Chapter Seven
Knockturn Alley hadn't changed, Snape noted in disgust. It still had the same odour--a slight smell of damp and rot, yet under laid by something else, something much fouler than mere natural decay. Most people never noticed it, being too caught up in the myriad nefarious practices that had lured the underground of the magical community there for centuries, but Severus had a potion-brewer's heightened sense of smell. Apparently so did Zosimus, whose nose twitched in distaste as he commented that he had always thought this must be what hell smelled like. Snape had to agree, and it occurred to him, not for the first time, to wonder why that location was always depicted as hot. He remembered a line from some muggle poem that much more clearly reflected his own attitude, "I think I know enough of hate, to say that for that purpose ice is also great, and would suffice."
"What?" Zosimus looked at him in bewilderment. Severus wasn't sure-- muggle studies had never been his strong suit--but he vaguely thought there was a chance that Robert Frost had yet to pen those lines, or any others for that matter.
"Nothing. How much longer?" Severus drew his nondescript black cloak about him and stared out at the frigid street beyond. Why did it always seem colder in Knockturn Alley than anywhere else, he wondered in irritation. It was only early September, yet, while the weather was still pleasant enough in Scotland, here in London his breath was visible in front of his face and a chill ran up his spine--although the latter might, he admitted, have had more to do with their current undertaking than the temperature.
"They should have been here already," Apollo commented, looking about nervously. Snape had been amused to discover that the self-assured manner his companion assumed around Hogwarts had been noticeably absent on their current expedition. But then, he had no security blanket here, did he? It was not, Snape thought with relish, possible to drug the entire world. He wondered if that was why Zosimus had become something of a recluse later in life--not able to control the world, so he withdrew from it? Seemed a bit extreme, but then, Snape could also see the appeal. The idea of simply disappearing somewhere, to a cozy little hideaway where he could work without all the distractions that life continually threw at him had long been a dream of his own. Still, it would do Zosimus good to live a little-- the boy had been far too sheltered. Of course, Snape thought as a group of shadowy figures came down the alley towards them, there was such a thing as too much experience, and he pushed the unresisting young man a little further into the gloom behind him.
Severus was without glamour that evening, as it had been decided that his normal appearance would be more intimidating, should he need to engender fear in anyone. From what Zosimus had told him, it seemed a good possibility that they would require every advantage. The master's contacts in Knockturn Alley had been unwilling to entrust the extremely illegal substance they had recently acquired for him to the usual courier, insisting instead that Zosimus take delivery of it personally.
"They've never done this before," Apollo had said, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he perused the message that arrived by owl shortly after their completion of the Sightless Serum. Snape didn't like it, but there was no alternative but to agree--they had finished the two potions they could make with ingredients already on hand or those, like essence of lethifold and basilisk's venom, that could be bought from less-than- reputable shops. The only way to obtain one vital ingredient for the last two elixirs, however, had been to resort to the dangerous underground of the smugglers, as even the more notorious store owners drew the line at stocking what they needed.
The Tizheruk was a large, snake-like creature that ranged the arctic waters around the North Pole, occasionally venturing as far south as Alaska where it had become part of Eskimo lore. Its rarity was such that, when Newt Scamander eventually got around to writing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them sometime after the turn of the century, he wouldn't even bother to include it. The point being, Snape supposed, that very few people actually wanted to find it, as those who did tended not to enjoy, or indeed usually survive, the experience. Its blood, although extremely toxic even for a sea serpent, had an extremely useful stabilising effect in volatile potions, and the ones they were about to attempt to brew were impossible without it. The blood had long been illegal to sell or even possess, however, partly as an incentive to keep the foolhardy from throwing their lives away in an attempt to obtain it, but also because, once in the bloodstream, its venom was untraceable. It had been, in centuries when the creatures were somewhat less rare, the poison of choice for practitioners of the dark arts.
The question was, of course, did the smugglers even have it, or was their request simply a set up for an ambush? Being the cynic that he was, Severus had already decided that the odds favoured the latter. After all, Zosimus had used them on a few previous occasions, and had never failed to promptly pay the exorbitant sums they demanded. Severus had therefore taken a few precautions; he only hoped they would be sufficient.
The shadows coalesced into three men, at least he assumed they were male; he couldn't be sure as all he had to go on was height. Their bodies were completely swathed in dark, hooded, floor-length cloaks that reminded him uncomfortably of those worn by the death-eaters. Zosimus cowered behind him, probably thinking that this part of the potion-brewer's world he could do without, and let Severus control the meeting.
