Proof of Life

Morsmordre



Percy was a git, Harry thought absently, walking through the hallways of Azkaban, but at least he was a useful git, finally deigning to pull some strings and grant him a restricted use Portkey, and access to the prisoners.



Exhausted after a nearly sleepless night, Harry winced with disdain, sensing the presence of the Dementors, and not liking it one bit. So much for attempting reforms, and so much for progress. All the work that he had done while Kingsley was in charge had all but gone down the drain since Amos Diggory took over.



When Harry finally reached the cell, the first prisoner had been already prepped for him, specifically pulled off the prison bed, and restrained to a chair by a body-binding spell. Harry shut the cell door and stared. The man looked shaggy and miserable. Harry knew him to be twenty six years old, but the severe lines crossing his forehead made him look much older.



The prisoner glared at Harry furiously and struggled slightly against the spell binding him.



“No use,” Harry said calmly, reaching into his pocket to produce the vial of Veritaserum. “Open your mouth.”



The prisoner shook his head slightly and kept his lips tightly shut.



His mood already foul enough from sleep deprivation, and a bitter argument with Draco the night before, Harry shrugged. “I\'d much rather not force-feed you, but if you insist, that can be arranged.”



The prisoner\'s eyes flashed unadulterated rage, but he complied. Harry brought the vial of Veritaserum to his mouth, and allowed several drops to fall on the man\'s tongue. The prisoner swallowed, and Harry waited patiently for the man\'s expression to relax slightly as the disinhibiting effect of the potion took place.



“What\'s your name?” Harry demanded.



“Myles Ogden.”



“Age?”



“Twenty-six.”



Harry snorted under his breath. “I suppose being on the run like a hunted animal doesn\'t do much for your looks, does it?”



“No,” the prisoner said indifferently.



“You were eighteen years old when the final battle took place,” Harry mused.



“You\'re wrong,” Ogden said numbly, staring vacantly ahead. “The final battle hasn\'t even began.”



Harry smirked derisively. “Oh really? So what\'s the grand plan for bringing down the Ministry?”



“I don\'t know,” Ogden said with obvious satisfaction.



“When did you join Voldemort?” Harry demanded.



“February of 1998,” Ogden said.



Three months prior to Voldemort\'s final defeat, Harry thought.



“Picked the losing side just before the end, did you? Not very clever.”



“I\'m not the one who picked the wrong side,” Ogden said, and a malicious smirk appeared on his lips.



Harry shut his eyes, and suddenly, in spite of himself, the image of Severus Snape, bloodied and covered by a tattered robe, flashed before his eyes of its own accord.



“Tell me about Severus Snape,” Harry said evenly. He hadn\'t been planning on asking that question, but a wave of cold rage welled up suddenly and unexpectedly and he asked the question before giving himself a chance to reconsider. “Why did you capture him? Didn\'t you have your hands full, running for your lives?”



“We thought he was one of us when we took him,” Ogden said simply. “We didn\'t know the Dark Lord himself had ordered his death. While he was unconscious, we had a chance to view the Pensieve we\'d retrieved from your Headmaster\'s office. By the time the traitor woke up, we were very... unhappy with him.”



Harry\'s eyes narrowed slightly.



“What did you do with his Pensieve?”



“Destroyed it,” Ogden said smugly. “Which was a shame. The amount of fun we had with it...”



Harry found his hand clenching into a fist so tight that his fingernails were digging into his palm.



“Did you personally torture him?” Harry asked almost calmly.



Ogden\'s smirk twisted into something genuinely scary and ugly. “I didn\'t need to... much. By the time he came my way, he was good as gold. Very... obliging.” Ogden\'s gaze studied Harry\'s face intently, scouring it for sings of weakness. “Then again, if you\'re as close to him as you seem to be, you likely noticed that already.”



Without any thought to what he was doing, Harry delivered a brutal punch to Ogden\'s nose. Something cracked, and a small trickle of blood ran down the man\'s face. Ogden grunted, but didn\'t cry out. Instead, he stared at Harry triumphantly.



“That\'s against your regulations, I believe. Not to mention, against your highly advertised moral code...”



Harry leaned to whisper in Ogden\'s ear. “Guess what? Nobody will know. I could pull you apart limb from limb, claim self defense, and I assure you, nobody will mind, or even notice.”



To Harry\'s grim satisfaction, blood drained from Ogden\'s cheeks, and the smirk vanished without a trace.



“You really are … special,” Harry muttered with disgust, lowering his bloodied hand. “You joined Voldemort three months prior to his defeat. You must have managed to distinguish yourself quite a bit in his eyes, to be marked so quickly? What did you do? Murder children? Torture small animals?”



“No,” Ogden said quietly.



“Then what was so extraordinary about you?” Harry demanded. “Getting marked was supposed to be a great honor among your kind. What did you do to convince Voldemort to mark you?”



“Voldemort never marked me,” Ogden said, and for the first time, a hint of worry crossed his face.



Harry scowled, remembering the brief profile on Ogden he\'d read before heading into the interrogation. He clearly recalled that the profile mentioned the Dark Mark...



Harry drew out his wand, and uttered a quick spell to slice through the sleeve of Ogden\'s prison robe. On his forearm, the Dark Mark was black, and clearly visible against the pale, filthy skin. For a brief, insane moment, Harry was about to scream at the prisoner, and accuse him of lying – except...



