The Dark Apprentice Chpater 69

Chapter 69

Arriving at the platform of 9 3/4s this year felt different for Harry. A palpable tension hung in the air, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of excited students and bustling families. The teen was unsure if it was the machinations of the Dark Lord behind the scenes, and his part that he was going to play in it, that cast such a long shadow over the familiar scene. Or perhaps it was just the undeniable weight of his own intuition, a nagging sensation deep within that every piece of his logical mind confirmed: this would be the last time he boarded the Hogwarts Express for a new year. A sense of impending finality permeated every interaction, every glance he exchanged with his fellow students, who, despite their attempts at forced cheerfulness, mirrored his own unease. The usual thrill of the journey was replaced with a heavy sense of foreboding, a quiet understanding that the stakes had never been higher.

Despite this, Harry, ever the calculating leader of Slytherin House, managed to conjure a confident smile as he stepped onto the platform. His presence, as always, ignited a flurry of whispers amongst the assembled students. Many remembered his tumultuous departure from Hogwarts at the end of the previous term, a cacophony of furious whispers and pointed fingers that had followed him out the gates. Now, however, the whispers were tinged with a different kind of curiosity; most simply wondered where he had been, and what adventures or misadventures had filled the void of his absence. The air crackled with a mixture of apprehension and fascination, all eyes fixed on the enigmatic figure, as he surveyed the throng of students with an almost imperceptible glint in his emerald eyes.

It hadn’t taken long before Daphne was at his side, her arm gently lacing through his own.  The statement was clear enough.  None would be on his arm this year except Daphne.  Harry didn’t mind the statement, but was surprised Daphne wanted the extra whispers to attach to her own name.  After all, the last girl to lace her arm through his in public was her best friend Tracey Davis, who had been murdered in front of their very eyes.

Clearly after everything Daphne had learned over the Summer however, her ambition outweighed the gossip of mere teenagers.  The reward far outweighed the risk at this point and once she had taken this arm she asked, “I missed you these last few days.  Did you have some good training sessions?”

“Today was the best.” Harry said with a smile, as he tried to appear confident in the face of his peers, “I was a little distracted in the beginning, but I came around.  Landed a hit on someone that most believed to be untouchable.  Feeling pretty good about it to be honest.”

“Congratulations.” Daphne said, grabbing his arm, and placing it over her shoulder.  A show of possession as they moved towards the train, “You may not have trained as hard as you usually would physically, but we delved into all corners of magic over the Summer.”

She was right.  The path to uncover a cure for her sister's illness took them down nearly every branch of magic at one point or another, “Don’t underestimate what I get up to in my time away from you my lady.”

Harry tried to put on the cocky attitude that would befit him as the King Snake, but his words were far from a lie.  He really had put a lot into his dueling over the Summer.  With opponents far more formidable than he had ever tangled with.  Not to mention the other surprises he had still managed to keep from her.

“After everything we have been through, I can’t imagine underestimating you.” Daphne said affectionately, leaning into him.

Harry was mildly surprised by her show of affection, but he understood her decisive show of possession.

Boarding the train with Daphne, he levitated her luggage behind them wandlessly as the two looked to find a seat on the Express.  When they did find their seat, they were joined by Blaise shortly after.  His usual confident smirk remained on his face as he sat across from the duo, and immediately asked, “Is this new?”

“Since you left us alone on the night of my birthday.” Daphne explained with a soft smile, making Blaise chuckle.

“I’d raise a glass if I had one, but it will have to wait,” Blaise said, his grin a little too wide, a little too fixed. Harry, ever observant, couldn't shake the feeling that Blaise's usual suave demeanor was cracking under the surface. It was hard to ignore the lingering shadow of the Yule Ball, an event that had unfolded just nine short months ago, yet felt like a lifetime.