The lead figure had a deep voice and, judging by the hand he extended, which Snape pointedly ignored, was cadaverously thin. "Do you have it?" Severus assumed he meant the large amount of gold that was required in exchange for less than an ounce of the precious venom.
"When I see the merchandise."
Snape was surprised when the figure duly passed over a small vial of dark substance, which, judging by smell, seemed correct. It was not an ingredient that he regularly used, however, and since it was Zosimus' gold paying for the transaction, he turned to pass it to the younger man to get his opinion. A stupid move, he almost immediately realised, as the lead figure took the opportunity of his momentary distraction to seize his wrists, while shouting at his companions not to let the other get away. Snape twisted and grabbed Apollo's arm, but found, when he tried to apparate them out of there, that some sort of field prevented it. That was about the time he realised who the "smugglers" had to be. In this time period, the only people with portable anti-apparition wards were . . .
"It's the Ministry!," he hissed at Zosimus. They exchanged a brief glance, then aimed their wands at different points down the street, setting off the casks of potions they had previously placed in unobtrusive spots. Their location was almost immediately wreathed in fiery red and violet smoke, the antidotes for which Snape had personally spent most of the afternoon brewing and which they had both ingested before leaving. The aurors vainly tried to keep their hold on he and Apollo, but their efforts were seriously hindered by their sudden inability to see anything around them, and by a feeling of extreme disorientation. Snape smiled--good thing they'd been brewing battle potions for the last few days, ones that, moreover, were unknown and therefore uncounterable in this period.
In the resulting confusion, the two potion-brewers managed to tear away and lose themselves in the maze of dark streets branching off Knockturn Alley. As soon as they reached the end of the wards the Ministry had set up, they apparated back to the edge of Hogsmeade, out of breath and, in Severus' case at least, seriously disturbed. He should have seen that coming; no reason to get careless simply because Voldemort was not yet masterminding things. Had he and Zosimus been captured, it would have almost certainly meant an extended residence in Azkaban, which he doubted was any more pleasurable in this era than in his own. They also, of course, had to now come up with an alternative means of acquiring the needed venom, since it seemed Zosimus' old contacts had been put out of business.
"Well, that could have gone better," Apollo noted dryly, looking completely incongruous leaning against a tree in brown satin robes decorated with ridiculous golden tassels all down the front. They were, Severus had been appalled to discover, the most sombre clothes the man owned, and he had flatly refused to wear a set of Snape's black robes. "I look dreadful in black, Hiro, and anyway, it isn't as if they don't already know perfectly well who they're dealing with. All they care about is that I bring the money; what I wear is up to me." Severus wondered what they were going to do now that the Ministry, in all likelihood, also knew that Hogwart's model student was attempting to purchase ingredients which, in their perspective, could only be used for the dark arts. He turned a calculating eye on Zosimus, who began to look somewhat apprehensive.
"Is something wrong, Hiro?"
"Oh, no, just that we'll probably have half the aurors in the Ministry on Hogwart's doorstep tomorrow ready to search your rooms and arrest you for possession of controlled substances. Other than that, I can't think of a thing."
"So, you think they recognised me then?"
Severus sighed. "I don't know. It was dark and you were in the shadows but," he looked pointedly at Zosimus' fashionable attire, "we have to assume that they did. But then, they already knew enough to send the owl arranging the meeting to you, so obviously your contacts sold you out. Of course, you haven't invented veritaserum yet, so we can always say they were lying since we weren't actually caught in the act. However, you are going to need an alibi, and it has to be something stronger than I or any other Slytherin with whom you are known to be friends can provide. We'll need Albus."
The plan Snape concocted was simple: use one of Hogsmeade's post owls to take a letter to Albus, requesting that he and Delaia join them at the pub. Then proceed to get very rowdy in the Three Broomsticks, pick what would be taken for a drunken quarrel with the two Gryffindors, trade a few hexes, and thereby ensure that everyone remembered where they had been that night. It wasn't even likely to lose house points, as upper level students were allowed free access to the nearby magical village on Friday nights and weekends, and any small altercations were normally winked at--as long as no one ended up in the infirmary for too many days thereafter. So, naturally, Severus thought, the fact that it was a perfect way out of the serious situation they faced almost insured that something had to go wrong. Two somethings, in fact.
The first was the annoying reality that no one seemed to know where Albus was. The owl had returned without a letter from him, looking as abashed as an owl can. Severus was surprised, having never known a magically trained bird to fail to deliver a letter, but it returned with his note still securely fastened about its tiny leg. Snape had hoped the creature was just having an off day, but, when a second owl had the same problem, he began seriously to worry. If Albus was anywhere in or near Hogwart's castle, the letter should have reached him. So where could he be? And why did he have to take this particular moment to disappear?
