in trouble was near.
Luckily, he ran into no one on his way to the Prefect's bathroom, so it was without incident that he bathed. Still, his mind raced, thoughts of Snape and Voldemort racing through his brain, along with, oddly enough, his 'friends'. He wondered how they would react to his being gone. Would they cry? Would they mourn? Even if it was only for show? If they did, it would probably be because Dumbledore told them to, for publicity reasons. Scrubbing viciously at his scalp in the scalding water, he growled under his breath.
The very idea infuriated him.
The teen wondered vaguely if Dumbledore, supposing Snape didn't tell him, would know that he willingly went with Voldemort. Even if he did, he wondered if he would go public with the news. Most likely not; people would give up hope. He would probably tell the news papers that he had been abducted. Even then, Harry couldn't see him doing that; Hogwarts was supposed to be the most secure place on Earth. If Voldemort could get in there, he could get in anywhere. There would be mass panic if the general public knew about it.
However, that was of no consequence to him; he didn't care what the fool told everyone. Undoubtably, there would have to be a story made. He just wondered what it would be. Dunking under the water, he rinsed his soapy hair, smelling his hands to ensure that he didn't smell like rotten organs any longer. Pleased that he didn't, he climbed out of the Olympic pool sized bathtub, waving his wand over himself and muttering a hot air spell to dry himself.
Redressing, he ventured out with his mind, calling out, Tom? He was not immediately answered, which led him to believe that the man wasn't at Hogwarts yet. Pulling his Invisibility Cloak over himself, he pocketed the map into his pocket. Tom? he called out again, a little louder this time as he carefully exited the bathroom. Still, he received no answer, and bit his bottom lip. He was aware the man could simply be busy, just as he also knew he could be forcibly being kept away. Just as he could have been messing with his head when he told him that he had come to take him away.
That thought bothered him to his core.
Glancing around himself, he carefully made his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. He was just reaching the portrait when he received an answer from the man. Where are you, my little Serpent? A shudder raced down his spine and he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at the sound of the man's voice.
I am by my Common Room. Not on my way yet. He could feel the man's displeasure, and moved onto the topic at hand. What do I need to bring? Everything? I could simply shrink my trunk and bring it... he trailed off, waiting for the hand to respond.
No... No, just bring anything that isn't replaceable. Nodding, he exposed just his head to the Fat Lady, who looked at him, quite startled, clutching her chest. "Honestly, boy! Don't you know the meaning of the word sleep?" Ignoring her, he muttered the password under his breath, and she grudgingly swung open, calling to him, "One of these days I'm going to stop opening for you, you know!"
Not my problem anymore, he thought to himself, but heard Tom chuckling in his head. Smirking to himself, he let his Cloak fall into one of his hands, clutching it while he darted up the stairs to his dormitory. Upon reaching the door, he calmed himself, careful not to make any noise when walking in. Thanking his luck, he quietly made his way over to his trunk, squatting down beside it.
Rummaging through it, he remembered Tom's words. Only things that aren't replaceable... he thought to himself, reaching in and grabbing what he considered 'irreplaceable'. Of course the scrapbook of his parents, as they were the only remnants he haf of the people who brought him into the world. His Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map fell atop the book, and he reached into the trunk again, reaching for the Half Blood Prince's book. Though it was a school book, he considered the Prince's insight irreplaceable.
Pausing, he looked into the trunk while biting his lip. He didn't want to forget anything simply because he was rushing. After all, it wasn't as though he could simply pop back in, saying "Oh, I forgot..." Rummaging around, he muttered to himself under his breath. "Now, what else isn't replaceable?" He grabbed his money, though he was sure Tom was going to find that replaceable. He snagged his experimental treats from the Twins as well, setting them in his small pile of items that would follow him to his next world.
"Is that all?" he murmured under his breath, eyebrows knitting as he peered into his trunk. It seemed an awful small collection of things that he considered irreplaceable in this life. "Ugh... I suppose."
"You suppose what?" Ron's sluggish, half asleep voice had a near scream erupting from Harry's chest, startling him to his core. From fright, he jumped to his feet, spinning and pulling his wand on the ginger, who quirked an eyebrow at him sleepily. "Where the hell are ya goin'?" His voice was becoming clearer, he blinked a few times, the sleep leaving his eyes as they narrowed into a glare. "Where the hell are you going?" he demanded, a little louder and clearer this time.
Shit... His pulse thundered in his ears, anxiety pawing at his stomach. Bloody hell! "Um... what are you talking about, Ron?" The ginger's eyes narrowed, and Harry watched his cheeks redden as he opened his mouth louder, preparing to start yelling, and wake up everyone in their dormitory.
Stun him.
The words in his ear prompted him to do as he was hesitating, the only thing he could truly do in the situation he was in. Raising his wand again, he quickly pointed it at Ron, hoping that he wouldn't make enough racket to wake the gaggle of sleeping teens. "Stupefy," he whispered, staring into Ron's widening eyes as the spell hit him square in the chest. As he fell to the floor, Harry looked down upon him without an ounce of regret. "Sorry, mate," he muttered too low for anyone to hear, "But I'm not about to let you ruin my life."