Harry recalled the night vividly: Blaise, meticulously dressed, had escorted Daphne, a vision in an emerald gown, into the Great Hall. There had been a certain hopeful glint in Blaise's eyes then, a subtle proprietary air in his gestures as he guided her through the dancing couples. It wasn't the kind of attention one paid to a mere acquaintance. Harry had seen it, and so had many others – a silent expectation, a tentative belief that something more might blossom between them.

Now, that hope seemed to have faded, or perhaps, been quietly extinguished. The forced nature of Blaise's smile hinted at a deeper disappointment, a carefully guarded regret that he was trying, perhaps unsuccessfully, to mask. The casual mention of a celebratory drink felt hollow, a deflection from the unaddressed history that still hung between them, a silent testament to what might have been, and what ultimately wasn't.

“I appreciate the sentiment regardless.” Harry replied silkily, “In the grief of losing Tracey we bonded.  It’s not official, but we spent a lot of time together over the Summer, we are still working through it.”

Daphne nodded her agreement, and Blaise said nothing, while the three had an awkward silence befall them.  Thankfully it didn’t last long as the Carrow twins, Vaisley and Derrick entered their compartment.

The greetings were short lived as Vaisley groaned, “Have you all heard that they hired that cunt Umbridge to be our Defense Professor?”

Daphne seemed more aware of the woman’s reputation than Harry as she groaned, “What?  Why?  From what my father says she’s hardly worth the parchment her title as Undersecretary was written on.”

Derrick grinned at her, “It seems our fearless leader upset a lot of the Ministry’s senior officials last year.  I think they want to keep an eye on him and Dumbledore.”

Harry cocked his head to the side looking at the duo in surprise, but Blaise added to it, “They are right.  Even the ICW had your name circulating this Summer.  The British side is pissed that you managed to gain all that attention by entering and winning the Tri-Wizard tournament.  That in itself wouldn’t have been a big deal, but after you killed Crouch Jr on the grounds of Hogwarts with basically no repercussions you ruffled some feathers.”

Frowning at the synopsis Harry shook his head, “I only took the man's life in retaliation to killing my best friend…my girlfriend at the time.  How could anyone in the Ministry or ICW criticize me for that?”

Hestia Carrow waved her hand, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Harry.  The Government always has to find a bad guy to blame.  They aren’t going to turn many in Slytherin House against you.”

Not many, but some.  Harry thought morbidly as his eyes shifted to one of the twins, and offered her a nod of appreciation.  Her support was unsurprising, Harry knew her father was one of the ones he had broken out of Azakaban.  The teen now had to wonder if she was aware of that fact, or if she was just leaning on him hoping for protection from the man.

The teen had met both Alecto and Amycus Carrow, and neither were exactly the parental type.  He couldn’t imagine any life the twins had to endure under their father or aunt would be a good one.  Thoughts of offering protection to the first two witches outside of his year to commit to him flashed through his mind, but he knew that would have to come later. 

Harry had been given a chance to duel with both adult Carrows and neither were much of a threat.  Under his wing he could make Hestia and Flora much more formidable than anyone in their family from what he had seen so far.

“What do you think the Ministry’s goal is by putting Umbridge in the position?” Harry asked carefully.

Flora shrugged, "Surveillance is my best guess.  After last year I think the Ministry is tired of getting blind sided by things happening at Hogwarts”

Hestia agreed immediately, “People like Draco will flock to her.  With his father gone, any promise of power will be grasped immediately.  He will be reporting every broom cupboard we choose for the next year he is so desperate for a grasp of power ”

Blaise nodded, “They are right.  WIth his father gone he has nothing.  Give him a chance at some power with a Ministry official, and I’d bet he would throw his weight behind her with hope he would have some sort of command.”

Scoffing Harry shook his head, “He would be better suited laying low.  His family is still extremely wealthy, and commands respect in certain circles.  If he continues on this path he will find himself lying in a ditch like his father.”

