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What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Chapter 15. Remus’ Revenge

Harry woke up the following morning all alone on the bed. Squinting around a moment, he searched the room for a sign of either Ron or Hermione, but they weren’t anywhere. He was completely alone. It was the first time since he’d initially woken up here in Grimmauld Place that no one was nearby. It bothered him, made him feel antsy and abandoned, which was stupid. He wasn’t a child. But he’d grown so accustomed to their presence, either in the bed with him or near him at all times, that he just felt lost now to find himself alone.
Propping himself up on his elbows, he found his glasses on the side table, his journal and his water from last night beside them. Picking up his glasses, he slid them on, looking around the room again. He remembered coming upstairs after dinner last night and falling asleep almost immediately after hitting the mattress. There was evidence they’d been here, though. The other side of the bed was messed up, the pillows and blankets in disarray, but no Ron and Hermione.
As he continued to look around the room, he noticed that the bathroom door was shut as was the door to the bedroom. He felt more relaxed then. One of them was just in the bathroom, the other downstairs already, he decided. Judging from the light in the room, it was already well into the morning hours. He’d slept a long time. The events of the day before had clearly worn him out. Maybe they were both downstairs having breakfast without him, he thought, feeling suddenly worried again and a bit annoyed because he was hungry, too, and his bladder was full again. He needed the loo, and there was no one to help him this morning.
After a few more minutes on the bed, a few more minutes of waiting for a sign of either of them, Harry pulled the blanket off his legs and worked his way up into a sitting position. Turning onto his side and facing the outside of the bed, he slowly walked himself up with his hands. He was pleased to find that he wasn’t as dizzy as he’d been the day before, though his head still ached. Taking a drink of the water, he then sat there flexing and pointing his toes. His legs and calves were stiff from the day before. He was trying to decide if he thought he could stand on his own when the bathroom door opened, and Ron stepped into the bedroom, followed closely by Hermione.
“Hey, you’re awake!” Ron greeted cheerfully when he’d caught sight of Harry. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Harry just stared at the two of them in surprise and some confusion at their entrance together from the bathroom, of all places. What were they doing in there together? Then after a moment, he raised his arm and pointed at the bathroom door behind them.
“Not by yourself, you aren’t,” Ron told him then, coming over to stand next to Harry. “If you end up flat on your face, Madame Pomfrey might kill us all for her trouble.”
Harry was annoyed again. What choice had they given him, really? But Ron was already helping him to his feet. Shifting Harry’s weight to himself, they started the awkward trek to the bathroom looking like contestants in a three-legged race.
Damn! His calves and thighs were stiff and incredibly sore from last night’s trip up the stairs. It took even longer to get to the bathroom today than yesterday because he was hobbling so much on wooden legs. They protested at every step, seemingly unwilling to bend.
He felt better after his bath, which was a lot less traumatic than the previous one had been. His mood improved once he’d soaked for a while in the warm water, relaxing his strained muscles. When he was dry and dressed, they began the arduous trip downstairs. Everything was fine at first, until they hit the stairs. His muscles were more limber after the bath as they crossed the bedroom floor, but he was already winded by the time they arrived at the landing. He’d insisted on managing the stairs without the hover charm, but once they started the journey down, he began to second guess that short-sighted decision because every step was agony. He’d only managed about four steps before his thighs were burning again, vibrating badly on every step so that he clutched tightly to the banister and to Ron for fear of falling and tumbling the rest of the way down.
On the sixth step, he finally halted. His legs were trembling violently, trying to give out with fatigue, and his side was searing with pain. When Ron took the next step down and tried to bring Harry with him, Harry resisted. Holding onto the railing, he shook his head, his teeth gritted in pain. He needed to sit down. His legs and lungs were on fire. He wanted to go back because he still had twice as many steps to go before he was down. He pointed back up the stairs, breathing hard.
“You don’t wanna go downstairs?” Ron asked him, bewildered at his sudden change of heart.
Harry shook his head. He did, but he couldn’t get there today. It was too hard, too painful. He needed to get horizontal again, right now! Feeling miserable, he wanted to curl up on the bed and spend the rest of the day feeling sorry for himself.
In the end, he was hovered down the remainder of the stairs against his frightened and furious, albeit mostly silent protests, when Hermione intervened and insisted.
His mood was black by the time he was dropped on the couch in the drawing room. He spent an hour or so in high dudgeon, ignoring them both. Scribbling in his journal, he wrote hated names on a list and doodled sullenly on the pages while breakfast was being prepared. Writing feverishly and squeezing the tiny rubber ball in his fist, both actions were quickly becoming an obsession, a compulsion for him to work out his frustrations.