Severus, although concerned and irritated, decided that they could still salvage the situation. They only needed to find some other Gryffindors, or for that matter Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws or even Slytherins in a pinch, with whom to publicly quarrel. However, when he made his way back to the Three Broomsticks after his last visit to the post office, he found Zosimus acting very strangely. The young man was still seated at the prominent place at the bar where Severus had left him, along with instructions to talk to as many people as possible and generally make his presence memorable. As soon as Snape walked in, however, he jumped up and demanded to return to Hogwarts immediately. Snape ordered a drink and dragged him off to a small table where they could talk in semi-privacy, but found Zosimus far too agitated to listen to the revised plan he had devised.
"No! You don't understand." The man looked almost panicked. "I didn't think we'd be gone so long--it should have only taken a few minutes to make the exchange. I didn't plan to be out half the night!"
"What possible difference can it make?" Severus lowered his voice and leaned towards his friend, who was practically bouncing in his chair in the desire to be gone. "If you're worried about the storeroom, don't be. I have everything . . . questionable . . . that we've been using, along with the rest of the potions, heavily warded. The aurors will never find them."
Zosimus waved that away, as if it was a matter of minor concern if they were caught in possession of Basilisk blood or not. "I'm not worried about the lab, Hiro; I trust you. But I have to get back to my rooms, at least for a few minutes."
"Impossible, and you know it. People have to see you here for an hour or two, so they can swear that we spent the evening as normal students."
For some reason, Zosimus seemed to find this hysterically amusing. He muttered something that sounded like, "oh, they'll see me all right," then jumped to his feet. "I have to go," he told Severus, suddenly serious, and actually began to weave his way toward the door.
Snape sat frozen in disbelief for a few seconds, before jumping up and going after him. He caught up with him at the door but, when he had to stand aside to let several Hufflepuffs enter, Apollo used the opportunity to pull away and slip out the exit. Snape again overtook him in the street and pulled him into the pool of light provided by a nearby hanging lantern, hoping someone would later remember seeing them there. "Have you gone mad? You can't just go running back to the castle, you HAVE to have an alibi!"
"I don't care." Zosimus looked mutinous.
"You'll care if you end up in Azkaban!"
"There are worse things," the young man remarked cryptically.
Snape snorted, unable to believe the way his night was going. "You might think differently after you've been there awhile."
Zosimus sighed, looked like he intended to say something, then glanced at the magical chronometer on his wrist and gave a squeak worthy of a house elf. "I have to go!," he repeated, and disapparated.
Of course, Snape knew that, even in 1855, it was impossible to apparate into Hogwarts. There was no Voldemort to make such security restrictions necessary, but it had long been standing policy anyway, primarily designed to keep upper-level students from easily smuggling late-night visitors into their dorm rooms. It meant that Zosimus must have apparated just down the road, and why he would bother to expend the energy to do so when he would still have to walk most of the way back was beyond Severus' ability to imagine. Since he didn't know exactly where along the extensive border of Hogwarts the vexatious creature had decided to reappear, however, there was no realistic way to catch him. Snape allowed himself a few moments to ponder why fate seemed to harbour such an intense grudge against him, then turned his mind to using most of the long walk back to the castle to devise an alternative plan for getting Zosimus out of danger.
* * *
"Valentin, you really should give me back my wand," Albus swallowed and tried a weak smile. "We're in the middle of the Forbidden Forest . . . and it is forbidden for good reason, you know."
Delaia let his wand twirl thoughtfully through her fingers. "That didn't seem to worry you when you were chasing me in here just now."
Albus looked about nervously. "I, er, might have become somewhat . . . over zealous." He stumbled slightly over a tree root as he attempted to back away from her steady advance. "I was watching you practice for awhile . . . you're very good."
"I know."
"Yes, well, I just thought that it might be interesting to see how you performed against a real opponent . . . the platforms being rather . . . predictable." He backed into a large tree and stopped, looking around as if hoping for a miraculous escape.
Delaia paused a few feet away, no longer smiling. "Oh, I see. And it wouldn't have even occurred to you that, if you gave me a good scare, I might stick a little closer to Hogwarts from now on?"
Albus tried another smile, but it ended up a grimace as her wand pressed into his throat. "Actually, no . . . I don't recall thinking that at all."