All the sixth year Slytherins plus Blaise exchanged looks at this, while Daphne just leaned into Harry and laid her head on his shoulder nonchalantly, while saying, “With Snape protecting Draco, we will all have to be careful.  The blonde ponce has been laying low since Harry took over, but that was with Lucius Malfoy keeping him in check.  Take out his fathers voice of reason, and the fool might try and stir up some trouble.  With Umbridge and Snape in his corner, who knows what type of problems he could cause.  We shouldn’t discount him.”

Just as Harry was about to dismiss the worthless excuse of a wizard from the group's thoughts, the door to their compartment opened and Theodore Nott was at the entrance, with a slight smirk on his face, “Harry, have a good Summer?”

Harry glanced towards the brown haired teen, whom he knew for certainty was aware of his secret outside of Daphne, and offered him a grin, “Theo, join us.  We were just discussing Undersecretary Umbridge joining the Hogwarts staff.”

The teen scoffed as he took the only seat directly next to Harry’s available, “She has no idea what she is getting herself into.”

Conspiracy was in the teen’s eyes as he glanced towards Harry who grinned, but Blaise was the one to question Theo first, “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just all been a big mess at Hogwarts the last few years.” The teen answered nonchalantly, while glancing slyly at Harry, “Besides, our last few defense professors haven’t fared so well.”

Harry had to give it to the Slytherins inside the compartment.  None had batted an eyelash at Theo’s arrival. All of them, even Daphne, must’ve been wondering why the two were acting so casual with the other, but none had even raised an eyebrow.  They accepted him because Harry did, and that was power.

“I hear she is a cow.” Harry scoffed, “I have it on reliable word that she didn’t even receive a NEWT in the subject either.  The Ministry is really stretching their reach.”

“It’s mostly to choke out Dumbledore's hold on the school though.” Bliase countered.

“He’s right.” Derrick agreed, “Which can only be good for us.  The old muggle loving fool was only trying to make it harder for everyday life in Slytherin.”

“With Harry leading us, “Vaisley added, “And Dumbledore out of the picture, maybe we can actually move towards something better.”

“I appreciate the faith.” Harry added after a brief moment of silence, “I don’t know much about Umbridge’s background other than her incompetency with a wand. Do any of you know anything?”

It turns out his closest allies were a wealth of knowledge regarding their new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Each had heard rumors of her bigoted views, views that painted her as an ardent purist, quick to condemn any who didn't fit her narrow-minded definition of "proper" wizardkind. Beyond her prejudiced ideology, her annoying nature of imposing herself on the Wizengamot as if she belonged to an important family was a constant source of irritation to many. She often spoke with an air of unearned authority, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her lineage was unremarkable and her influence negligible outside of the Ministry's current political climate. Her only accreditation of success was being selected by Fudge as his Undersecretary, a title that, in the grand scheme of things, would mean nothing once Tom had taken over. Indeed, her entire career seemed to hinge on her sycophantic devotion to the current Minister, a devotion that would prove to be her undoing when the Ministry inevitably fell under new, darker control.

Many in the wizarding world harbored a deluded belief about her, viewing her not as a true follower of the Dark Lord, but merely as a sympathizer—a concept Harry found utterly pathetic. In the stark, unyielding worldview of the young wizard, there was no middle ground, no shades of gray. You were either unequivocally and wholeheartedly with the Dark Lord, or you were against him, an opponent in every sense of the word. The notion of a "sympathizer" was a dangerous illusion, a weak excuse that allowed people to rationalize their inaction or their subtle support without fully committing to the truth. For Harry, the world was sharply divided into two factions: loyalists who pledged their lives and magic to the Dark Lord, and opponents who actively resisted him. Any attempt to define a third category was, in his eyes, nothing more than self-deception and a profound failure to grasp the brutal reality of the war that lay ahead.

In the end Harry merely shook his head, and added nothing further.  Instead he diverted the topic to his allies Summer hoping to distract the group to lighter topics.  As he listened to each of his allies his hand moved to the necklace beneath the shirt.  There was a sense of anticipation of what was to come this year, and only hoped Tom would be there to support him in his times of need.