In deference to his mood, Ron and Hermione tiptoed around him, which only served to annoy him even further. He felt surly, felt like he had seemingly the whole of his fifth year, or like he felt when it had been his turn to wear Slytherin’s locket when that piece of Voldemort’s soul was still inside it. Brooding, feeling irate and then melancholy, tired of living in this reality, he was irritated into anger by his convalescence and driven to depression by his utter dependence on them.
They took breakfast in the drawing room again, and Harry had porridge again, but his mood finally improved once Madame Pomfrey arrived. His fever still persisted, but she’d given the okay to start him back on solid foods, which he was relieved to hear. But what changed his mood the most was that she hadn’t arrived alone. Lupin was with her.
He looked a real mess. There were severe scratches on his face and neck, and he was limping slightly as he followed her into the room. Harry was so stunned to see him that he just sat on the couch, a spoonful of porridge still halfway to his lips, left forgotten at seeing his father’s old friend for the first time in ages. They just stared at each other for what seemed a very long time while everyone else in the room waited, watching Harry’s reaction to his new and unexpected visitor.
“Harry,” Lupin finally greeted him on a sigh of relief, and that seemed to be all he was able to get out before he sank down on the other end of the couch from Harry, still staring at him as if he were just as surprised to see Harry as Harry was to see him.
He’d been very rude to Lupin on their last meeting, Harry remembered in some shame. He’d goaded Lupin into hexing him by calling him a coward, and he was immediately reminded of another of his father’s classmates, another whom he’d called a coward. That person had cursed him for it, too, right after he’d killed Dumbledore. Snape could have killed Harry if he’d wanted while out on the Hogwarts grounds, when Harry had caught up to him, but he didn’t. Instead, he’d actually stopped one of the Death Eaters from casting another Cruciatus on Harry. Then he’d simply fled, leaving Harry alive and relatively unharmed on the ground beside Hagrid’s burning hut.
The next time he’d called Snape a coward was when they’d met in the torture room of Malfoy Manor. The memories of what happened there suddenly washed over him. So much had happened so quickly after Snape had forced him to his knees. After he’d humiliated him in front of Lucius and Avery and made Harry take him into his mouth, Snape had tried to save him again.
Harry probed the memories of that meeting, however painful and humiliating they were because there were things that had happened then that he didn’t understand, things that were hard to remember after the long night before with Bellatrix. His body had been at the height of pain. He’d been delirious with fatigue and fever, making it difficult for him to form reason. Everything had seemed a mass of confusion to his aching brain, yet some things had been clear, and were brought back to the surface again at the site of Lupin.
There were things he needed to tell Ron and Hermione now that he had the ability to communicate with them, now that the memory had been stirred again. There were things he needed to ask Lupin, too, things about his mother, about Snape. Remus was the only person left to Harry who might have the answers.
Letting the spoon drop back into his half-finished bowl of porridge, Harry slowly set it back on the coffee table and reached for his journal. His eyes were still on Lupin, who in turn, seemed unable to move or speak. He simply stared wide-eyed back at Harry as if he believed Harry was the ghost of his father, James, afraid to blink for fear that the apparition of his childhood friend might disappear.
I’m sorry for what I said to you before. Harry wrote quickly in the journal. Then he turned it so that Lupin could read the written apology.
Remus stared at the words a long time until Harry worried he might not respond at all. Afraid that perhaps he was still angry with Harry, or angry again with him now at the reminder of their last meeting, Harry nervously gripped his quill and waited.
“I’m sorry that what you said was true, Harry,” Lupin finally responded in a hoarse voice.
He looked utterly miserable, then, tired and worn, so much older than his years suddenly. Harry continued to stare at him in concern before Madame Pomfrey took her spot on the coffee table and began examining Harry without a word.
“You’re unable to speak?” Lupin asked.
Harry pressed his lips together in an apologetic frown and shook his head.
“His voice will return in due course,” Madame Pomfrey declared in a businesslike tone.
He wasn’t able to converse with Lupin while the healer examined him because she commanded all his attention. And when she’d finally finished with him, she started on Lupin. It was clear that he’d been injured recently, and Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t allow him to brush her off.
It was kind of amusing for Harry to see her boss someone else around for a change, to have her poke and prod at a new patient for a while, and drag gasps and moans of pain out of another besides himself. Honestly, he was beginning to think her a sadist and was considering adding her name to his list of people he’d written down earlier that he owed retribution, close to the spot Lucius held.
