ccxlviii. mark of the world serpent
Harriet stared at the letter in her hand, fighting the urge to crumple it in an angry fist.
"Gaunt made an attempt on my life," Elara wrote. "And before you ask, of course there's no proof, but he clearly wanted me to know who it was. In retrospect, I don't know whether or not I believe his attempt was in earnest. At the time it certainly felt so, but in retrospect, there was a terrible amount of effort put into the theatrics of the attack rather than the efficiency. Either he's as lazy as we've assumed or intent on the message."
She read the letter twice more, her heart beating heavy and uncomfortable in her chest. It must have arrived in the night; she'd woken to find Cygnus glaring at her from her desk, his talons digging holes into the Sangforts' chair. It had been hours. Was Elara all right? Was Hermione? Sirius? Remus?
She cursed—then cursed again, louder, and rushed to finish plaiting her wet hair. It dripped on her robes as she dragged them on, and a moment later, Harriet tripped out the door and ran for the next room.
She knocked on the door until it was answered, Slytherin standing on the other side looking at her like she'd lost her bloody mind.
"I need to go back home," she rushed to say. "Gaunt—I mean, someone tried to kill my god-sister."
Slytherin stared at her, then blinked, thoroughly unimpressed. "And? Is she dead?"
"Well, no—."
"Then I strongly suggest you reevaluate what you mean by need, Miss Potter." Slytherin sniffed and brushed her off, his hand already on the door again to close it. "I have already made allowances for you, considering your…legal difficulties. Do not expect such generosity each time you desire a quick jaunt home. You will see your friends when term is due to start and not a moment sooner. Do I make myself clear?"
"But–."
"I said do I make myself clear?"
The harsh, needling sibilance of Parseltongue knocked a moment of clarity into Harriet's head, and she bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Slytherin stepped back enough to consult the grandfather clock in his room, narrowing his crimson eyes. "We have an excursion to make today and will set out in an hour. Use that time to make yourself presentable, Potter."
The door snapped shut, leaving Harriet fuming and frustrated in the hall. She would have to settle for writing to Elara, and Hermione, Sirius, Remus and whomever else she could think Gaunt might consider offing on a whim. She would remind them to be on their guard.
Harriet turned, intent on returning to her own room-and startled when she saw Snape waiting in the corridor, watching her. Harriet opened her mouth to tell him what had happened–.
Cold fingers moved against her jaw. "People are predictable. Soft. If you know how they will behave, you needn't do anything at all to have your will enacted."
Her teeth clicked with the force she used in closing her jaw. Harriet forced a passive expression onto her face, and when Snape raised a questioning brow, Harriet scowled. She stuck her nose in the air, stomped to her room, slung open her door, and slammed it shut behind her.
The noise reverberated against the stone walls, shaking as Harriet's face crumpled, her glare fixed on the floor.
Mean, cold laughter. "And you think I don't make Severus happy."
Clenching her fists, she squared her shoulders, then got ready for the day.
x X x
"I don't see why he has to come."
Harriet crossed her arms, cloak fluttering against her knees, the summer breeze flicking at her fringe. She refused to look at Snape, instead addressing Slytherin where he stood at the head of the steps. Her Master had brought them to the grounds of the Tor, to a staircase that descended the mountainside and delved into the forest below. What they were doing there, Harriet didn't know, but she knew she didn't want Snape tagging along.
For the second time that day, Slytherin looked at Harriet as if she'd lost her mind, and maybe she had. Questioning the wizard was not the cleverest thing she'd ever done.
"Because I said so, Miss Potter," Slytherin said as if it should be obvious. The breeze stirred his attire but didn't displace a single hair on his head. He looked at Snape, questioning, but Snape merely gazed back at him. Slytherin threw his hands in the air and started walking. "Surrounded by idiots."
Harriet followed him, forcing herself to pretend Snape didn't exist. Given that he didn't say anything and walked behind them with all the grace of a cat, it wasn't difficult. She concentrated on the steps instead, on the uneven stone and thick grass creeping through the cracks. As they climbed lower, the forest's shadows grew thicker, and the heat settled on the top of her head.
They walked for a long while. Normally, Harriet enjoyed walking, but having spent the summer trapped in various enclosed spaces, her legs ached after a few kilometers and she was soon sticky with sweat. Naturally, Slytherin appeared unfazed, and if Snape was bothered, he kept it to himself.
If she could forget her company and location, it was a lovely hike. They went through several glades and clearings and over a river, Slytherin occasionally stopping to take a bit of bark or plant, inspecting the area. Harriet didn't know what he was doing and didn't really care. Her mind remained hundreds of miles away with her friends in London.
She didn't notice the first signs of a settlement. She didn't notice the barricade until the tops of the canvas encampment were in sight, and Snape hit her with a spell that yanked her cloak's hood over her head. She whipped around to tell him off, and she realized they'd crossed a ward. Snape had put up his own hood, his face cast into shadow.
Harriet stayed quiet and hung back with Snape as Slytherin continued into the camp. Two shabby wizards dressed in black came out to greet him, and they engaged in conversation.