The prisoner was under Veritaserum. The prisoner\'s Occlumency skills were minimal. He wasn\'t lying.



Harry stared at the image of the skull and the serpent again, studying every detail and nuance of the mark. Somehow it seemed different from Snape\'s. Nothing that Harry could put his finger on, but... something was different about it, and Harry didn\'t know what.



“When did you receive the Dark Mark?” Harry asked, feeling as if his reason had parted ways with his tongue.



“I received the Dark Mark three months ago,” the prisoner said.



“How\'s that possible?” Harry demanded. “Who marked you?”



“One of the First Ones. Nott.”



“The original Death Eaters are now marking the new followers?” Harry clarified.



“Yes.”



A chill, like a trickle of ice-cold water, ran down Harry\'s spine. The repercussions of this new development in the Underground were enormous. Harry couldn\'t believe that they had missed something this important...



“When did the Marking of the new recruits start?” Harry demanded.



“Four months ago.”



No wonder they hadn\'t caught it until now...



“Why are you doing it?” Harry asked, even though the answer was blindingly obvious by now.



“Same reasons as before,” Ogden said. “To ensure loyalty, and to establish a network of undetectable communications between the top of the hierarchy and the rest of us. This way,” Ogden continued gleefully, “we can plan any terrorist act, any subversive activity, without any risk of the communications being intercepted by you and your kind. And we will.” Ogden\'s unpleasant, infuriating smile was back, and his eyes narrowed, becoming thin, angry slits. “If you think things have been bad so far for you and your precious post-war utopia, you haven\'t seen anything yet.”



“The communications will spread through the Dark Mark to everyone who is Marked,” Harry mused. Everyone, including Snape... Harry grinned triumphantly. Snape\'s survival and rescue was a definite glitch in the Underground\'s plans. With Snape being a part of the intangible, undetectable network, the Underground did not stand a chance.



Ogden stared at Harry, clearly amused, probably guessing Harry\'s thoughts. “You\'re still thinking about him? His days are numbered. Don\'t think you can protect him from us. We will find him and kill him.” Ogden laughed out loud, and sneered. “But take this message to your new pet, Harry Potter: he doesn\'t need to fear. This time, we won\'t drag it out for years, or even days. Delaying killing him was a mistake. When we recapture him, we\'ll finish him off quickly, before you can even blink.”



Whatever hope for self-control Harry may have had, was lost, hopelessly and irrevocably. He delivered another punch to the prisoner\'s face, and the man went limp on the chair, with his head dropping until his chin dug into his chest.



A moment later, Harry ran out of the cell, slamming the door behind him. He nodded to a guard waiting outside to let him know he was done, and headed towards the exit, to take the Portkey back to London.



Severus. Severus was in danger. At the moment, Harry couldn\'t think of anything else.



It was Tuesday. On Tuesdays, Severus worked for Hannah at the Leaky Cauldron. All alone, in the rooftop garden, accessible by broom, and possibly Apparition... Harry\'s fast walk changed to a sprint, as he ran towards the doors.



The Portkey brought him to the MoM headquarters. Not wasting any time, Harry Apparated to the doorstep of the Leaky Cauldron, and burst inside.



Hannah greeted him with a surprised look on her face.



“Harry?”



“Where\'s Severus?” Harry demanded.



“Up there,” she said. “The rooftop garden. Harry, what...”



Harry stormed past her, knocking shoulders with her, running upstairs with his wand drawn, dreading to find an empty space with overturned flower beds, and Severus gone.



He burst into the roof top garden, and stopped in his tracks, as relief flooded him.



Nothing had happened to Severus while Harry was gone. Severus was here.



Absorbed in his work, he was crouched by the flower bed, his back turned to Harry. His robe was down to his waist, and his undershirt, apart from some traces of mud and green stains, was blindingly white in the afternoon sun. The man\'s skin was no longer ghastly pale, but had acquired a slight copper tinge from the summer sun.



“Severus?” Harry whispered, the words catching in his throat.



Severus turned around at the sound of Harry\'s voice and stared up at him. Harry let out a breath he was sure he\'d been holding for eternity.



“Potter?” Severus asked, rising to his feet. “What\'s wrong?”



Harry opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. For a few long moments, all he could do was grin like an idiot, and stare at Severus speechlessly, his heart thrilling at the sight.



When was the last time he had felt so relieved and elated to see someone? Maybe when he\'d recovered Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets. Maybe when the Final Battle was over, and Harry found Ron and Hermione again. Or maybe not even then, because Harry couldn\'t remember being this dizzy with relief, and his heart pounding so hard in his chest.



Severus watched him silently, while Harry crossed the distance between them and gathered him up into a tight embrace, his bloodied hands, with the wand still in his fist, closing around Severus. Severus reciprocated the gesture a moment later, and his soil-covered fingers dug into Harry\'s shoulders.



“What\'s wrong?” Severus asked quietly, while holding Harry in a tight grip. “Harry? You\'re shaking.”



Was he? He hadn\'t noticed.



“Everything is fine,” Harry managed to say finally. “But something came up. We need to talk.”



To Be Continued...