Delaia let her wand slide slowly around his neck to rest against the back of his high collar. He was wearing a very uninspired combination of white shirt and black pants, his robe still lying on the ground where she had hexed it. Of course, she thought, why would Albus wear anything remotely improper, even under his robes where no one would see? Other students wore the colours of their favourite quidditch teams, while Zosimus pranced around in satins and velvets, his robes dripping with intricate embroidery and hand-made lace, but none of that for the oh-so-proper Gryffindor prefect. The fact that she knew his fashion sense to get better--or at least wilder--with age did not improve her mood at the moment. His clothes were a symptom, she decided, an expression of the fact that he was a sixteen-year-old boy going on a hundred and sixty, without having had any fun in between the two. She said as much, being too irritated for discretion.
"I'm seventeen," Albus said, his voice slightly offended.
"Oh, well, do excuse me. That makes it quite alright then. And I suppose you were up to all kinds of pranks when you WERE sixteen? And you probably dressed in colourful, normal clothes instead of these . . . ," she momentarily couldn't think of anything bad enough to describe the plain little costume he wore, "mortician's attire? So, essentially, you've just become so serious and RESPONSIBLE since your birthday, then?"
Albus was beginning to look at her as one might a madwoman who needed to be humoured. "Valentin," he began in a tone reminiscent of a teacher starting a lecture, "I realise now that I probably scared you a bit . . . for which I apologise," he added hastily, seeing the flash in her eyes, "but I think we should consider that there are many hazardous things in these woods and . . . "
Delaia pressed the back of her wand against his neck and jerked him to within inches of her enraged gaze. She wasn't sure if it was the tone, the diction or his incredible obliviousness that was the more infuriating. "Yes, there are Albus, and you're looking at one of them."
"Valentin . . . Delaia . . .," he seemed to be having problems breathing, "I . . . "
"So, you weren't deliberately trying to scare me?," she asked in a dangerous whisper.
"No, I assure you . . ."
"I don't believe you. I think you're lying to me, Albus, and I really hate that. You owe a forfeit for that, and another for losing the duel." She smiled, "What to do, what to do . . . " She knew what she'd like to do, of course, but they WERE in the most dangerous part of the Forbidden Forest in what was fast becoming the middle of the night. Damn.
"We have to get out of here." Her eyes narrowed at the look of relief that passed over Albus' face, "although I WILL be collecting your forfeits later. However," she slipped a hand around his neck and twined her fingers deliberately through his hair, "there is one little matter we need to clear up right now."
She pulled him slowly to her, running soft fingertips down his neck, watching in delight as a blush suddenly stained his cheeks. "I thought you might like to learn how to do it properly." Cradling his face in her hands, she looked deeply into his eyes. He looked a bit wary, but did not attempt to pull away. Her lips parted and she kissed him slowly, savouring the moment but fully expecting his usual reserve to come crashing down at any moment. She was astonished, then, when a few seconds later his arms suddenly came up and he pulled her tightly against him, while deepening the kiss.
His blue eyes sparkled at her expression when they finally broke apart. "Well, I always was a quick study." Delaia stared at him, feeling rather as she might if Snape suddenly declared an intention to take up needlework, or Zosimus started dressing in denim. This simply wasn't the way the world was supposed to work. What had happened to the shy teenager?
"What's wrong?" Albus asked, his lips quirking. "Was I not expected to enjoy that? Was it supposed to be a punishment of some kind? If so, I must remember to upset you more often."
Delaia, thinking a little discretion might be called for at this point, decided to back up a few steps. Albus followed.
"Was I was meant to go running off into the forest, having learned my lesson not to upset the great duellist lest she hex me?" He held out empty hands as he moved slowly towards her. "Well, you could hex me now." His eyes flashed, "or then again, maybe not. Expelliarmus!" Delaia stared as two wands, hers and Albus', flew through the air. He caught them easily in his left hand; in his right, she noticed in disbelief, he somehow already held one of what looked like mahogany.
There was only one explanation. "You carry TWO wands?!"
Albus shrugged, slipping his ash model back up his sleeve, "Why not? Aurors do. I'm surprised they didn't teach that trick at Beauxbatons."
"You had another wand all the time! So why . . . ," she could come up with no words to adequately describe his performance, "all THAT?"
Albus smiled lazily, "Because I wanted to see what you would do. Don't worry though," he handed back her wand with a small bow, the effect of the courtly gesture spoiled somewhat by the wicked grin that accompanied it. "I'll still be happy to pay my forfeits."
Delaia found herself, for the first time in her life, actually rendered speechless.