Harry had done his best to listen to the excitement of each of his friends Summer, but could hardly focus through it.  He feigned polite smiles, and asked questions at the right time, but they only had half his focus.  After everything, teen drama was hardly interesting in comparison to assaulting Azkaban or robbing Gringotts.  He wished he could regale his own Summer of triumph to his closest allies, but he knew the time wasn't right.  Perhaps next year there would be no secrets.

As they arrived at Hogwarts, the humor of Blaise and Vaisley had raised his spirits. The two had both joked about their summer adventures, recounting tales that ranged from hilariously embarrassing to outright scandalous. Blaise, with his dry wit and perfectly timed one-liners, had painted a vivid picture of a mishap during a family trip to a magical resort, involving a mischievous veela and a misplaced wand. Vaisley, on the other hand, had a knack for exaggerated storytelling, embellishing a seemingly mundane encounter with a particularly powerful group of wizards he had encountered.

Their dirty humor, a well-practiced routine, made the girls blush and the guys roar with laughter. Even Harry, usually more reserved, found himself grinning widely, the lingering anxieties of the summer slowly fading away amidst the boisterous camaraderie. The journey to the castle, often a time for quiet reflection, had instead become a raucous celebration of their return, a vibrant burst of youthful energy that promised another year of unforgettable moments within the walls of Hogwarts.

.o.

It hadn’t taken long for the whispers to start once the senior students entered the hall.  The staff table was mostly full, but a notable absence was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.  While most of the more intelligent students could decipher that Madame Umbridge would be taking the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, others were questioning the new arrival, but even the least observant were noting the missing staff member.

A large, somewhat portly man, whose jovial demeanor was evident in the nervous smile he offered to the students gathered before him, was seated near Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall. Harry, observing the new face, didn't specifically recognize the man, yet a distinct feeling settled within him: this Professor had been brought on to teach Potions. The new Professor's presence, therefore, strongly suggested a new era for the Potions classroom, an era that Harry, for one, hoped would be less fraught with tension and favoritism than the last.

The whispers about Snape's absence were heard around the hall, and Harry had to resist the urge to smirk about the man’s fate.

.o.

Harry and Tom sat ensconced in the opulent, dimly lit office of Gaunt Manor, the air thick with an unusual tension. A rare disagreement had taken root between them, a stark contrast to their typical, almost telepathic understanding. Harry, usually measured, now spoke with a fervent passion that bordered on desperation, his words carefully chosen to avoid any hint of disrespect, yet imbued with an insistent urgency.

"I know," Harry began, his voice a low, intense murmur, "he may have shown loyalty in the past, but I promise you, Tom, his deep-seated disdain for me, for everything I represent, outweighs it all. You've delved into my memories, you've witnessed firsthand the venom with which he regards me and my family. He will not hesitate. The moment he uncovers my place at your side, the instant he pieces together the truth, he will expose us to Dumbledore. You know how cunning Dumbledore is, how he manipulates and twists. We cannot afford to give him that leverage, not now, not when we are so close." Harry gestured vaguely, encompassing the grandeur of the manor and the ambition that permeated their every move. "His personal prejudices will override any fleeting sense of duty he might have once felt."

Tom’s brow furrowed, a deep crease forming between his eyes as he absorbed his apprentice’s words. It had been barely a week since Harry’s return from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, and while the adolescent’s turbulent emotions were palpable, there was an undeniable undercurrent of logic to his assertions. This was a perspective that demanded consideration, one that could not be casually dismissed. After all, the Dark Lord himself had delved into the boy’s most private memories during their rigorous legilimency training. A significant portion of Harry’s profound misery, Tom knew, could be directly attributed to the insidious influence of the bitter, greasy-haired man, Severus Snape. The scars left by Snape’s cruelties, both past and recent, were still fresh, festering wounds in Harry’s psyche, and it was clear they were impacting his judgment, even if that judgment now held a surprising, unsettling truth.

