Harry stared at his left forearm, the pain he'd felt in the vision lingering over the red skin that inexplicably made the faint design of the Dark Mark over the scar he still had from the graveyard a year earlier. He didn't understand how it was possible, how he had gained a ghost Mark from a vision. Voldemort had been able to curse him before, but nothing physical had ever been left behind. 

He sighed, still flooded with warring emotions over what he'd witnessed. He had never liked Malfoy, had figured it was only a matter of time before the Slytherin followed his father, but he couldn't erase the fear he'd seen in his rival. It had not been the face of someone who chose to be there and take that Mark. 

He rubbed his palm over the red skin, unable to work through his confusion and conflict in that moment. It was just too much and he couldn't do it alone.

He looked up when he heard the quiet steps coming up the stairs and pushed to his feet to rise from the floor as Snape came into view. The man was still in his Death Eater robes, but had removed the mask which was clutched in his hand at his side. When Snape realized Harry was outside his bedroom, he faltered briefly before clearly sighing and shaking his head.

"Go to bed, Potter," Snape said gruffly.

"Professor, I saw-"

Snape gave him an unimpressed glare. "I am well aware of what you saw. I was there, if you recall."

"I know, but this one-" Harry tried only to be interrupted again.

"Potter, just go to bed," Snape snapped, sounding annoyed. "I am in no mood to deal with you right now."

Harry blinked, unexplainably hurt, and took a few steps to the side, watching Snape open the bedroom door. It wasn't the first time he'd heard such a comment. Thus, it wasn't the first time he'd felt this way-in the way, a burden, an annoyance, an inconvenience, unwanted, unworthy of attention. Yet, this time felt different. The pang in his chest was different coming from Snape as the cause. He turned to leave the third floor as Snape began to enter the bedroom.

"Are you in pain?"

Harry stopped at the question and turned back to the professor, looking at him somewhat hesitantly. "Sir?"

"Are you in any pain?" Snape repeated, facing Harry as he stood in his bedroom doorway, having stopped from disappearing inside.

Harry rubbed his arm. "Um, no, not really."

Snape nodded. "Tomorrow, then. Tea in the library."

Harry looked at him in slight surprise.

"We will discuss what's happened this evening, but tomorrow," Snape pressed.

Harry nodded, understanding the man needed rest as he remembered just what Snape did. "Yes, sir."

With a look Harry didn't quite understand, Snape disappeared into his bedroom. More emotions added to the already existing swirling mess, Harry headed downstairs, bypassing Sirius' room and making his way to the kitchen. He pushed his magic out absently and lit one of the candles on the table before making it follow behind him as he opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a block of Lancashire cheese and let the door close as he grabbed a box of poppy seed sourdough biscuits and a cheese knife. He moved to the table and sat, placing his snack down and letting the candle settle back on the table. He cut off a small chunk of cheese and popped it in his mouth as he opened the box and pulled out the tray of black-spotted biscuits. He zoned out, lost in thought about Malfoy and the strange vision as he methodically cut off slices of cheese, placed them on biscuits, and ate each slowly.

"Harry?"

He was pulled from his musings by the voice and looked up to see Bill in the kitchen doorway.

"It's almost two a.m.," Bill said, walking into the kitchen and sitting across from Harry.

"You're awake," Harry pointed out.

Bill shrugged. "True," he agreed. "Any particular reason you are?"

"Vision," Harry replied shortly, popping another cheese and biscuit in his mouth.

"You still get those?" Bill asked, grabbing a biscuit for himself.

Harry nodded. "Just as nightmares again though. Voldemort's got control of that part of our connection, at least, so I see whatever he wants me to."

"What did he want you to see tonight?" 

Harry frowned at his tiny sandwich before answering. "Draco Malfoy's been Marked."

Bill sighed, swiping another biscuit. "That'll be the topic of tomorrow's meeting then. Severus has been waiting for this particular meeting."

Harry just nodded again, remembering learning about the possibility himself a few weeks earlier.

"Something wrong?"

"Aside from the fact that a sixteen-year-old just got the Dark Mark and I had to watch?" Harry said bitterly. "I hate him, but...he's only sixteen."

"He's made his choices, the way we all have."

"I don't think he chose this, not really," Harry replied and Bill looked at him curiously. "He was terrified."

"Is that what's bothering you?" Bill asked. "He may have been forced into the Mark?"

"Part of it, I guess." Harry bit into another little sandwich thoughtfully. "He's also been given a task."

"What kind of task?"

Harry shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't know. I woke up before I heard. The only thing I heard was something about a Vanishing Cabinet."

