Lizz (random_glitch) wrote,

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Fic, HP

Title: Revenge
Fandom, Pairing: HP, and none. 'Tis a torture fic, people!
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,075
Summary: It has been three years since Dumbledore's murder, and Harry is finally able to take his revenge on the man who committed it: Severus Snape.
Standard "Dont Sue Me": Um...don't sue me? It's hers, I swear. Trust me, if it were mine, "I need to know what Malfoy's doing indside you" would've been NOTHING like the book. :)
A/N: Ok, keep three things in mind when you read this. a) I have only written three HP related fics in the past year/year and a half, and this is one of them, 2) I did it at work, and c) if you give me a bad review that means I will have to hunt you down, and honestly, I am too lazy to feel good about the hunting bit. :) Kidding, kidding. Or am I? *raises brow*

It had been two years…or three, depending on who you were talking to. Two years since Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort once and for all, but three since he had discovered that he truly did have enough hatred to do so. Three years since Dumbledore had been murdered by someone he’d trusted. Someone who had been working for the other side all along. Who had played on Dumbledore’s goodness so that he could escape Azkaban, and repaid him by taking his life when his true master had demanded it. The same man who had disappeared without a trace after Harry had killed said master, and who Harry had been searching for for two years.

But now he had found him. Found him despite all the steps he had taken to protect himself. And now that he had, he was going to make this worth his while.

He watched the man for days before he struck-he had learned patience in the last few years and knew that to fly at the man immediately was to spell his own death. He would wait, and observe. The man was a creature of habit, Harry knew this, and so his routine hardly ever varied. Every morning around seven he would rise, put on the kettle and head out back to collect eggs. Then he would make himself a small breakfast the he wouldn’t eat. After tossing that, he would sit at his kitchen table for hours, either staring off into space or poring over one book or another, before getting up and heading to the market to buy something for dinner. It amused Harry to know that this man, who hated Muggles, should be reduced to living in an old Muggle neighborhood, doing nearly everything the Muggle way, knowing that doing too much magic would alert the wrong people of his presence. He only wished that he had found the man sooner, so that he might revel in what he was sure would have been the man’s utter awkwardness, having shunned everything Muggle for so long.

As it was he took great pleasure in knowing that none of the villagers could stand the man. The women stopped speaking in his presence, noses turned up and eyes cold until he passed. Children would whisper, point and laugh as he walked by and Harry knew that they were responsible for much of the damage done to his home; the kicks in the fence and the smashed eggs in the yard. None but the slimiest of shop keeps would deal with him, and even they made a point to sell him the skimpiest portions they could get away with. The man hardly seemed to notice it, but Harry was positive that in the beginning it must have been quite a struggle to keep himself from hexing the lot, and again he wished he could have been there to witness it.

His shopping completed, the man would return home to make his meal. This one he would actually eat, and as soon as the sky would begin to darken he would head off to bed, though Harry suspected-or perhaps just hoped-that sleep itself did not come easy. It was during this time that Harry decided to make his presence known.

On the fifth night since he had begun stalking his prey Harry waited until he retired for the bedroom. He did not bother with the door; he knew better than to believe that it wouldn’t be spelled against intruders. A whispered spell and the wall before him simply melted away, and Harry stepped into the bedroom, a smile on his face that failed to reach his eyes or voice as he spoke to the man who was standing in the middle of the room facing him, wand at the ready, regarding his appearance with a complete lack of surprise.

“Hello, Severus.”


For his part, Severus Snape had been expecting this for some time now. He had always known that even if the Aurors eventually gave up on him, Harry bloody Potter would never rest until he found him and brought him to justice; or something equally Gryffindorish. He had known from the moment that he had taken Dumbledore’s life that Potter would not rest until he had him in Azkaban, so though he could not see anything other than his mouth underneath the hood he was wearing, he knew very well who had come to end his illusion of freedom. But he would not go easily.

As Potter’s mouth quirked into a smile and he bade him hello, Snape slashed his wand through the air, and a jet of bright purple light shot at Potter’s chest. Or where Potter’s chest had just been, for the boy disappeared as soon as Snape’s hand had moved.

“Now, now, Severus, is that any way to engage in a proper duel? I ask you, have you forgotten all of your manners living in this filthy hovel?” The silky voice came from directly behind him, and he whirled around, ready to strike once more…but he found that he could not move his arm. It simply refused to obey him. Potter grinned at him from behind his hood. “Now,” he said softly, “I believe in a proper duel, it is customary to bow to your opponent, is it not? Then that is what we must do.” Potter bowed slightly, but Snape grit his teeth and refused to even incline his head. Potter sighed in false disappointment. “The hard way then,” he murmured, and raised his wand. He brought it down jerkily, and Snape suddenly felt as though a giant hand was on him, forcing him into a deep bow that nearly caused his knees to buckle. He snarled wordlessly.