Knockturn Alley hadn't changed, Snape noted in disgust. It still had the same odour--a slight smell of damp and rot, yet under laid by something else, something much fouler than mere natural decay. Most people never noticed it, being too caught up in the myriad nefarious practices that had lured the underground of the magical community there for centuries, but Severus had a potion-brewer's heightened sense of smell. Apparently so did Zosimus, whose nose twitched in distaste as he commented that he had always thought this must be what hell smelled like. Snape had to agree, and it occurred to him, not for the first time, to wonder why that location was always depicted as hot. He remembered a line from some muggle poem that much more clearly reflected his own attitude, "I think I know enough of hate, to say that for that purpose ice is also great, and would suffice."
"What?" Zosimus looked at him in bewilderment. Severus wasn't sure-- muggle studies had never been his strong suit--but he vaguely thought there was a chance that Robert Frost had yet to pen those lines, or any others for that matter.
"Nothing. How much longer?" Severus drew his nondescript black cloak about him and stared out at the frigid street beyond. Why did it always seem colder in Knockturn Alley than anywhere else, he wondered in irritation. It was only early September, yet, while the weather was still pleasant enough in Scotland, here in London his breath was visible in front of his face and a chill ran up his spine--although the latter might, he admitted, have had more to do with their current undertaking than the temperature.
"They should have been here already," Apollo commented, looking about nervously. Snape had been amused to discover that the self-assured manner his companion assumed around Hogwarts had been noticeably absent on their current expedition. But then, he had no security blanket here, did he? It was not, Snape thought with relish, possible to drug the entire world. He wondered if that was why Zosimus had become something of a recluse later in life--not able to control the world, so he withdrew from it? Seemed a bit extreme, but then, Snape could also see the appeal. The idea of simply disappearing somewhere, to a cozy little hideaway where he could work without all the distractions that life continually threw at him had long been a dream of his own. Still, it would do Zosimus good to live a little-- the boy had been far too sheltered. Of course, Snape thought as a group of shadowy figures came down the alley towards them, there was such a thing as too much experience, and he pushed the unresisting young man a little further into the gloom behind him.
Severus was without glamour that evening, as it had been decided that his normal appearance would be more intimidating, should he need to engender fear in anyone. From what Zosimus had told him, it seemed a good possibility that they would require every advantage. The master's contacts in Knockturn Alley had been unwilling to entrust the extremely illegal substance they had recently acquired for him to the usual courier, insisting instead that Zosimus take delivery of it personally.
"They've never done this before," Apollo had said, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he perused the message that arrived by owl shortly after their completion of the Sightless Serum. Snape didn't like it, but there was no alternative but to agree--they had finished the two potions they could make with ingredients already on hand or those, like essence of lethifold and basilisk's venom, that could be bought from less-than- reputable shops. The only way to obtain one vital ingredient for the last two elixirs, however, had been to resort to the dangerous underground of the smugglers, as even the more notorious store owners drew the line at stocking what they needed.
The Tizheruk was a large, snake-like creature that ranged the arctic waters around the North Pole, occasionally venturing as far south as Alaska where it had become part of Eskimo lore. Its rarity was such that, when Newt Scamander eventually got around to writing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them sometime after the turn of the century, he wouldn't even bother to include it. The point being, Snape supposed, that very few people actually wanted to find it, as those who did tended not to enjoy, or indeed usually survive, the experience. Its blood, although extremely toxic even for a sea serpent, had an extremely useful stabilising effect in volatile potions, and the ones they were about to attempt to brew were impossible without it. The blood had long been illegal to sell or even possess, however, partly as an incentive to keep the foolhardy from throwing their lives away in an attempt to obtain it, but also because, once in the bloodstream, its venom was untraceable. It had been, in centuries when the creatures were somewhat less rare, the poison of choice for practitioners of the dark arts.
The question was, of course, did the smugglers even have it, or was their request simply a set up for an ambush? Being the cynic that he was, Severus had already decided that the odds favoured the latter. After all, Zosimus had used them on a few previous occasions, and had never failed to promptly pay the exorbitant sums they demanded. Severus had therefore taken a few precautions; he only hoped they would be sufficient.
The shadows coalesced into three men, at least he assumed they were male; he couldn't be sure as all he had to go on was height. Their bodies were completely swathed in dark, hooded, floor-length cloaks that reminded him uncomfortably of those worn by the death-eaters. Zosimus cowered behind him, probably thinking that this part of the potion-brewer's world he could do without, and let Severus control the meeting.
