Unfinished Business

By Dark Syaoran

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: Post-HBP. Some Deathly Hallow elements.

-x-X-x-

A figure, obscured by shadows, watched as a middle-aged man hurried down the narrow cobblestone alleyway, a black hood keeping the heavy rain from his face as it pelted down from the heavens angrily, flooding the lower-end of the small street despite the more than adequate drainage system in place. Thunder boomed loudly overhead, bright lightning spearing through the pitch-black sky, illuminating the hidden person for a bare instant, before everything was plunged back into darkness.

The man in the street slipped several times as he continued toward a solid wooden door, reaching into his pocket and producing a long, sleek cylinder of pale, polished wood that looked well cared for, even from a distance. Tapping the door four times in seemingly random locations, the wood rippled like it was made of water before it sunk into the floor with a strange squelching noise, leaving a long, well-lit hallway in sight, several doors lining the walls every few feet.

Within seconds, another person appeared; a woman dressed in old, ratty robes, a stained apron covering her front. She wore thick, well-used gloves that were stained thoroughly like the apron, her unremarkable brown hair tied back with a piece of cloth. She was pale, sickly looking, but had traces of former beauty washed away by stress and age. The hidden observer glanced down briefly at a small, moving photograph he held in a glove-clad hand before returning his gaze to the man and woman in the doorway.

The woman matched the photo perfectly, as expected, having only been taken no more than a week earlier.

The two had a brief exchange of words, unheard by the lurking presence in the shadows, before the man handed over a small, tightly bound brown package, the look of hunger on the females face revealing the unknown products worth. They conversed a little more as she handed over a small sack of what appeared to be gold galleons. It wasn’t long before the man was alone once more, the woman retreating down the passage as quickly as she come.

Moving with inhuman speed, the hidden figure darted across the alley, resembling nothing but a giant black blur, appearing in front of the man as he prepared to re-lock the passageway in a whirl of dark smoke.

The man – who was dark skinned with a small goatee – stumbled back in shock, eyes wide in surprise as his arm came whipping up in a desperate attempt to defend himself with his wand, “Avada Keda-”

“Stupefy.”

The black mans eyes rolled into the back of his head as a jet of red light impacted against his chest, throwing him across street with a small flash of scarlet, the sack of galleons falling, scattering its contents across the ground in a symphony of tiny clinks. A loud crack, muffled by the rain, sounded as he collided with the wall of a closed bookstore, bone giving way to cold, unforgiving stone.

Turning around to face the hallway, the man slowly lowered his hood, revealing a relatively young man with messy, uncontrolled black hair and vivid green eyes, a pair of stylish wire-framed glasses resting on his face. Slightly above his right eye sat a distinctive lightning bolt-shaped scar, standing out against his slightly pale skin, proclaiming his identity better than any nametag ever could.

Harry Potter quirked his lips in a half-smile as he waved his wand in a lazy gesture, pale-blue sparks erupting from the tip, soaring down the hall like tiny faeries, bathing the floor in a strange, twinkling light. Several of the dull, worn tiles shined an eerie silver as the sparks landed, revealing several random areas layered with protective magic, another security measure to keep people out.

Striding forward, keeping to the ordinary un-tampered tiles, he paused at every door, a simple wave of his hand blasting them off their hinges, not caring about the loud crashing sounds that echoed throughout the building, any semblance of stealth forgotten. He’d barely made it three doors down before he was confronted by the woman from before, rage twisting her features into something even more unattractive than normal.

“How dare yo-” the woman started with a snarl, wand appearing in her hand instantly, only to fall silent as she was thrown off her feet by an invisible blast, her neck snapping with a sickening wet crack from the spells sheer force. Her broken body sailed through the air, crashing into the last door at the end of the hall, a purple barrier deflecting the corpse away in a ball of roaring violet flames.

Harry let out a thoughtful hum as he ignored the rest of the doors, robes licking at his feet as he strode onwards, stepping over the smouldering body carelessly, stopping short of the fading barrier. Reaching to his belt hidden under his outer-clothing, he produced a small, black marble, a smoke-like substance swirling slowly inside.