“I will summon the man.” Tom finally relented, “He avoided my summons the night before.  If he does so tonight, he will never be welcomed back among my ranks.  None would dare speak to him again.  Put on your mask.  We will test his loyalty.”

Offering his master a deep bow in gratitude for his listening ear, Harry put on his golden mask, the polished surface reflecting the dancing flames from the hearth. He then moved to stand by the roaring fire in the opulent, wood-paneled office of his master's family estate. The air, thick with the scent of old parchment and a faint hint of ozone from the magic often wielded within these walls, hummed with unspoken tension.

The two waited in silence for what felt like an eternity, though in reality, it was only long minutes. Each second seemed to stretch and pass with an agonizing slowness, a deliberate torture of anticipation. Harry was profoundly grateful there was no clock to mark the torturous passage of time, because his own fervent anticipation, and the terse, almost brittle feelings Tom clearly harbored about the potential betrayal of one of his most faithful followers, were already a heavy burden in the air between them. The flickering firelight cast shifting shadows across Tom's face, making his usual impassivity seem even more profound, almost a mask of its own. Harry could practically feel the silent, weighty calculations taking place behind his master's unreadable expression, weighing loyalty against the bitter taste of possible deceit.

At long last, a figure emerged from the open door, their silhouette a familiar and menacing sight. Clad in the classic, flowing robes of a Death Eater, their face was obscured by a cold, silver mask that glinted faintly in the dim light. The masked man moved with a silent, almost predatory grace, stopping a respectful distance from the lone figure already present. He offered a low, deferential bow, his voice a gruff, yet oddly silky murmur that barely carried over the crackling of the fire.

"My master," he began, his gaze fixed solely on the man before him, completely disregarding the golden-masked Death Eater who stood casually by the hearth. "I implore your forgiveness for my delayed arrival. Circumstances, regrettably, rendered me… indisposed last evening." A subtle tension seemed to ripple through the air, though his posture remained unyielding. "I wish to continue serving you to the best of my abilities, particularly from afar. Had I made my departure any sooner, I fear my cover may have been irrevocably… blown." The unspoken implications hung heavy in the air, an attempt to display how dangerous of a game the man played in relation to his master's return to power.

“Spare me, Severus.” Tom dismissed him with a flick of his wrist, his crimson eyes gleaming with a chilling intensity that promised both immense power and an unfathomable pain. “I have returned, you see, far more powerful than I ever was before. The petty squabbles and the tiresome politics of Hogwarts hold no interest for me now. I have no need for your services within those halls.”

A cold feeling passed through the air, but to the credit of the man, he remained outwardly unmoving, a statue of carefully cultivated indifference.  Tom’s voice, a silken whisper that seemed to caress the very air, continued, “What I need now, Severus, is certainty… certainty of your unwavering loyalty.” The last word hung heavy in the air, a loaded threat, a demand that echoed the very depths of his soul.

Then, with a sudden shift in tone, Tom’s voice hardened, becoming a clear, resonant command that brooked no argument. “Remove your mask, Severus. Let us speak, face to face.” The words were a direct assault, a violation of the carefully constructed facade Severus had maintained for so long. The mask, both literal and figurative, was a part of him, a shield against the world, and now, it was being demanded of him by the very being he had sworn to betray. The air crackled with a silent tension, the fate of Severus Snape hanging precariously in the balance.

When the man removed his mask, Tom smiled, but it wasn’t the one of pride that Harry had occasionally glimpsed over the years, a rare flash of approval. No, this was a smile of pure, unadulterated sinister intent, a chilling curve of his lips that spoke of a dark revelation. Clearly, a truly wicked idea had blossomed in the man’s mind, one that brought an almost palpable immense satisfaction to the Dark Lord.

“I could easily tear the truth from your mind,” Tom drawled, his voice a silken menace that promised unimaginable pain, “but instead, I wished to conduct a training exercise for my apprentice.” His gaze flickered towards Harry, a calculating glint in his eyes. “I trust you noticed him upon your entrance to the room?”