Potter flicked his wand upward. Snape straightened immediately, still snarling. “Now,” Potter said, “let us begin. You will find that your can move your-“ But Snape had already figured that out, and struck. Green light flew at Potter, who ducked calmly out of the way and taunted, “Is that the best you can do, Severus? My, living amongst Muggles really has made you slow, hasn’t it?” As if to prove his words, he flicked his wand almost lazily and Snape felt something white hot slap him across the face, sending him reeling backward. He raised a hand to his cheek and was unsurprised when it came away bloody.

Furious that the boy would yet use his own spells against him, Snape sent hex after hex at him, years of hatred welling in his heart and making the hexes that much more powerful. But Potter avoided all of them; either by pulling his little disappearing act or simply dodging them altogether. Snape didn’t know when Potter had gotten so fast, or so powerful, but he understood that he was being toyed with. Potter was playing a cat and mouse game with him, and Snape had no delusions as to who the mouse was. He forced himself to stop throwing hexes before he really exhausted himself and just stared at Potter, who leaned nonchalantly against the wall when he saw that Snape had temporarily stopped. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” he said in would-be exasperation, but Snape could hear the pleased undertone, “I really thought you’d be more of a challenge than this.”

“Yes, well, I really thought that the great Harry Potter would never be so cowardly to hide behind a hood and cloak instead of facing his enemy head on,” he snapped back. “Afraid I might hurt your pretty face, Potter?”

Potter smiled unpleasantly, and took a few steps towards Snape. “Would you like to see my face, Severus?” he asked, and raised his hands to his hood. Snape saw his chance. “Crucio!” he cried, and this time the jet of red light that sprang from his wand hit Potter square in the chest. Unfortunately he had been weakened by his earlier attempts at cursing Potter and his Cruciatus could do little more than knock him off of his feet. He was flung back against the wall with a loud crack, and though he made no sound his wand flew out of his hand and his hood fell, exposing his face.

If Snape had not spent so much time in the company of Lord Voldemort, he might have gasped. For there was nothing of the boy that he had known at Hogwarts in Harry Potter’s face. The tousled black hair had gone, replaced by a shiny skull with small tufts of white hair growing in small patches; his nose had turned into something that was almost a beak, his lips were thin and bloodless…but it was his eyes that caught Snape’s attention. No longer were they the green of his mothers; indeed, no longer were they anything resembling human. They were black. Completely black, with black veins reaching from the corners and up around his ears. Those veins were all over his head as well; Snape could see them underneath the tufts of white hair, and they were pulsing. But for some reason that didn’t unnerve as much as the eyes themselves, and Snape felt that if he stared into them much longer he would go mad. As it was he couldn’t seem to look away, or move, and though he knew that it was the worst thing to be doing at the moment he couldn’t force himself to do anything but stare into those bottomless black eyes, his mouth open and his arms slack at his sides.

Potter stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving Snape’s. “That was a good effort,” he said softly, holding his hand out. His wand flew into it, and once again he smiled at Snape, this time flicking a forked tongue at him. Taking in Snape’s look of horror, he grinned wider. “Unfortunately, you might find that your curses are less than effective when dealing with me. You like the look?” he asked, running a hand through one of his patches of hair. It came off in his hand; he looked at it before shrugging and let it fall to the floor. “I actually got the idea from your old master, funny enough. I knew that I had to be more powerful to track you down, you see. Powerful enough to keep you from killing me when I found you. It took me a while to get here, but now that I have, I plan on making it worth my while.”

Potter sighed, and raised his wand. “It was amusing to watch you wear yourself out trying to hurt me, Severus, but I find that I am ready to finish the game. Pity that you weren’t more of a challenge; I would have expected more from the man who killed Dumbledore.” He smirked, flicked his wand, and Snape went flying into the wall opposite him so hard that he heard something break. He crumpled, but now that his eye contact with Potter had been broken, he found that he could move again. Keeping his eyes below Potter’s neck, Snape slashed his wand through the air. Potter didn’t even move; the curse caught him high on his face and cut it open. Black, spilled from the wound, and Snape stared in horror as the flow turned sluggish and the wound knit itself together before his eyes.

Potter lifted his hand and wiped the black stuff from his face. He looked at it for a second before wiping his hand on his robes. “I told you, Severus, your curses will have no effect. But by all means, keep trying. It does keep things…amusing.” Another flick of his wand and Snape rose up and slammed into the wall again. And again. And again, until he was covered in the red of his own blood and felt as though all of his bones were broken and could no longer hold his wand. He bowed his head in something like defeat, blood dripping into his eyes as he whispered tiredly, painfully through busted lips and cracked teeth, “Kill me then, Potter. You win. Take your revenge.”