Dropping the small globe to the floor, it shattered, oily black smoke rising from the remains, swirling as it approached the door. The purple barrier flared to life as the smog touched upon it, creeping upon its surface as a sizzling sound filled the air, expanding until the wall of magic was completely enveloped by the strange substance, steam bellowing as the magic’s rubbed against each other, creating an intense reaction.

Taking a step back, Harry raised his wand, a small bolt of yellow magic firing from the tip, striking the wall of sizzling smoke. Seconds passed as nothing changed, the yellow magic being absorbed completely by the swirling mass. Then, slowly, the sound likened to that of cracking glass overlapped the sizzling; visible, spider-web like cracks appearing on the ever changing wispy surface of the smoke. The cracks increased, reaching the edges of the covered barrier before glowing the same shade of yellow the small spell had radiated moments before.

Lifting one of his arms to shield his eyes with the baggy material of his wizarding robes, Harry stood his ground as the barrier detonated like a small bomb, a blinding light flaring as the door it previously protected was vaporized in an instant. The doorframe imploded violently, tearing apart a small section of the floor and roof. Shrapnel collided with a transparent shield that surrounded the Boy-Who-Lived, protecting him from harm as the building shuddered on its foundations.

As the dust settled and the building calmed, Harry lowered his arm and made his way past the destroyed door, pausing to look around.

The room was large, filled with several sturdy looking work benches, all clear except one, which held several potion ingredients and tools. A cauldron boiled on its surface, an odourless pink smoke rising from its depths. The walls were lined with shelves, housing hundreds of different objects, ranging from foreign devices to basic ingredients – pickled eyeballs and Harpy feathers to name a few – all related to potion making in some way or another. The lab had a recently vacated feel to it, the half-brewed potion telling him he interrupted it’s creation with his arrival, yet he couldn’t detect any hidden exits as he pressed his hand lightly against the damaged doorframe. The only way out was the door he had blasted his way through.

A sudden flash of light blanketed the room as a curse slammed into a quickly conjured shield charm, said curse rebounding away and into one of the many shelves, the wood splintering with a loud crackle at the impact, ingredients spilling from jars as they crashed to the floor. Small, colourful sparks started hissing and buzzing as several different items reacted to each other in a harmless manner.

“Snape,” Harry acknowledged, lowering his wand as his shield flickered from existence, eyes focusing on the blurry outline hidden in a corner to the left.

“Potter?” a voice answered in disbelief before drawling, “I see. So it’s you, then. My my, what would Dumbledore think of this,”

“He would disapprove,” Harry replied easily, watching as his former professor moved from his hiding spot, the disillusionment charm unravelling with each cautious step until he stood opposite Harry, a table separating them. “He wasn’t a saint himself, but he would probably find my new hobby of tracking down and killing former Death Eaters a little... I don’t know, unsavoury?”

“And yet here you are,” Snape sneered, brushing the hair out of his face with a pale hand. “The great saviour,” he mocked, smirking cruelly as he clutched his wand firmly.

Severus Snape, despite being several years older, looked very much the same as the last time Harry saw him face-to-face. His hair was a little longer, a little greasier than before; his skin a little paler, perhaps with a few more wrinkles, but overall, nothing had truly changed. He still had his large hooked nose that protruded from the same face that held a permanent look of distain. He still carried himself in the same way. Tall, proud, with a touch of arrogance; and his eyes, still black, glittering with restrained hate and loathing, attempting to pierce his mind without success.

“Did you really think I’d let the scum that served Voldemort go free, unpunished?” Harry asked with not a little scorn. Snape grimaced at his former master’s name but held his tongue. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Indeed,” Snape murmured. “You aren’t afraid to get your hands dirty like you once were, so disgustingly pure. How you defeated the Dark Lord then, I’ll never fathom.”

“Disgustingly pure,” Harry echoed. “Like my mother?”