Dark wizards, she realized, stomach twisting with nerves. She guessed she looked like a Dark wizard too, traveling with Snape and Slytherin, dressed in the same tailored cloak and robes. The idea made her uncomfortable.
It's not true, though, she reminded herself. It doesn't matter what they think.
She inched closer, curious to hear what Slytherin was saying, but he and the other wizards were too far away. One of the blokes extended a book of some kind, and Slytherin produced a little gold satchel. The wizard held up his hands, and judging by his body language, Harriet guessed he was refusing payment. Smart on his behalf, she decided. He obviously understood the kind of person Slytherin was.
Their afternoon continued, and they visited two more sites where Dark wizards and poachers lived on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. They passed one section of the trees where a wizard's head had been mounted on a spike—probably by centaurs. Harriet was bloody terrified and disgusted, but Slytherin continued without batting an eye. He ordered Harriet to point out magical symbols or foliage as they passed it, and he iterated how important he found it for her to know where these encampments were located.
"Scum of the earth, truly. Scavengers and criminals who can't eke out a living among proper sorcerers. However, they do have their…uses."
They came out of the forest at one point to a grassy lowland, and Harriet could smell the brine of the Black Lake lurking nearby. Far, far in the distance, rising against the blue sky amid a cluster of summer thunderheads and craggy mountaintops, Hogwarts waited, awash in the warm, welcoming glow of the sun.
The wind pushed the clouds, and it disappeared from view.
As they walked, Harriet noted odd structures in the largest clearings. She tripped on a brick buried in the weeds and stumbled, feeling a solid surface under the loose topsoil. She looked again, and the scattered, irregular rocks suddenly made sense; houses used to reside there. A village.
Black soot scorched the bones, and nature had hidden the rest.
"The Dark Lord's doing," Snape muttered, having come to stand near Harriet as she paused, staring at the crooked line of a chimney wilting like a dying flower. "Or Slytherin's. Or Gaunt's."
Harriet didn't answer, looking away. Slytherin had gone ahead, almost in the forest again.
"He can make you believe in anything he says, but this is the reality. Entire villages or communities fed to the fire because they did not bow to His whims, and they were too far from the Ministry for them to do a thing." Snape passed her, robes brushing her arm. "Do not forget he would do the same to you in a heartbeat, Potter."
Confused by his bitter tone, Harriet watched the Potions Master leave. Does he think I don't know that? she wondered. Does he think I don't understand?
Because she knew full well what Tom Riddle was doing to their world. He was destroying it. For all that he preached about the betterment and supremacy of their society, Voldemort had told Harriet the truth that night in the graveyard. If people did not fall in line, he was perfectly content with being the last wizard alive.
Harriet looked for Hogwarts again but couldn't find it. She closed her eyes and followed the Dark wizards into the trees.
x X x
In the quietest corner of the library, Harriet hid while the rest of the Tor descended to the dining hall for another awkward dinner with the Sangforts.
She fiddled with the corner to the page she'd been pretending to read for the last hour. Harriet would have given anything to have that dry, dubious tome on old runes turn into a novel, a magazine, or anything remotely interesting. Her day had been exhausting, both mentally and physically, what with Slytherin forcing her to carry his finds like a pack mule while she continually reminded herself to ignore Snape.
The page tore.
Harriet wanted to go home. Anxiety nettled her like ants under her skin, and it was all she could do to keep herself still and somewhat composed. She'd hoped to find a letter from Elara waiting for her when Slytherin finally let them return to the Tor, but her desk had been empty.
She slouched into the chair and removed her glasses, rubbing at her eyes. I'm here to learn, she reminded herself. I have a goal, and I can't disappoint everyone. No matter how many times the thought spun in her head, Harriet couldn't help but wish to be anywhere but here, and the guilt crushed her.
A madman was threatening her friends, and all she had to do was sit comfortable and learn.
Harriet replaced her glasses and peered with longing at the window, the dying sunlight dripping glutinous as fresh, ruby blood, vivid and eerie as the evening approached. She watched the color deepen and pondered whether or not she could fly all the way to London in her Animagus form.
No, she decided, frowning. I'd end up getting lost or breaking my ruddy neck.
She heard someone coming into the library, so she returned to her work, keeping her head bowed over the book as if enthralled by the content. Whoever it was moved with near silence, and she had a sneaking suspicion who it was.
Professor Slytherin remained quiet for over a minute, and Harriet forced herself to remain casual until he stopped watching her and sniffed, saying, "I see you've neglected dinner this evening."
Harriet lifted her head. "Sorry, Pro—Master. I just wanted to get a start on tomorrow's assignment."
Slytherin looked ghoulish in the fading daylight, standing with his hands folded before himself as he studied her. His contemplative, unblinking attention scorched Harriet, and she regretted skipping dinner. Slytherin tilted his head, seeming to come to a decision.
"Come here, apprentice."
"…sir?"
"Come here."
Harriet slid the book off her lap and stood, hesitating for a moment before she came to stand in front of Slytherin. Again, he stared at her, their eyes nearly level, before he told her, "Turn around."
"Erm, can—can I ask why—?"
"Turn!"