Lupin did his best to politely avoid her prodding wand, her roaming hands and probing questions, but in the end, gave up and left her to it. In Harry’s experience, sometimes it was better to simply get something unpleasant over with, especially if the unpleasantness was as persistent as this particular healer. Remus seemed to have had enough experience with her to have learned that lesson himself.
“This is another of those patients I have trouble with,” Madame Pomfrey told Hermione once she was given free reign, glancing over her shoulder as she healed the scratches on Lupin’s neck. “Like I told you I have with that one.” She nodded at Harry, and he saw Hermione’s lips pull into a smile from her chair.
Harry had no idea what that meant, but it was clear that she and Madame Pomfrey had developed a relationship. They appeared to have grown close during the last few days while Harry had been recovering.
“He’s another who carried a large burden at such a young age,” she went on, while Harry and Lupin continued to stare at each other, both slightly bewildered. “Another whom I spent a great deal of time with during his years at Hogwarts and subsequently developed a fondness for.”
Harry frowned. It was kind of annoying being talked about like you weren’t even in the room, and slightly irritating to be listening to a conversation that felt like it had continued from before you arrived with the speakers not having the courtesy to catch you up. But he wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand. Ron and Lupin looked confused, too, which made Harry feel a bit better.
“How’s Tonks?” Ron asked Lupin cheerfully then.
“About to pop,” Lupin responded with a grin, stretching his arm out away from his body to indicate how large her belly had grown before it turned to a grimace when Madame Pomfrey moved her attention to the leg he’d been favoring on his way in.
“Ouch!” He yelped when she’d evidently hit a tender spot. “Poppy, please.”
He tried to tug down his trouser leg and brush her off him. “I’ll be just fine. Dora has already treated the leg. And I’ve already endured the lecture from her and her mother about my injuries,” he added quickly when she opened her mouth to argue.
Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips disapprovingly, but stopped her examination.
“Injuries are an occupational hazard of being a werewolf, you know,” he informed her. “The ability to heal quickly is its one advantage, however. I will be fine. I do not wish you to waste your time on me,” he said kindly, though she still looked distressed. Clearly it went against her nature to see someone injured and not help them.
Harry took up the quill in an attempt to rescue him. Maybe just some tea? he wrote, and turned the journal to her. She stared at it a moment, and then smiled.
“You are a cheeky one,” she huffed in exasperation. “But I would be delighted.”
Hermione took out her wand and drew up another chair, and Madame Pomfrey joined them around the coffee table for a bit before finally collecting her bag.
“You’re coming along quite well now, Harry,” she told him. “I don’t think you’ll be requiring my services much longer.” And with that, she made to leave. “I’ll call again in a few days’ time to check your progress, but don’t hesitate to contact me if you need me. All right?”
He nodded, Hermione and Ron promising as well. Hermione stood up and hugged her, thanked her, and then walked her out.
“You look so much better than when we first found you,” Lupin said quietly when they’d left the room, staring at Harry again. “I was afraid that you…” But he broke off, unable to say, apparently, what he was afraid of.
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at the news that Lupin had been present when they found him and glanced at Ron for clarification.
“When you dumped us in my room and then took off, Harry, we all went looking for you. In every place we could think of,” Ron explained. “Remus happened to be at the Burrow, and we split up into groups. It was him, Hermione, and me together when we finally found you.”
Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He finally nodded, and then stared into his own lap, feeling ashamed again at the revelation of what Remus had borne witness to: both the physical evidence of the Death Eater’s brutality on Harry’s body, and the trauma Harry had inflicted on himself. Harry felt the heat of embarrassment creeping into his face at those imagined images. How weak must his mentor think him after finding Harry on the bathroom floor bleeding out into the tub, he thought in disgrace.
“Harry?” Remus said, and then paused, waiting for Harry to look at him.
Slowly raising his head, he reluctantly met Lupin’s eyes.
“Harry…” he began again. “Fenrir Greyback is…dead,” he blurted. “I…I killed him.”
“WHAT?” Ron yelled in stunned disbelief.
Totally caught off guard, Harry sat perfectly still, his mouth falling open in shock, feeling winded at the news, like someone had punched him in the gut unexpectedly. He couldn’t breathe then for a moment. Spots were appearing in his vision and a roaring filled his ears as he tried to absorb what Lupin had said.
Scooting closer to Harry on the couch, Remus leaned toward him. “I know what he did to you, Harry,” he confessed then more quietly, looking desperately sad.
Harry reeled backwards as if he’d been struck, shaking his head in denial of the truth. Then he jerked his head up to stare at Ron, feeling betrayed that he would share what had happened to him with anyone, even Lupin.