Harry twirled his wand in a subtle gesture as Snape snarled a curse, a blue ball of pulsing energy coming to a stop mere centimetres from the young mans face, spluttering angrily as it attempted to continue onwards against the invisible force that held it still. It swirled, small arcs of magic flaring as it wobbled then disintegrated into nothingness, leaving nothing behind but the faint smell of burnt ozone.

“Temper, temper,” Harry chided, smiling slightly.

Snape quivered with rage, left eye twitching slightly as he forced himself to calm down. He took several deep breaths, finally getting his emotions under control. His face, once filled with hate was now blank, an emotionless wall of pale flesh. Harry watched with interest, not moving to take advantage of Snape’s lapse.

“Dumbledore... told you about Lily and I?”

“Correct, though it was my aunt that first tipped me off,” Harry explained. “She described your younger self in perfect detail. If there is one thing my aunt was good at, it was retaining information. Must come with being a gossiping bitch, eh?”

Snape didn’t answer.

“After that, Dumbledore’s portrait filled me in on your relationship with my mother after some persuading. It was... such a sad tale.”

“I’m sure,” Snape replied, muscles tensing.

“Just think, in a different world, I might have been calling you daddy,” Harry chuckled. “Imagine tha-”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry reacted with amazing speed, sweeping his wand through the air like a sword. The bench between the two wizards jolted upwards, its load spilling to the floor as the killing curse burst against the enchanted wood in a whoosh of sinister green flame, blocking them both from the view of the other.

“Fiendfyre,” Snape called with sinister glee, the end of his wand glowing fiercely as it spewed forth cursed fire. The rooms temperature skyrocketed as the searing flames lanced towards Harry, taking the form of a gigantic snake, mouth opened wide, as if to swallow him whole.

Taking a step back, Harry swirled the tip of his wand above the palm of his left hand, a small trail of purple vapour forming as he whispered, “Inanio,”

Thrusting his hand towards the giant fiery construct, he bellowed the same incantation, a small pulse blasting outwards as a small ball of dark violet materialized in his outstretched hand from the swirling vapour. For a few seconds, it looked like he was going to be incinerated, when suddenly the small ball whirled like a vortex, everything being pulled in towards it with incredible force.

The room was engulfed by gale-force winds, anything not nailed down being sucked into the small black hole held in Harry’s hand. Snape scowled, hair and robes whipping wildly as the cursed flames funnelled towards the void, only taking a few moments for it to be absorbed completely. Before the other man could react, Harry dipped his wand into the vortex, lifting it from his palm. The ball of nothingness spun on the end of his wand as the winds increased in velocity.

Even though he knew the man couldn’t hear him, he spoke anyway, “Goodbye Professor,”

Lightly flicking his wand in Snape’s direction, it was only a matter of seconds before the void was upon the former Slytherin, firing from his wand like a bullet. Snape tried to defend himself, but the shield charm did nothing as it impacted with his chest. For a few short moments, it hung there, half imbedded in his ribcage, before his torso caved in on itself with tremendous force.

Blood and bone scattered as he screamed in agony, being drawn back inwards as they were sucked into nothing, organs following. His legs were next, simply lifting from the floor before vanishing completely, and then his arms, then lastly his head, face locked in a silent scream as blood poured from his nose, eyes and ears.

Clapping his hands once, the spell ended with a loud crack, the shockwave momentarily deafening him. He stood silently in the now empty room for a few moments, head bowed slightly before twirling on the spot, disappearing with a small pop.

He had more old friends to meet, more old scores to settle.

It was going to be a long night.

-x-X-x-

Authors Notes: Originally going to be a mutli-chaptered story, I lost interest in the idea and in the fandom all together for a little while. Most of this was written in 2007, with only the ending and a few tweaked lines throughout being written in the last few days.

The premise of the story was going to be Harry hunting down the remaining Death Eaters after the war, the ones who escaped justice. It didn’t completely follow Deathly Hallows, most of the stuff that happened in that book didn’t happen in this timeline, but some of it did.

Might feel a bit rushed, but that’s probably because of it turning from a chapter to a stand-alone short story. Can’t be helped.

Enjoy it, hate it, whatever.