The lead figure had a deep voice and, judging by the hand he extended, which Snape pointedly ignored, was cadaverously thin. "Do you have it?" Severus assumed he meant the large amount of gold that was required in exchange for less than an ounce of the precious venom.
"When I see the merchandise."
Snape was surprised when the figure duly passed over a small vial of dark substance, which, judging by smell, seemed correct. It was not an ingredient that he regularly used, however, and since it was Zosimus' gold paying for the transaction, he turned to pass it to the younger man to get his opinion. A stupid move, he almost immediately realised, as the lead figure took the opportunity of his momentary distraction to seize his wrists, while shouting at his companions not to let the other get away. Snape twisted and grabbed Apollo's arm, but found, when he tried to apparate them out of there, that some sort of field prevented it. That was about the time he realised who the "smugglers" had to be. In this time period, the only people with portable anti-apparition wards were . . .
"It's the Ministry!," he hissed at Zosimus. They exchanged a brief glance, then aimed their wands at different points down the street, setting off the casks of potions they had previously placed in unobtrusive spots. Their location was almost immediately wreathed in fiery red and violet smoke, the antidotes for which Snape had personally spent most of the afternoon brewing and which they had both ingested before leaving. The aurors vainly tried to keep their hold on he and Apollo, but their efforts were seriously hindered by their sudden inability to see anything around them, and by a feeling of extreme disorientation. Snape smiled--good thing they'd been brewing battle potions for the last few days, ones that, moreover, were unknown and therefore uncounterable in this period.
In the resulting confusion, the two potion-brewers managed to tear away and lose themselves in the maze of dark streets branching off Knockturn Alley. As soon as they reached the end of the wards the Ministry had set up, they apparated back to the edge of Hogsmeade, out of breath and, in Severus' case at least, seriously disturbed. He should have seen that coming; no reason to get careless simply because Voldemort was not yet masterminding things. Had he and Zosimus been captured, it would have almost certainly meant an extended residence in Azkaban, which he doubted was any more pleasurable in this era than in his own. They also, of course, had to now come up with an alternative means of acquiring the needed venom, since it seemed Zosimus' old contacts had been put out of business.
"Well, that could have gone better," Apollo noted dryly, looking completely incongruous leaning against a tree in brown satin robes decorated with ridiculous golden tassels all down the front. They were, Severus had been appalled to discover, the most sombre clothes the man owned, and he had flatly refused to wear a set of Snape's black robes. "I look dreadful in black, Hiro, and anyway, it isn't as if they don't already know perfectly well who they're dealing with. All they care about is that I bring the money; what I wear is up to me." Severus wondered what they were going to do now that the Ministry, in all likelihood, also knew that Hogwart's model student was attempting to purchase ingredients which, in their perspective, could only be used for the dark arts. He turned a calculating eye on Zosimus, who began to look somewhat apprehensive.
"Is something wrong, Hiro?"
"Oh, no, just that we'll probably have half the aurors in the Ministry on Hogwart's doorstep tomorrow ready to search your rooms and arrest you for possession of controlled substances. Other than that, I can't think of a thing."
"So, you think they recognised me then?"
Severus sighed. "I don't know. It was dark and you were in the shadows but," he looked pointedly at Zosimus' fashionable attire, "we have to assume that they did. But then, they already knew enough to send the owl arranging the meeting to you, so obviously your contacts sold you out. Of course, you haven't invented veritaserum yet, so we can always say they were lying since we weren't actually caught in the act. However, you are going to need an alibi, and it has to be something stronger than I or any other Slytherin with whom you are known to be friends can provide. We'll need Albus."
The plan Snape concocted was simple: use one of Hogsmeade's post owls to take a letter to Albus, requesting that he and Delaia join them at the pub. Then proceed to get very rowdy in the Three Broomsticks, pick what would be taken for a drunken quarrel with the two Gryffindors, trade a few hexes, and thereby ensure that everyone remembered where they had been that night. It wasn't even likely to lose house points, as upper level students were allowed free access to the nearby magical village on Friday nights and weekends, and any small altercations were normally winked at--as long as no one ended up in the infirmary for too many days thereafter. So, naturally, Severus thought, the fact that it was a perfect way out of the serious situation they faced almost insured that something had to go wrong. Two somethings, in fact.
The first was the annoying reality that no one seemed to know where Albus was. The owl had returned without a letter from him, looking as abashed as an owl can. Severus was surprised, having never known a magically trained bird to fail to deliver a letter, but it returned with his note still securely fastened about its tiny leg. Snape had hoped the creature was just having an off day, but, when a second owl had the same problem, he began seriously to worry. If Albus was anywhere in or near Hogwart's castle, the letter should have reached him. So where could he be? And why did he have to take this particular moment to disappear?