“No!” Ron denied indignantly, immediately reading Harry’s face. “Hermione and I would never tell anyone anything about what happened in that dungeon, Harry! Not to any of us.” He held his hands up to Harry in the same gesture of surrender that Harry had used the day before. “Never. I swear it!”
“Poppy had tended to your wounds, and she was giving instructions on how to care for your injuries,” Remus explained hurriedly. “She mentioned the bite marks…on your back.”
Harry went pale then at the memory of receiving those bites, feeling light headed. Panicked, his eyes flitted around the room, searching for an escape. Hermione was standing in the doorway. Harry hadn’t noticed her return. He wanted to flee back upstairs, to hide in Sirius’ room, but she was blocking the exit, wand in her hand while he stared wildly around, looking for another way out. Lupin touched his hand and Harry jerked away from him with a whimper of fear.
“Calm down, Harry,” Ron warned.
Harry’s eyes flicked back to him in desperation, staring at Ron pleadingly for his salvation.
“Harry, please let me explain,” Remus said, pulling his hand back slowly, careful not to touch him again while Harry’s heart pounded in his chest and head.
Ron’s eyes held him in check as he tried to swallow the panic. When Harry didn’t move, Remus continued.
“Greyback was the werewolf that bit me as a child. I believe you already know this.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“He was a very aggressive male, a very dominant male,” he went on. “He was the alpha male. I don’t know if you know what that term means.”
“In a wolf pack, the alpha male is the leader. It means that all other wolves in the pack are submissive to him,” Hermione answered automatically, walking slowly back to her chair and sitting down when it appeared that Harry had abandoned his planned attempt to flee.
“Yes,” Lupin agreed with a small snort. “What that means is that every other wolf in the pack must submit to his demands, whatever they may be, or risk being attacked and killed.” He was staring into Harry’s eyes now. “And Greyback can be…very demanding,” he finished quietly.
Harry and Hermione both shuddered at their own memories of the vicious werewolf.
“It’s one of the reasons I have always stayed away from my kind, because Greyback is the leader of my pack, and it’s the largest pack in England by far. But when Dumbledore asked me to return to them, to live among them, to try to carry his message to them, well, my status within the pack then was very low, my credibility weakened by my previous refusal to join them, to choose to live among wizards instead. There is a hierarchy among the pack, you see, and I was reluctant, as you can imagine, to put myself in that position, at the bottom of that list,” he confided, and his eyes clouded.
“Greyback wanted to punish me, to make an example of me. I’m lucky, actually, that he did not kill me. But I was forced to submit to him many times,” he explained quietly. “Mostly in wolf form, but not always.” He stared at Harry again, trying to see if Harry understood his words, his meaning.
“I have lived through the same attack from Greyback as you,” he stated plainly, finally, almost on a whisper. Then he went quiet for a moment, the room totally silent.
Hermione had gone pale, and her wand shook in her hands. Ron reached over and grabbed it, squeezing her fingers while Harry stared blankly at them. Trying to understand how Remus could ever have voluntarily walked into that, how Dumbledore could have asked it of him. How he could sit here now and talk about it, reveal something so personal, so degrading in front of them?
“I knew immediately what the marks on you meant. What must have happened to you. No one had to tell me. I have felt his teeth on me as well, felt him mark me as his property, lay claim to me. The mark is a warning to the other wolves, you see, a sign to them of my status in the pack. And it’s a reminder to me of his dominance over me,” he said, and his voice was full of disgust.
Harry was shaking all over with the memory now, shuddering with revulsion. Remembering the feel of Greyback’s teeth on his back, on his shoulder as he came, Harry relived the moments of having him deep inside his abused body. Throbbing his release, he’d stretched Harry past endurance while he licked the wounds closed, and sealed them with his saliva.
“I was enraged,” Remus continued after a moment, his voice strong again. “A member of my pack had been attacked. My true pack, the pack I considered my family: James and Sirius, Peter before he betrayed us, Lily when she married James, and you, James’ son. I had to defend, to retaliate, to seek revenge. It was instinct. I waited for the full moon, which was quickly approaching, found him and killed him, though he was already wounded, not fully healed from a vicious attack, his body badly burned, severely weakened, from He Who Must Not Be Named, maybe, angry, perhaps, at your escape.”
Harry glanced again to Ron.
“If he hadn’t been, he would have killed me. He nearly did anyway. He is the cause of my injuries,” he said with a gesture to his face.
“Does that make you the new Gurg?” Ron interjected suddenly, unable to help himself, apparently.
“Excuse me?” Lupin asked.
“The new Gurg. You know, the new leader, the alpha male or whatever?” Ron asked. “Hagrid told us that’s what the giants call their leader.”
“Yes,” Hermione confirmed.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” Remus agreed. “Though I will be constantly challenged for that title now because of my previous rank in the pack. Every male who was above me will be after the spot, after my blood. None will be afraid to challenge me for it if they find me.”