"Vanishing Cabinet?" Bill repeated, sounding surprised. "Those are pretty rare, especially to have an intact pair."

Harry ate a chunk of cheese. "What are they?"

"They're enchanted cabinets that connect and create a passage," Bill explained. "They can be used to travel between their locations."

Harry frowned, confused. "Why would Voldemort care about something like that?"

Bill just shrugged, snatching another biscuit, and Harry chewed slowly, wondering just what Malfoy had been tasked to do.

Harry propped his head on his hand as he slowly turned the page in his Magical Theory book, skimming for anything that could explain anything that had happened in last night's vision. Something was different in his connection to Voldemort and it was time he learned just why the connection existed in the first place. He slid his hand across his cheek and under his glasses, rubbing his eye. He was exhausted, having been unable to sleep much more after the vision. Between the residual pain, the ghost of a Dark Mark on his arm, and the whirlwind of conflicting emotions fighting for dominance within him, sleep had been the last thing his mind and body wanted.

"You said you were not in pain."

Harry dropped his hand and turned around at the voice, looking over the back of the lounge chair. Snape walked into the library, full tea tray floating in front of him and settling on the small table to Harry's left. Harry watched Snape settle in the other chair in his usual elegant way, crossing one leg over the other and looking for all that nothing had happened a mere twelve hours ago.

"I wasn't," Harry denied. "I'm not."

Snape looked at him over the cup of tea he was casually preparing with a raised eyebrow. Harry huffed at the man's near omnipotence.

"I'm fine. It's really not that bad. You needed to rest, not deal with me," Harry told him, dropping his eyes to his book and picking at the cover corner.

Snape hummed and took a sip of his tea. "Which was not meant to imply I did not want to."

Harry's eyes snapped back to the man in surprise and found Snape gazing at him steadily, a look in the dark eyes he was still coming to learn. He reached out with his Empathy Magic. Snape's magic was calm, warmer than it was sharp in that moment, but it was the emptions he could feel in the magic that were more astonishing. Concern he'd felt before, same with the puzzlement and exasperation bordering on annoyance, but the other emotion...not quite affection or even fondness, but it was in the realm and Harry had no idea what to think.

"Make your tea, Potter," Snape instructed lightly.

Still thrown off-guard, Harry put his book on the arm of his chair and proceeded to prepare a cup of tea. Once finished, he went to take a sip, but paused when a stray thought crossed his mind.

"This isn't dosed with Calming Draught, is it?" Harry accused and Snape looked at him unimpressed.

"I would thank you not to confuse me with the headmaster," Snape said dryly. "If I wanted to dose you, I would not hide it."

Harry snorted. "Right. You'd just pour it down my throat."

Snape didn't say anything, but Harry did feel a flutter of amusement join into Snape's magic. He took a drink and felt himself relax a little, making him wonder if just maybe Snape was lying.

"Now, last night, you were about to tell me this vision was different," Snape said, holding his teacup on his leg. "How so?"

Harry gaped at him. "How the hell do you know that's what I was going to say?"

"It is not difficult to fill in blanks," Snape replied casually. "Additionally, despite what occurred, a normal vision would not have had you sitting outside my bedroom at two in the morning."

Harry couldn't help but concede to the truth of the statement. He balanced his tea on the arm of the chair and stared into the liquid, tapping the cup lightly with a fingertip to create tiny, hypnotizing ripples. He thought back, remembering all the odd things this vision had presented.

"I separated from Voldemort," he started. "I wasn't stuck seeing through him. I felt something. It felt like both of us, like there was a spot in his mind where we joined, made of both our magic."

Snape took another drink of his tea and nodded thoughtfully. "We know the connection between you has a mental component. It is possible you found a physical representation of that component, so to speak."

"What could make this kind of connection?" Harry wondered. "It started as pain, but once he came back, the visions started. Now, it's changed again since the Ministry. What could even do all of that?"

Snape set his elbow on the chair arm and cradled his face in his fingers, holding his tea on his knee with one hand. "I am uncertain. Such a connection has never been heard of, to my knowledge."

Harry scowled down at his tea. "Neither had surviving the Killing Curse."

Snape continued as though he hadn't spoken. "What else was different?"

Harry hesitated, staring at his sleeve-covered arm and remembering the pain, the red Dark Mark. He frowned as his thoughts moved from his experience to Malfoy, remembering the fear that had shaken the Slytherin.

"Potter?"

"I felt it. When Malfoy was Marked, I felt it like I was being Marked too," Harry told him. "There was also...in the vision...but it was there when I woke up, for a little while..."

"Coherently, Potter," Snape drawled though there was no real bite to the tone.