Spinning around, he pocketed his wand, snatching all of his irreplaceable items from the floor beside his trunk, flumbling with them to throw his Invisibility Cloak over himself. Hissing under his breath, he clutched the items to his chest while he darted out of the door. He was in the nick of time too; he heard Neville rousing from sleep to find Ron on the floor. It wouldn't take them long to find Ron, then to wake Ron, then for Ron to tell them what had happened, what he had done.
So, all in all, he did not have a lot of time to get all of the way up to the Astronomy Tower.
Dismissing the idea of pulling out the Map to help him along the way, he decided it was too much of a hinderance. I'm just running straight up there. I'm not taking detours, I'm not going back. Then, as he rounded the final corner to the stairs to the Tower, he realized. Hedwig! Skidding to a stop, he spun on his heel and began to dart in the opposite direction. Hedwig was definitely irreplaceable. Ignoring Tom's fury, he darted to the Owlery at full speed.
What in the bloody hell are you doing, boy? the man demanded angrily in his head, his fury clouding the teen's mind. Shaking his head, he hissed back,
I'm getting my bloody owl! She's irreplaceable! Voldemort hissed under his breath, exasperated. The bloody owl would be the death of him yet. Already, he could hear the castle stirring, smell the friction on the air as it awakened. Yet his damned Serpent was running across the castle to the Owlery? It was preposterous, the idea! Growling under his breath, he stepped onto the lip of the Astronomy Tower, taking a deep breath to smell the awakening magic.
No, his Serpent wouldn't have enough time to get all of the way there and back before he would be overcome by Dumbledore's lackeys.
Hissing under his breath, he focused on his magic, using it to twist the air currents under his feet in a way he had long since become familiar with. He stepped out onto the air, gazing ahead of him at his destination. Using the magic that dwelt within him, he powered himself across the grounds of Hogwarts, all of the way to the Owlery. Alighting on the Tower, he licked his lips hungrily at the swirling mass of untameable ancient magic beneath his feet.
Untameable... We will see about that.
As he surveyed the wakenings of the castle, he felt his Serpent arrive in the Owlery. Growling deep in his throat, he used his magic again to hover beside the window, eyeing the white owl with utter distaste. Then, for the first time in his life, he saw an owl return the look. Scoffing under his breath, he looked away, just as the teen darted into the room.
Panting and heaving from his sprint across the school, Harry thrust his arm out at her, offering her his forearm. "Hedwig. Come on, Hedwig." She eyed him, not in the slightest bit eager to leave her comfortable perch for what was bound to be a hazardous journey that would last for ages. "Hedwig! Now! We have to go!" His eyebrows knitted, glancing around, desperate for her to hurry.
Growing impatient, Voldemort hissed loudly, startling the boy, who hadn't been aware he was there. "Tell that no good, ball of better stuffed feathers that if she does not move now, we're leaving without her. Or better yet, I'll truly get her stuffed." He was shot an 'eat shit' look from the teen, and looked away, rolling his eyes. "Serpent... it won't be much longer until they are aware I am taking you. Hurry now, before they try and stop you and lives are sacrificed." He knew Harry was not eager for such, actually quite against the idea of killing someone at the moment.
In due time, my little Serpent... the wizard thought darkly to himself, holding out his hand. "Alright, alright. I'm coming!" Hedwig had just carefully stepped onto his arm, and he threw himself at Voldemort, who caught him with no problems. The owl hooted indignantly, and the wizard hissed under his breath, "I knew there was a reason that I preferred Serpents to owls..."
Scowling at him, the teen replied hotly, "Yeah, because owls tell you what they think whether or not you ask." Immaturely mocking his expression, the man pulled him close, sensing the rise in the castle's magic and mimicking it with his own; expanding it, shaping it so it propelled the two across the sky. "My broom..." the teen muttered, looking left to right as though he would suddenly see it coming. Summoning it with his magic, he did not slow for it to catch up.
Grinning ear to ear, Harry reached out and snagged it from the air. Looking up at Tom, his grin widened. Quirking an eyebrow, the man looked down at him with an amused expression. "Yes?"
As habit when spoken to in the language, the boy adopted it as well, "I am excited."
Chuckling, the man looked ahead of them again, apprehension growing in his chest as he felt the school suddenly roar with magic. "Why is that, Harry?" He felt the boy shiver at his speaking his name, and smirked to himself, though the expression was quickly quelled.
His grin falling to a small smile, Harry pulled a little closer to the man subconsciously. "Well... I am eager to go to my new home."
The words had an obvious effect on the man. A shiver raced down his spine, and he combed his fingers through the teen's hair, satisfaction purring in his chest. "As am I, my little Serpent. As am I."
A/N: So... what does everyone think? Can anyone tell me the magic Snape speaks of? Are you satisfied that you know a little bit more about that mark? Are you as excited as Harry? Amused? Interested? Tell me, I can never get into your heads XD Thanks!