Severus, although concerned and irritated, decided that they could still salvage the situation. They only needed to find some other Gryffindors, or for that matter Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws or even Slytherins in a pinch, with whom to publicly quarrel. However, when he made his way back to the Three Broomsticks after his last visit to the post office, he found Zosimus acting very strangely. The young man was still seated at the prominent place at the bar where Severus had left him, along with instructions to talk to as many people as possible and generally make his presence memorable. As soon as Snape walked in, however, he jumped up and demanded to return to Hogwarts immediately. Snape ordered a drink and dragged him off to a small table where they could talk in semi-privacy, but found Zosimus far too agitated to listen to the revised plan he had devised.
"No! You don't understand." The man looked almost panicked. "I didn't think we'd be gone so long--it should have only taken a few minutes to make the exchange. I didn't plan to be out half the night!"
"What possible difference can it make?" Severus lowered his voice and leaned towards his friend, who was practically bouncing in his chair in the desire to be gone. "If you're worried about the storeroom, don't be. I have everything . . . questionable . . . that we've been using, along with the rest of the potions, heavily warded. The aurors will never find them."
Zosimus waved that away, as if it was a matter of minor concern if they were caught in possession of Basilisk blood or not. "I'm not worried about the lab, Hiro; I trust you. But I have to get back to my rooms, at least for a few minutes."
"Impossible, and you know it. People have to see you here for an hour or two, so they can swear that we spent the evening as normal students."
For some reason, Zosimus seemed to find this hysterically amusing. He muttered something that sounded like, "oh, they'll see me all right," then jumped to his feet. "I have to go," he told Severus, suddenly serious, and actually began to weave his way toward the door.
Snape sat frozen in disbelief for a few seconds, before jumping up and going after him. He caught up with him at the door but, when he had to stand aside to let several Hufflepuffs enter, Apollo used the opportunity to pull away and slip out the exit. Snape again overtook him in the street and pulled him into the pool of light provided by a nearby hanging lantern, hoping someone would later remember seeing them there. "Have you gone mad? You can't just go running back to the castle, you HAVE to have an alibi!"
"I don't care." Zosimus looked mutinous.
"You'll care if you end up in Azkaban!"
"There are worse things," the young man remarked cryptically.
Snape snorted, unable to believe the way his night was going. "You might think differently after you've been there awhile."
Zosimus sighed, looked like he intended to say something, then glanced at the magical chronometer on his wrist and gave a squeak worthy of a house elf. "I have to go!," he repeated, and disapparated.
Of course, Snape knew that, even in 1855, it was impossible to apparate into Hogwarts. There was no Voldemort to make such security restrictions necessary, but it had long been standing policy anyway, primarily designed to keep upper-level students from easily smuggling late-night visitors into their dorm rooms. It meant that Zosimus must have apparated just down the road, and why he would bother to expend the energy to do so when he would still have to walk most of the way back was beyond Severus' ability to imagine. Since he didn't know exactly where along the extensive border of Hogwarts the vexatious creature had decided to reappear, however, there was no realistic way to catch him. Snape allowed himself a few moments to ponder why fate seemed to harbour such an intense grudge against him, then turned his mind to using most of the long walk back to the castle to devise an alternative plan for getting Zosimus out of danger.
* * *
"Valentin, you really should give me back my wand," Albus swallowed and tried a weak smile. "We're in the middle of the Forbidden Forest . . . and it is forbidden for good reason, you know."
Delaia let his wand twirl thoughtfully through her fingers. "That didn't seem to worry you when you were chasing me in here just now."
Albus looked about nervously. "I, er, might have become somewhat . . . over zealous." He stumbled slightly over a tree root as he attempted to back away from her steady advance. "I was watching you practice for awhile . . . you're very good."
"I know."
"Yes, well, I just thought that it might be interesting to see how you performed against a real opponent . . . the platforms being rather . . . predictable." He backed into a large tree and stopped, looking around as if hoping for a miraculous escape.
Delaia paused a few feet away, no longer smiling. "Oh, I see. And it wouldn't have even occurred to you that, if you gave me a good scare, I might stick a little closer to Hogwarts from now on?"
Albus tried another smile, but it ended up a grimace as her wand pressed into his throat. "Actually, no . . . I don't recall thinking that at all."