Potter kneeled before Snape and gripped his jaw, hard. He forced his head up until he was staring into those black eyes and hissed, “Kill you? What on earth makes you think that I am going to kill you, Severus? Death is too good for the likes of you. Death is an escape.” He raised his wand. “Crucio!”

It went on and on. And as the last of Severus Snape’s sanity started to snap, he heard Potter’s mad laughter and knew that his master lived on, after all.


The first person to show up was a recovering alcoholic named Ted Wilcox, and what he saw caused him head straight to the bar, where he spent the next three hours days telling anyone who would listen that it was the worst thing that he’d ever come across. He would have gone on longer, but by that time the Aurors who had arrived on the scene and modified his memory accordingly. His and everyone else’s in the bar. When they were done, good old Teddy Wilcox believed that he had been in the bar all day, and that his wife was sure to leave him for good this time. The memory of the thing he had seen; the thing that had made him sick to his stomach and decided his final fall off of the wagon of sobriety, was as gone as his marriage was soon to be.

What poor Ted had come across was a house that looked as though it had become a war zone. One of the walls had been gone completely, as though it had just melted away. The rest of the house was marked in scorches and cracks and splatters of blood, which was heaviest in what looked like it used to be a bedroom. There, in the middle of the floor sat a man, giggling quietly into his hands. His head was bent so that all you could see was his baldish head, black veins pulsing just under the skin and one or two small patches of white hair. At his feet lay what had once been Severus Snape.

The former Potions Master was twisted into an unnatural pretzel shape that would have been impossible if his bones hadn’t been severely broken. He was staring up at the ceiling with blank eyes and crooning softly, a mixture of spit and blood drooling from his open mouth. Every once in a while the giggling man would kick him to listen to him scream, and the giggling would turn into wild laughter.

When Ted had gasped at the sight, the giggling man had looked up, and black eyes had bored right into his. Ted immediately felt weak and tired and not in control of his own head, and as he watched the man, still giggling, had flicked his tongue at him through his teeth suggestively, and Ted had seen that it was forked, like a snake’s. The one on the floor had giggled then, and as those black eyes broke from his to look down, Ted felt his paralysis break, and he was out that door more quickly than he’d ever moved in his life, making his way to the bar to try and drink away that sight, until the Aurors came by and removed the memory much more effectively than alcohol ever could.

It truly was a horrible sight, though. Every Auror there agreed that it was possibly worse than when the Lestranges had tortured the Longbottoms to insanity. At least in that case there hadn’t been so much blood. They cleaned up what they could, mostly to avoid the decision that they knew must be made. What to do with Harry Potter. Snape, they sent off to St. Mungo’s right away, knowing that even though his mind was beyond repair, his body could be taken care of. But what to do with the man who had done it?

It was obvious to everyone there that he couldn’t go to Azkaban. How would it look, them sending the hero of their world to prison? No, it wasn’t possible. But anywhere else seemed to be out of the question, too. Eventually they decided on St. Mungo’s for him as well, with a twenty-four hour guard to keep him from escaping, and to circulate a rumor that he had gone missing, to keep the public from talking. There was no need for them to know what exactly had happened to their savior. Surprisingly, Potter came quietly, though he was still giggling, and flicking his strange tongue at anyone who would look at him. It was quickly learned that to avoid doing so was best. Those who were to guard him would have to be warned. There was something strange about his eyes.


From the Daily Prophet, five years after Harry Potter’s disappearance:


Harry Potter, formerly known as The Boy Who Lived, was found dead outside his home in Surrey last evening. Potter, who had been missing now for five years, was found by a Muggle neighbor. Soon enough, local wizard James Mcfly was drawn to the scene by the woman’s screams. “They were really awful”, Mcfly reports. “I thought that someone was hurting her, so of course I rushed to help.” But what he found was much worse. “He was just lying there. I knew who he was right away of course, because of the scar. As soon as I realized what was going on, I got a hold of theAuror department, and they sent someone over right away.”

No one is saying what killed Harry Potter, but a source inside the ministry claims that it had to have been one of You-Know-Who’s former supporters. We all know that Severus Snape, one of You-Know-Who’s biggest supporters and murderer of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, is still at large, and my source feels that he is the best bet for who might have done such a thing to Potter. “The thing is that most of You-Know-Who’s old supporters were killed in the last battle or caught soon afterwards. The only one’s that we haven’t caught are Nott, McNair, and Snape. We’ll be looking into all three, of course, but my money is on Snape.” So is ours, dear. So is ours. Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who eight years ago in a spectacular battle...
Tags: character: harry potter, character: severus snape, fanfic: harry potter, pairing: gen

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