The Dark Lord didn’t wait for a response. He simply gestured towards Harry with one hand, a casual flick of his wrist that held a world of command, and continued, his voice now imbued with a chilling pride, “You see, he has become something of an anomaly in the Mind Arts. When I first began his training in Occlumency, I feared I had found quite the weakness in his abilities, a fatal flaw that would hinder his progress. But now, I have seen the true extent of his capabilities in Legilimency, and I wish to test them against a master.” The words hung in the air, a silent challenge, a promise of a mental duel that would push Harry to his very limits. Tom’s eyes gleamed, a dark fire dancing within them, as he anticipated the spectacle.

“You see, Severus, you will be quite familiar with the boy, when he reveals himself…” Pausing for a long, tense moment, Tom’s crimson eyes, usually blazing with unrestrained power, now held a glint of chilling amusement as they shifted from the pale, rigid Potions Master to the young man standing silently beside him. A heavy silence descended upon the opulent room, broken only by the crackling of the enchanted fireplace and the distant, muffled sounds of the castle. The air itself seemed to hum with unspoken revelations, a palpable tension that coiled tighter with each passing second. Tom’s voice, a low, sibilant whisper that seemed to slither through the air, continued, “My young friend, uncover the truth.”

Harry without hesitation whipped his mask off, turned his wand to the man beside him and hissed out, “Legillmens!”

The young wizard struck with a speed that defied the rigid control Snape usually maintained over his formidable mind. The shock that rippled through the older man's defenses was barely perceptible, a fleeting flicker in the carefully constructed fortress of his thoughts. Harry, drawing on an unquantifiable well of raw power and desperate resolve, pushed against the psychic barriers. Unlike the chaotic, jumbled minds he had previously breached, Snape's was a meticulously organized labyrinth. It manifested as an expansive, almost sterile muggle neighborhood, stretching for miles in every direction, an endless vista of identical, cookie-cutter houses.

Despite the daunting uniformity, Harry pressed forward with every ounce of his burgeoning strength, his singular goal to pierce the veil and glimpse the innermost thoughts, the true memories, of the Potions Master. Each house he tore through with a surge of destructive mental energy proved to be nothing more than a decoy, a cleverly constructed illusion designed to misdirect and deter. The frustration mounted, a burning undercurrent to his focused assault, but he refused to yield.

Then, amidst the endless repetition, he found them. Two children, small and vulnerable, standing out in front of one of the houses. One had hair of a familiar greasy black, styled in a way that spoke of neglect and a certain defiance, and a coy, almost secretive smile played on his lips. But it was the other child who commanded Harry's complete and utter attention. She was strikingly familiar, not by her hair, which was red and vibrant, but by the astonishing, emerald green eyes that gazed out from her young face.

Harry froze, his mental assault momentarily halted by the sheer impact of the discovery. Those eyes – they were his mother's. The same brilliant, unforgettable green that he had only ever seen in photographs, eyes that held a depth of kindness and fire he knew intimately, even from a distance of years and loss. In that instant, all doubt evaporated. He knew, with an absolute and undeniable certainty, that he had finally stumbled upon the true location of Severus Snape’s most guarded and potent memories. The decoys had fallen; the true core of the man's past lay before him, waiting to be unraveled.

With reckless abandon, Harry plunged deeper into the man's fractured memories, each one a shard of betrayal and deceit. He witnessed Snape, a shadowy figure, spying on Dumbledore in the murky confines of the Hog's Head, overhearing a crucial, albeit incomplete, prophecy. The memory then shifted to Snape, dismissed and disgraced by Dumbledore, seeking refuge in the sinister embrace of the Dark Lord. There, with a chilling lack of remorse, Snape fed a twisted, deranged version of the truth to Tom Riddle, revealing fragments of what was to come.