They all sat in silence then, absorbing the news. Harry was unsure what to say. Thank you? He felt some relief, yes, that Greyback was dead, but also some disappointment that he hadn’t been the one to do it himself. His name was high on the list that Harry had worked on in anger this morning. A list of people he wanted revenge against. Lucius’ name was also on that list, and Voldemort had already beaten Harry to him. Now Greyback was gone as well.
Harry knew that Rudolphus was also dead and two others, though he did not remember who they were. Those three belonged to him, but he’d failed to kill Bellatrix or Avery. He was pretty sure that blond, Rowle, he thought, was still alive, too. He didn’t remember seeing him again before their escape. There were others, as well. The list was long, but Harry’s bloodlust was reserved for a select few. Only a few besides Voldemort himself that Harry wanted to personally destroy.
“I need to apologize to you, Harry,” Remus said then, pulling Harry back out of his dark thoughts. “I was unable to speak with you before the full moon, to discuss with you the effects of being bitten.” He paused, waiting for Harry to look at him again before continuing.
“Of course, you know you are not a true werewolf, but I have spent a lot of time with Bill since he was attacked, and he has more symptoms than simply liking his steak on the rare side. I could not warn you of those effects, however, because you were still unconscious. I’m sorry for that, for leaving you unprepared.”
Harry stared at him in growing alarm. What now? What the fuck else? he thought furiously.
“It’s not that bad,” Lupin said then, reading Harry’s face. “Near the full moon, Bill experiences a heightening of his senses, his sense of smell, for example. His instincts tend to become more basic, he tells me, his reasoning dulled, his sexual desires increased. He feels more aggressive. That’s all, really. He doesn’t sprout hair and start howling at the moon, or anything. But still, if you aren’t expecting it, you might be a bit alarmed,” he finished.
Harry understood then why he’d reacted so strongly to Hermione at first. Why his nose was so sensitive to her scent. Why being near her made him want her so badly. Why it seemed so much better lately, now that the moon had waned. The knowledge made his shoulders sag with relief.
Thank you for telling me, he wrote finally. About Greyback and about Bill. It explains a lot.
“Of course, Harry,” he said. “I would not have left you at all until I knew you were all right if the moon was not so near its apex.”
Harry nodded.
Can I ask you some questions? he wrote then after a few minutes.
“Certainly,” Lupin responded after reading what Harry had written.
Harry hesitated, trying to decide how to ask, or how much to tell.
How well did Snape know my mum?
Lupin looked taken aback by the unexpected words.
“Uh…” he said. “Well, we were all in the same year, of course. Lily was friendly with him, but she was friendly to everyone. She sort of stuck up for the underdogs, as you will remember from the memory you witnessed.”
Harry nodded, but that wasn’t what he needed to know. Ron and Hermione had scooted to the end of their chairs, leaning over the coffee table now to follow the conversation.
They weren’t close, then? he asked.
“Why do you ask, out of curiosity?” Lupin asked.
Harry thought a minute, and then wrote: Snape paid me a visit at Malfoy Manor. I saw some things, images and stuff.
“Snape paid you a visit?” he asked dangerously. “What kind of a visit?”
Harry shook his head. That name was on his list, too, but he had a lot of questions to get answers to before he finished with Snape. It was personal with him, it always had been, and Harry would finish it himself, not leave it to someone else to tidy up for him.
It doesn’t matter. Was she an animagus like my dad and Sirius?
Lupin read his words and looked bewildered. Harry’s knew his questions about his mum must seem to be coming out of nowhere.
“I don’t believe so, no. Not to my knowledge. Why?”
What about her patronus? What was it?
“Harry, what’s this about? What did Snape say to you?”
Harry shook his head again and pointed to his last written words.
Lupin sighed. “It was a doe, Harry. A doe to your father’s stag.”
“A doe?” Ron asked in surprise.
For Harry it was a mystery solved, but for Ron it must have been an even stranger one because he’d seen the doe in the forest, too, and knew Harry’s mother couldn’t have cast it. Harry nodded his head. That’s what he thought, what he’d suspected. He spent several minutes writing then, answering Lupin’s questions.
Snape found me in the torture room. We fought. There was some unpleasantness, but he tried to rescue me. Tried to get me to portkey out. Said it would take me to Hogwarts. To the infirmary. I didn’t believe him. I told him I wouldn’t leave without Ron and Hermione. He said they were already dead, but I still wouldn’t go without them. We got ambushed by a whole bunch of Death Eaters trying to reach them. I used the portkey on him when he got stunned. Stayed behind.
All of their mouths hung open when they’d read his words, tears threatening to fall from Hermione’s eyes as she looked back at him.
He lied about Ron and Hermione. I needed to know what else was a lie.
He finished and put down his quill. Not wishing to explain what any of it had to do with his mother, nor to share with Ron and Hermione Snape’s patronus’ form in front of Lupin.
“Thank you,” he whispered then to Lupin, who understood the subject to be closed.