Harriet flinched at the volume of his voice, then did as told. She faced the window, holding herself as still as she could, so still she almost yelped when Slytherin suddenly gripped her shoulders without warning. He swept her plait over the left one, baring the nape of her neck, and Harriet wordlessly stuttered when she felt the tip of his wand against her skin.
What is he doing? Her frantic mind turned over the day's events, not daring to turn her head. Is he going to hurt me? What did I do wrong?
"A gift for you," Slytherin murmured. "For your dedication."
He began incanting a long string of spells, and the only warning Harriet received was a flash of heat stinging her flesh. Then, pain lanced through her neck like an icepick being driven into her spine, and she shrieked. Her knees went out from under her, and next Harriet knew, she was hunched on the floor, dazed, her skin burning.
Slytherin put his wand away, gazing down his nose at her.
"Get up."
Harriet didn't move. Her fingers twitched, seeming to struggle to stretch and hold her weight. She blinked and shook her head.
"UP!"
Struggling upright, Harriet gripped the back of her neck and ground her teeth, not bothering to hide the glare she directed at Slytherin through her mussed fringe.
His lips parted in a snide smile. "Get out of my sight. Come when you are called."
She left the library, not bothering to bring her book, colliding with the wall in the corridor. She rubbed at her skin, frantic, but whatever Slytherin had done left nothing to feel, no whisper of magic or raised wound.
He cursed me. He cursed me! Her nails dug into her neck, raking over her spine. I have to do something! What did he—?!
Harriet slammed into a solid body, skittering back.
"Potter," Snape grunted, rubbing the spot on his chest where her shoulder had struck him. "You stupid girl, what—?"
He lunged to grab her arm before Harriet could dart away.
"Let go!" she yelled.
"No," Snape retorted, pulling her closer. "What is the matter with you? What has happened?"
Her eyes burned, and Harriet knew her face must be red. "Gerroff!"
Snape didn't listen to her. He threw open the nearest door and dragged Harriet inside, snapping a spell for the lamps to flare. It was a storage room of some sort, the air thick with dust, the furniture covered in off-white drop cloths. Snape curled his fingers into her arm and forced Harriet to turn toward him.
"What has he done?"
Harriet glowered at the floor.
"Potter."
"I don't know," she relented, unsure what else to do. Tears beaded her lashes, and she wiped them away, refusing to let them fall. "He—I don't know. He did something to my neck."
"Let me see."
"It's not—."
"Let me see, you little fool."
Snape reached out to move her hand, then lifted her hair. He sighed.
"It will be fine."
"But what did he—?"
She fell silent when the Potions Master released her and turned his back to her. He knelt, his robes pooling like spilled ink, and roughly grabbed his own hair at the nape to pull it aside, baring his pale, ghostly skin.
"There. Look. He's done the same."
Harriet didn't know what she was meant to be looking at, so she stepped closer, moving so her body didn't block the light. She leaned in, and when her face was a few inches from him, she realized what she'd thought was a stray bit of hair was actually a mark. No bigger than her fingertip, a black rune—Ior—had been pressed into his skin, and she realized what Slytherin must have done.
"He—he marked me?" Harriet reared back, her mouth dry, hands shaking. Snape rose again and faced her. "Is it like—?"
"The Dark Mark? No. The Headmaster and I have theorized it's an earlier, simpler concept the Dark Lord developed before he formulated the Mark. It will…burn when he requires your presence, but it does not carry the same drawbacks as this." He flicked a dismissive gesture at his left forearm.
Harriet scrubbed at her skin until it hurt. "Can—can it be removed?"
"Eventually. I will remove it from you when I can."
She forced her hand away from her neck, her fingers curling into a fist at her side. Snape watched her, a deep line forming between his brows. Panic fluttered in Harriet's middle, and she backed up, colliding with a covered suit of armor. The pieces clanked together.
"You should go back to Hogwarts," she told him, not meeting his gaze. She stared instead at the top button of his shirt, closed over his cravat. "Or—go home, or go wherever. Just—you should leave."
"What in the blazes are you on about?"
"You need to leave, Snape!"
"Potter." The confusion didn't clear from his expression, but he spoke with authority in his voice. "You don't get to tell me where I need to go. It is my choice. Remaining at the Tor is my choice."
"That's the problem—!"
"My well-being is not your concern." He spoke over Harriet's objection, apparently divining the heart of the issue. "Whatever consequences my choices entail are mine, not yours."
"But what if…?"
"Speak up, girl."
"What if he hurts you? Because of—because of me?"
Frowning, Snape crossed his arms. "Slytherin behaves in whatever manner he chooses. Whether or not he vents his aggression on my person is not something for you to worry about. Do not believe I have not considered how my actions appear to him. I have made my decisions. You need only concern yourself with studying or protecting your own person."
"But if—if he does something, I won't be able to forgive myself. I can't stop myself from worrying."
The look Snape gave her could have frozen a first-year solid. "Try," he ordered.
He threw open the door, allowing it to bang into the wall, and stormed off. Harriet remained in the storage room long after he'd gone, her head in her hands, and the back of her neck burned with phantom awareness.