Harry blew out a breath to calm his thoughts. "While Malfoy was being Marked, I felt it in my arm, and when I woke up there was a Dark Mark on my arm. It was there for about an hour."

He was startled at the alarm he felt in Snape's magic, making it sharp again, and when the man put his tea down to reach out for Harry's arm. He flinched automatically despite the grip on his wrist being gentle and watched his sleeve get pushed back, revealing a forearm bare aside from the ten-centimeter long scar. Harry watched as Snape brushed his thumb down the scar, getting a flash of himself in fake-Moody's office after the Third Task when Dumbledore forcibly showed the fresh wound to Crouch Junior. It was strange seeing the moment, himself, from Snape's perspective, having been so unaware of anything outside his own fear and pain and grief.

"It, um, it wasn't like an actual Mark," Harry tried to explain. "It was red, like I'd scratched myself, but without breaking the skin. Just red skin and it faded. Obviously."

"That is quite distressing," Snape murmured, releasing Harry's arm.

Harry snorted quietly. "I'd kind of hoped for something a little more reassuring or comforting."

"You have a house full of people to do that," Snape groused.

Harry took a sip of his tea and leaned his head on his hand again, gazing at Snape. "Somehow, I prefer this."

"Always happy to be of service to the Boy Who Lived," Snape sneered insincerely.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, right."

A brief silence fell as Harry rubbed his arm again, noticing Snape watching the action with the slightest furrow in his brow. He could feel the alarm that still had Snape's magic sharp and buzzing.

"What do you think it means?" Harry asked. "Am I connected to Dark Marks now?"

"Do you feel anything from mine now?" Harry was surprised when the professor rolled his sleeve back to reveal his Dark Mark. Snape didn't often allow his Mark to be seen, if ever.

Harry focused on it, pushing his different magics at it and even reaching out with his Mind Magic. He had to push past the man's magic, feeling something else just beyond it. It was a subtle feeling, meant to blend in so it wasn't noticed, allowing it to intertwine. There was a strange, dull buzz, almost like the Mark was recognizing something it knew. Snape's magic was twisted up in the buzz, but there was something else almost familiar, and Harry frowned.

"It doesn't hurt, but there's a buzz that I felt during the vision, too, and there's something familiar about it," Harry told him.

"You do have some of the Dark Lord's magic now," Snape theorized, pulling his sleeve back down. "I would imagine you are recognizing the same magic that created the Mark."

"Maybe. I dunno, it feels like more than that. According to Dumbledore, I've had some of Voldemort's magic in me all this time. Surely it would have reacted to your Mark before now."

"The Mark was not active until last year," Snape pointed out. "And now, in June, you joined with the Dark Lord. It is a dramatically different type of connection to be possessed. I can only imagine how that impacted any magic he had already transferred to you, let alone what he left behind."

Harry's forehead wrinkled, uneasy about Snape's theories.

"I would suggest research. You now own one of the darkest literature collections, after all."

Harry's eyes flickered along the book-lined walls at Snape's casual gesture, unsure how he felt about having a library of Dark Magic. He sighed quietly to himself and put his half-drunk tea on the table, rubbing his forehead.

"What does Malfoy have to do?" he wondered after a time of silence where he couldn't stop reaching for Snape's Mark to feel the odd, familiar magic that surrounded it.

"I do not believe that to be any of your business," Snape said and Harry scowled.

"Considering I was forced to be there, I'd have to disagree," Harry said tightly.

"I am not telling you so you can stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

Harry shook his head, irritated. "Have you ever considered that I stick my nose precisely where it belongs, but only because everyone else has decided I shouldn't know anything despite it usually affecting me somehow?"

"And how might Malfoy's task affect you?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me and we can figure it out?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Things are kept from you for a reason."

Harry glared. "Yeah, and we've seen how well that's gone in the past."

"Not everything is about you, Potter, and I would hope you've now learned from last year, given what happened."

Harry jumped to his feet, hands balled into fists. "Thanks for reminding me I'm a murderer."

"Potter-"

"No, I get it. You don't want to be the next one to die because I'm too stupid to think about anything," Harry snapped and stormed to the door. "I thought you were the one person in this bloody house that didn't blame me, that understood. You said you did."

He didn't wait for a response, didn't want to hear one. He left the library and sequestered himself in Sirius' room for the rest of the day where he stared at the photos of the Marauders and his parents with tears sitting in the corners of his eyes.