A surge of raw, unbridled anger coursed through Harry as he watched the betrayal of his own family unfold. He saw Snape, once the best friend of his mother, turn his back on everything good, leading to the tragic deaths of his parents. This rage intensified as Harry observed the coward's sudden change of heart. It was not a flicker of morality, but a sickening realization that his perverse, obsessive crush on Harry's mother, Lily, would be irrevocably extinguished if the Dark Lord succeeded in killing her. In that moment of selfish fear, Snape's disloyalty took another turn. He abandoned Tom Riddle, racing back to Dumbledore to divulge the full, horrifying truth, not out of any genuine repentance, but to save his own twisted desire. The depths of Snape's treachery, driven by a repulsive obsession rather than a moral compass, sickened Harry to his core.  He had seen enough.

Harry and Snape both lurched for breath as they broke the mental connection.  Harry’s shock froze him, but clearly Tom wasn’t under any such restraint as he raised his wand from his desk disarming the panicked Snape.  The teen wizard leaned against his master's desk, allowing the shock of what he had learned from the man to take over.

“Potter?  How?  Why?” Snape asked desperately, without a weapon to defend himself.

Ignoring the man completely, Harry leaned over the desk looking his mentor in the eye, “Do you trust me?”

Tom fixed his gaze on his apprentice, his expression unreadable, a mask of composure that gave away nothing of his inner thoughts. The air in the room grew thick with a silence that stretched for what felt like an eternity, each tick of the clock amplifying the tension between master and student. Long, drawn-out moments passed, punctuated only by the subtle shifts of their breathing. Finally, with a deliberate and measured movement, Tom gave a slow, decisive nod of his head, a silent acknowledgment that carried the weight of unspoken understanding.

Harry didn't hesitate. With a primal roar that tore from his throat, he whirled, the movement a blur of controlled aggression. His right wrist snapped upwards, a fluid, deadly arc that began at his rib cage and culminated above his head. A sharp, almost invisible line, barely a shimmer in the dim light, cut across the potions master's throat. The sound was a sickening hiss, quickly followed by the gurgle of rapidly spilling blood, a crimson geyser staining the air and the stone floor. The potions master's eyes, wide with a fleeting moment of disbelief and agony, glazed over as his hands flew to his neck in a futile attempt to staunch the flow. He stumbled backward, a guttural rasp escaping his lips, before collapsing in a heap, his body twitching for a few agonizing seconds before falling still.

When the man fell dead, Harry turned back to his master, shaking his head, muttering one word, “Traitor.”

It was a secret Harry had kept all Summer.  It was a secret Harry may even keep between himself and Tom forever.  Regardless he had avenged his family of the final traitor, and he was free.

Turning his attention to the speech going in the Great Hall Harry had twitched through Madame Umbridge’s welcome feast, but he wasn’t the only one.  Gryffindor House seemed ready to go in open revolt before he had to lift a finger judging by their louder whispers.  Slytherin had done their best to appear neutral, but it was clear that Harry’s allies were as annoyed by the woman as he was.  

Umbridge championed Pureblood rights in the Wizengamot, but here in Hogwarts her personality was so fake that even the dullest of students could see through her.  The teen had to fight the urge to scoff at her every word, but in the end decided to adopt the wait and see policy.  If the woman would not step on his toes he would venture to do the same, just to keep below the radar.  He did afterall, have bigger fish to fry this year.

Exchanging looks with Daphne, Harry offered her a crooked smirk. Without Snape's looming presence, the year ahead, despite its inherent pressures, promised to be its best. The thought of lessons free from the greasy-haired professor's scathing remarks and biased favoritism was a refreshing prospect. Even the upcoming challenges seemed less daunting without the added burden of Snape's animosity, and Harry knew he would get his way here at Hogwarts, one way or another.

(A/N) Another parallel between Harry and Tom.  I tried to paint the picture exactly how Voldemort killed Snape in the Deathly Hallows.  Let me know what you guys think!