Unsurprisingly, nothing happened until the year began winding down. The castle settled into the usual late-spring lull, exams creeping closer, Quidditch fading out... It was the kind of quiet that made you suspicious.
A few weeks before the Leaving Feast, Harry stayed back after Duelling Club. Most students had cleared out, only a few stragglers cleaning up their gear. Daphne waved him off with a raised eyebrow and a “Don’t take too long,” before heading off with Tracey and Pansy. Astoria followed behind with Ginny and Luna.
By the time Harry extinguished the practice wards and cleared the illusion boundaries, the hall was empty.
Then the door clicked shut behind him.
“Potter. A word.”
Snape stood near the entrance, already locking the doors and pulling the curtains shut with sharp, silent flicks of his wand.
Harry raised a brow but didn’t move from where he was coiling a practice rope. “Bit dramatic, aren’t we?”
Snape didn’t bother with a reply. He strode forward, robes brushing the floor in that silent way he did when he wasn’t trying to be heard. His eyes swept the space quickly, confirming it was just them.
Harry dropped the rope and turned to face him properly. “What’s this about?”
Snape studied him for a moment, something unreadable behind his usual stare. “I have heard… interesting things in the streets. Whispers, really. About a name.”
Harry crossed his arms. “And what name would that be?”
Snape didn’t blink. “Albus Riddle.”
Harry gave a dry snort. “Catchy, isn’t it? Doesn’t quite have the same ring as Lord Voldemort, but I suppose it will do.”
Snape didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s said that he’s capable of... removing certain marks. Curses. Ones that don’t go away easily.”
Harry gave a nod. “Lot of things get said. Doesn’t mean they are true.”
“No,” Snape agreed quietly. “But sometimes they are.”
Snape wasn’t usually one for subtle hints. If he was dancing around the subject now, it meant something. Harry stared at him for a second longer, then gestured to a bench.
“Sit, then.”
Snape hesitated, but sat eventually.
Harry leaned back against one of the duelling dummies. “So. You want the Dark Mark gone.”
Snape didn’t flinch. He just nodded. “Yes.”
Harry tilted his head slightly. “Why now?”
Snape looked away for a moment, then back again. “Because I can no longer be certain how long I will be useful. And I would rather not spend my last days marked by that man.”
Harry considered that. “And you think I can do something about it.”
“I believe,” Snape said, voice low, “that you already have.”
Harry tapped his fingers against his knee, then asked, “Why did you even take the Mark?”
Snape looked down at his hands, then clasped them in his lap. “Because I was foolish. Angry. And angry young men do stupid things when they think the world owes them.”
“That is vague,” Harry said.
Snape glanced at him. “You already know the answer. You just want me to say it.”
Harry shrugged. “That is fair. I do know. Doesn’t mean I won’t ask.”
Snape exhaled through his nose. “I was the one who told the Dark Lord part of the prophecy.”
Harry nodded once. “Thought so.”
“I didn’t know it was about her,” Snape said. His voice wasn’t shaking, just quiet. “Not until it was too late.”
Harry’s gaze turned colder.
“You knew it was about someone,” he said. “Maybe not my mum, but Neville’s? Susan’s? Didn’t matter, did it? As long as it wasn’t the person you cared about.”
Snape grimaced. His hands tightened in his lap. “I didn’t-”
“You didn’t think,” Harry cut in. “You just ran your mouth.”
Snape didn’t argue.
“I am sorry,” he said, voice forced, like the words were being dug out. “I said it before, and I will say it again if I must. I didn’t know the consequences then. But I do now.”
Harry raised a brow. “Do you?”
Snape didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Harry walked back towards the dummy stand, grabbed a towel, and tossed it over his shoulder. “You didn’t just kill her, you know. You put a target on me. Neville. Even Susan. We were all marked before we were even born.”
Snape looked down again.
“I was young,” he said. “And arrogant. I thought I understood power.”
“You joined a cult,” Harry replied flatly. “You understood exactly what it was.”
“I thought it could be shaped into something else. That the Dark Lord would-”
“Listen to a half-blood who brewed potions?” Harry said. “Please.”
Snape didn’t respond. He just sat there, stiff-backed, as if waiting for Harry to carry on.
“You think I don’t know?” Harry said, eyes locked to Snape's. “Looks like Dumbledore didn’t tell you everything, did he?”
Snape’s lips tightened. He started to speak, but Harry cut him off.
“Don’t bother. I know he sent you here. Don’t act surprised, he knows exactly how your mind works. Hides a few lines behind some cryptic message and waits for you to play your part. You think your reluctance is subtle? You think you are unpredictable?”
Snape’s jaw clenched, but he stayed quiet.
Harry stepped away from the dummy stand, stopping a few feet from him. “Even Voldemort could see through it. He knew you were spying. Still let you in.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“You want to know how I know that?” Harry went on. “He left a decent chunk of himself behind when he tried to kill me. And thanks to that, I’ve seen more than I ever wanted, his memories, conversations. Including the ones with you.”
That froze Snape properly. The tension in his shoulders didn’t just build, it locked.
“But if you think Voldemort trusted you,” Harry said, shaking his head, “then you, Dumbledore, and anyone else who believed that are more foolish than I thought.”
Snape didn’t answer, but the lines around his eyes tightened.
Harry kept going. “He knew you were spying. He still let you in, because he knew you would feed him scraps to keep your place. It didn’t matter how small, they were enough. Why would he worry about a little spy, when the Order never fought back properly? Dumbledore wasn’t sending killers. Voldemort slipped word of where he would strike, and Dumbledore delivered him a crowd.”
Snape’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. He looked away for the first time in the conversation.
“Every skirmish ended with more Order dead. Voldemort couldn’t ask for better odds. He got to test his people and pick off Dumbledore’s without lifting a finger. Meanwhile, you stayed right in the middle of it, watching.”
Harry sighed, flicked his wand lazily, and Snape twitched, feeling a sting through his arm.
“There,” Harry said, stepping away. “Should fade in a minute.”
He then turned to leave, “I know Dumbledore sent you for a reason. Thought I wouldn’t notice? Please. He thinks if he tugs the right strings, regret, loyalty, shared grief, I will hand you a seat like we’re building some grand alliance. Tell him this for me, whatever cult he thinks I am running, it doesn’t exist. I don’t take followers. I don’t hand out loyalty badges.”
Snape stayed seated, holding his arm to suppress the pain.
“I respect Professor Snape. The man who teaches Potions, runs Slytherin, and keeps half the castle from poisoning itself every year. But Severus Snape, the man behind the lectures? No.”
Snape’s jaw tightened, but he gave a small nod.
“I expected as much.”
“I removed the Mark because it benefits both of us,” Harry added. “And because I would rather not deal with you dying mid-year from a curse overload. But don’t mistake that for an invitation. You will be free of the Dark Lord’s leash. That is all.”
Snape looked like he wanted to speak. Harry cut him again.
“And don’t bother with another apology. You said it. I heard it. We’re not doing the grief tour again.”
Finally, Snape gave a stiff nod. “Understood.”
Harry turned without another word, leaving Snape hunched over on the bench, a man finally unmarked, but never truly absolved. A man who ran out of reasons to sit up straight.
***
The year wrapped up not long after.
No more surprises from Voldemort, no cryptic speeches from Dumbledore, no strange surges from the wards. Exams came and went. Students dragged their trunks down the corridors one last time.
And then they were gone.