Harry threw the tome shut and chucked it over his knees to the other end of the sofa, watching it bounce on the cushion and land tented on its pages. He ran a hand roughly through his hair and gazed around the empty library. He exhaled harshly when his newly discarded book began to float and spin through the air, caught in the path of his agitated mood and magic. His magic had been acting up a lot the last few days as his mood spiraled and he refused training sessions. He'd pretended his new magic didn't exist, refusing to acknowledge how it had come to be and, by extension, ignoring whatever seemed to now connect him to, not only Voldemort, but the Death Eaters as well. Then, he'd had a strange dream with snakes and skulls and odd shapes in a black and green fog, and had to know what was wrong with him.

Thus, he was sat in the library, flipping through various books for answers to, well, anything.

He was watching the book fly around, letting his built-up magic wash over the library, when a pulse disturbed his flowing magic. He sat up with a curious frown as the heartbeat rippled through the room on the threads of his magic. The book he'd been levitating fell to the floor and his magic congregated together, seeming to be attracted to the heartbeat that continued pulsing. He stood slowly and followed his magic as it funneled towards a back corner of the library, the heartbeat stronger as he drew closer. He stared at the shelves of books, watching as his magic settled over the area like a shimmery film, like it was revealing something, narrowing his eyes as he spotted a green glow hidden under a huge, thick book. He pulled the book out, finding ‘R.A.B' inside a circle carved into the wooden shelf and glowing a deep, emerald green.

Brushing his fingers over the engraving, he jumped when the section of shelves swung in, revealing a dimly lit room. He glanced at the library door when he heard muffled voices before slipping into the secret room.

It was a small, rectangular room, looking more like storage than serving any other function. The floor and walls were the same dark wood as the rest of Grimmauld Place, contributing to the dimness. A single lantern with a single candle hung from the center of the ceiling, bathing the space in a soft orange light and casting strange shadows by the odd assortment of items scattered and stacked around. Piles of books, full burlap sacks, and various styles of chests filled the room.

Harry was distracted from his examination when the heartbeat pulsed again, this time including an audible beat and a tug on his magic. He followed the sound and pull, both growing stronger as he approached a chest made of black wood and dark blue paneling.

An incomprehensible whisper brushed his ear and he whipped around, looking for a source.

Finding himself alone, he turned back to the chest as his magic was tugged insistently, the heartbeat seeming to echo around him. He knelt in front of the chest and slowly opened the lid, revealing the contents. At first, all he saw was a black material. He pulled at it, sliding it from the chest and finding it to be a hooded cloak with absolutely no distinguishable features. As he removed it from the chest completely, something fell out of its folds. He was shocked to see a mask, one he recognized from the cemetery a year earlier. He picked it up gingerly, gazing at the bone-like design of the original Death Eater masks.

Frowning at the memories, he put the mask with the robe on the floor and continued digging through the chest. Other items seemed inconsequential: parchments, empty photo frames, school notebooks...

Then, he found a strange book. It was completely black-cover and page edges-with no images or text of any kind. He was about to flip through the curious book when another whisper twirled around him at the same time a hard heartbeat echoed, pulling his eyes to a small green and black box. His vision tunnelled, seeing nothing aside from that box. He dropped the book and slowly picked up the box, popping it open and allowing his eyes to fall on the necklace inside.

It was octagonal and silver with small etchings all along the edges. A snake was etched on the front, a layer of amber over top.

He picked it up off the black velvet, the long silver chain draping through his fingers. The pulsing beat loudly in his ears and the hissing whisper was audible.

‘One of us.'

Harry stroked his thumb over the amber surface, head tilting to the side as he stared, seeing nothing but that locket, hearing nothing but that whisper, feeling nothing but his heart beat in tandem with the pulsing. Everything outside his sense periphery was hazy, fading away from his awareness to leave just the locket.

‘Embrace your darkness.'

A flash of hot anger burst in his gut from nowhere, unclear memories of rage passing by.

‘Give in to us.'

The air was becoming thick and charged, magic rolling off him in hot waves. Images flashed before his eyes.

Exploding streetlights.

Shattering trinkets.

Desperate screaming with no sound.

Bodies falling dead.

Cracking glass.

The desire to die tingeing every image with determined despair and surrender.

‘Give in to us!'

"Potter!"

Harry blinked, falling back into himself. He looked around, momentarily confused about where he was. His heart was pounding hard and his magic was washing around the room, a harsh wind disturbing everything. He pulled it back in, frowning at the ache developing in his skull.

"Potter!" The shout was repeated. "You may be avoiding me, but Kingsley wants everyone outside. Now!"

Harry stared at the locket in his hand, his mind fuzzy as it tried to sink back into the locket's realm.

"POTTER!"

"Coming!"

Shoving the locket into his pocket, Harry left the secret room and hurried downstairs to avoid having Snape hunt him down, but a part of his mind remained wrapped up in that pocket.