Lupin visited for a few more hours, agreeing to stay for lunch before returning home, which for Harry meant his first solid meal, and he was more than ready for it after his interrupted breakfast. Lupin grasped Harry’s hand and patted his shoulder before taking his leave, promising to carry their well wishes to Tonks and to visit again soon.
Harry watched Hermione help Dobby gather up the lunch dishes after Lupin had left, watched as she brushed past Ron, watched Ron’s eyes on her, too, as she moved around the room. They seemed more at ease with each other than Harry could ever remember seeing them before. In all the years he’d known them, there was always tension around them. Even when they were all living together in the tent, they were hyper-aware of each other, awkward in their dealings, but they weren’t anymore. Their time in the dungeons had changed them, had changed all of them, he thought, as he watched her walk out of the room.
Stroking the journal which was back in his lap, his constant companion now, he thought over Lupin’s news, about Greyback, about Snape, trying to decide how he felt about it all, what he intended to do about Snape if they met again.
He flipped the journal open, slid his fingers over the rough edges of the first few torn out pages again, stroking it absentmindedly. Then he turned to the back, to the very last page, where he’d hidden his list, staring at the names he’d written. Picking up the quill, Harry dipped it in the ink and drew a line through Greyback’s name, adding the letters RL beside it, while Ron got up and came around to the couch, sitting down next to Harry.
Harry made to close the journal, but Ron held out his hand for it. And when Harry didn’t turn it over, he reached over and tugged it out of his grip. Frowning at Harry, Ron opened it to the last page.
On one side were Harry’s drawing of the deathly hallows symbol and his list of those three objects beneath it. Then there was the list of the Horcruxes and his doodles of the snake and the cup. He’d written questions marks for the unknown Horcrux next to his doodle of the raven. On the other side of the page was the list of names he’d compiled in his anger. These last two pages in his journal he’d devoted to the things he still needed to accomplish before he was finally done.
Ron ran his finger over the symbols and then read the list of names Harry had written:

Voldemort, Tom Riddle

------------------------------------

Bellatrix Lestrange

Rudolphus Lestrange HP

Fenrir Greyback RL

Walden Macnair

Big Blonde - Rowle??

------------------------------------

Lucius Malfoy V

Antonin Dolohov

?? Avery

Rabastan Lestrange

?? Selwyn

Severus Snape *
Ron’s face went pale as he stared at the list. Then, after a long moment, he held out his hand for the quill.
Harry dipped it in the inkwell and handed it to Ron, curious at what he’d write, or if he intended to scribble it all out. Instead, he slowly drew a line through Macnair’s and Dolohov’s names, and marked them each with HP. Then, returning the quill and journal to Harry, he wiped his eyes.
“You can’t draw for shit,” he announced suddenly to Harry, retaking to his chair when Hermione had returned.
“Nice,” Harry mouthed back at him.

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What it comes down to

Chapter 15. Remus’ Revenge