Unforgivable Promises (Snarry story)

Chapter 11

Harry's life quickly entered a routine at Grimmauld Place. In his mind, he had split the day between Voldemort, school, and Snape. Mornings were dedicated to defeating Voldemort, and afternoons were spent in, as Ron had called it, Remedial Potions. Evenings were for Snape, though neither the Potions Master nor his friends knew that. They would have tagged their after-dinner studies for Voldemort; Harry's focus was much more narrow. Yes, there was a chance that if they could discover the secret of the Markings, Harry could use that to weaken Voldemort's power base. But that was never where the young wizard's attention was gathered.

So far, he had given little thought to actually fighting the Dark Lord. He knew it would happen eventually; the prophecy had guaranteed that. But he had no idea what his part would actually be. Was it something only he could do? Or was it simply that he would be in the right place at the right time to do what anyone else, in the same situation, could do? The prophecy had not exactly been specific.

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A week after his first potions session, Harry reflected that the tutoring was going much better than he had expected. He was even having a hard time remembering why the class had been such a problem for him in the past.

"I can't believe I couldn't get this right last year," Harry said. He was just bottling the remains of his hair growth potion. His previous attempt, one of the first potions of the term, had sent both Harry and Ron to the infirmary for an emergency dose of Binny Birtleberry's Back Hair Vanishing Cream. This try, though, had properly contained its effects to Harry's head and limited the growth to only a few inches. To Harry's dismay, longer locks proved just as unruly but slightly more distracting than his old style, so a quick charm had him looking like his old self.

"Well," Snape said. "I imagine it is easier to concentrate without Granger and Weasley here."

"I suppose," Harry said. "And it's nice not having Malfoy around distracting me either."

"Have a thing for blonds, do you?" Snape raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Not bloody likely," Harry said. A week ago, that would have had Harry blushing, but he was finally getting used to such questions. In truth, he enjoyed being able to talk about things like that without worrying about how someone would respond. He secretly suspected Snape enjoyed it as well but hid it behind the excuse of trying to embarrass Harry.

"Anyway, even if I did like blonds, he's not my type. If I wanted to date someone who took hours to dress and fix their hair, I could just go out with a girl." Harry put the bottle in a box holding a surprising number of successfully brewed potions. A frown creased his face when he turned around. "Professor, how much do Voldemort's recruits know about what he's like before they take the Mark?"

Snape looked up from his own work. "In what way? Clearly they all know what he wants to accomplish."

"I mean..." Harry's gaze swept the room aimlessly. "Well, I've read some of the historical stuff about what he did before I was born. Most of it talks about him using the Dark Arts and being responsible for a lot of deaths, but it's not very specific."

"You are speaking of the things you have seen and felt him do."

"Yeah, I guess. Do they know how much he enjoys torturing innocent people? Do they know the kinds of things they're going to have to do for him?"

"To some extent, yes. Some know more than others, depending on how they come to him in the first place."

Harry frowned and began cleaning up his work space.

"Draco knows." Harry detected an unmistakable tone of regret in Snape's voice. "He knows what he'll be asked to do. He knows what kind of horrors he will witness. His father raised a fine copy of himself, Harry. Draco knows what he's doing, and he wanted the Mark."