Delaia let her wand slide slowly around his neck to rest against the back of his high collar. He was wearing a very uninspired combination of white shirt and black pants, his robe still lying on the ground where she had hexed it. Of course, she thought, why would Albus wear anything remotely improper, even under his robes where no one would see? Other students wore the colours of their favourite quidditch teams, while Zosimus pranced around in satins and velvets, his robes dripping with intricate embroidery and hand-made lace, but none of that for the oh-so-proper Gryffindor prefect. The fact that she knew his fashion sense to get better--or at least wilder--with age did not improve her mood at the moment. His clothes were a symptom, she decided, an expression of the fact that he was a sixteen-year-old boy going on a hundred and sixty, without having had any fun in between the two. She said as much, being too irritated for discretion.
"I'm seventeen," Albus said, his voice slightly offended.
"Oh, well, do excuse me. That makes it quite alright then. And I suppose you were up to all kinds of pranks when you WERE sixteen? And you probably dressed in colourful, normal clothes instead of these . . . ," she momentarily couldn't think of anything bad enough to describe the plain little costume he wore, "mortician's attire? So, essentially, you've just become so serious and RESPONSIBLE since your birthday, then?"
Albus was beginning to look at her as one might a madwoman who needed to be humoured. "Valentin," he began in a tone reminiscent of a teacher starting a lecture, "I realise now that I probably scared you a bit . . . for which I apologise," he added hastily, seeing the flash in her eyes, "but I think we should consider that there are many hazardous things in these woods and . . . "
Delaia pressed the back of her wand against his neck and jerked him to within inches of her enraged gaze. She wasn't sure if it was the tone, the diction or his incredible obliviousness that was the more infuriating. "Yes, there are Albus, and you're looking at one of them."
"Valentin . . . Delaia . . .," he seemed to be having problems breathing, "I . . . "
"So, you weren't deliberately trying to scare me?," she asked in a dangerous whisper.
"No, I assure you . . ."
"I don't believe you. I think you're lying to me, Albus, and I really hate that. You owe a forfeit for that, and another for losing the duel." She smiled, "What to do, what to do . . . " She knew what she'd like to do, of course, but they WERE in the most dangerous part of the Forbidden Forest in what was fast becoming the middle of the night. Damn.
"We have to get out of here." Her eyes narrowed at the look of relief that passed over Albus' face, "although I WILL be collecting your forfeits later. However," she slipped a hand around his neck and twined her fingers deliberately through his hair, "there is one little matter we need to clear up right now."
She pulled him slowly to her, running soft fingertips down his neck, watching in delight as a blush suddenly stained his cheeks. "I thought you might like to learn how to do it properly." Cradling his face in her hands, she looked deeply into his eyes. He looked a bit wary, but did not attempt to pull away. Her lips parted and she kissed him slowly, savouring the moment but fully expecting his usual reserve to come crashing down at any moment. She was astonished, then, when a few seconds later his arms suddenly came up and he pulled her tightly against him, while deepening the kiss.
His blue eyes sparkled at her expression when they finally broke apart. "Well, I always was a quick study." Delaia stared at him, feeling rather as she might if Snape suddenly declared an intention to take up needlework, or Zosimus started dressing in denim. This simply wasn't the way the world was supposed to work. What had happened to the shy teenager?
"What's wrong?" Albus asked, his lips quirking. "Was I not expected to enjoy that? Was it supposed to be a punishment of some kind? If so, I must remember to upset you more often."
Delaia, thinking a little discretion might be called for at this point, decided to back up a few steps. Albus followed.
"Was I was meant to go running off into the forest, having learned my lesson not to upset the great duellist lest she hex me?" He held out empty hands as he moved slowly towards her. "Well, you could hex me now." His eyes flashed, "or then again, maybe not. Expelliarmus!" Delaia stared as two wands, hers and Albus', flew through the air. He caught them easily in his left hand; in his right, she noticed in disbelief, he somehow already held one of what looked like mahogany.
There was only one explanation. "You carry TWO wands?!"
Albus shrugged, slipping his ash model back up his sleeve, "Why not? Aurors do. I'm surprised they didn't teach that trick at Beauxbatons."
"You had another wand all the time! So why . . . ," she could come up with no words to adequately describe his performance, "all THAT?"
Albus smiled lazily, "Because I wanted to see what you would do. Don't worry though," he handed back her wand with a small bow, the effect of the courtly gesture spoiled somewhat by the wicked grin that accompanied it. "I'll still be happy to pay my forfeits."
Delaia found herself, for the first time in her life, actually rendered speechless.
