Chapter One

Chasing a Ghost

ONE

Severus Snape ran a hand through his wet hair irritably, scowling heavily at the heavy traffic blocking the street next him. He loathed venturing into the Muggle world with a passion, but New York City made Muggle London seem like a nice day at the beach. He wasn't even sure why he was there. He was busy spending his life searching fruitlessly for a young man who was most probably dead, and if he wasn't, he obviously didn't want to be found. If Harry Potter was still alive, he certainly knew how to disappear effectively.

Severus sighed heavily, turning to look in the window of the bookstore he was standing next to, not really seeing the books meticulously displayed there. For a long time now, Severus had been obsessed with finding Harry Potter and making sure that he was all right. Severus had felt a strong protective urge over that particular student from the first moment he observed those green eyes looking at him at the Welcoming Feast in 1991. Now, in 2007, the urge had only gotten stronger, made all the worse because Potter had been missing since 1997, nearly ten years now. Severus had searched the world, looking for any hint that might point him in the right direction, and still he had nothing. The United States of America was his last hope. Potter hadn't been anywhere else. If Severus didn't find him in the U.S., he'd be forced to assume the boy had, indeed, died when he'd killed Voldemort ten years ago.

Severus turned to continue down the street and out of the corner of his eye he saw something that made him turn sharply back toward the bookshop. Staring, he went into the store, immerging several minutes later with a hardback book held firmly in his hands. Charlie vs. the Hungarian Ridge Tail by J. Porter. The cover of the book depicted a teenage boy with blonde hair holding a wand pointed at a large dragon that was almost a perfect rendition of a Hungarian Ridgeback, with a few obvious differences. A wizard wrote this book, Severus was as sure of it as he was of his own name. Frowning, he tucked the book under his arm and continued down the street, heading for his hotel. Before he got there, he picked up a Muggle newspaper, as had become his habit.

Once safely ensconced in his room, he placed his new book on the small table by the bed, sat down in one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs and opened the newspaper. Glaring at him from the front page was something that made him forget to breath for a moment.

POPULAR AUTHOR OF CHILDREN'S STORIES, J. PORTER, VANISHES FROM HOME IN SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES!

First, he sees this name, J. Porter, on the cover of a book depicting a rather accurate rendition of a real dragon, and now the man had vanished from his home. Severus didn't believe in coincidences, and for the first time in ten years, he felt he might be getting close to finding Potter. He only scanned the article long enough to discover the location of Porter's house, across the channel in New Jersey, and then tossed the paper aside, moving to the bed, sitting on the edge and picking up the book. He'd know after reading the book if Harry Potter and J. Porter were the same person. He made himself comfortable on the bed, placing several pillows behind him against the headboard, and began to read.

TWO

It was several hours later when Severus closed the book and stared silently across the room in contemplation. He recognized this writing, even if no one else would. So Potter had come to the U.S. and started writing children's tales, based on the very real magical community and passed off as fiction. It appeared that trouble followed Potter wherever he went, however, because he was still missing.

But who would want to harm him now? Severus wondered, absently tapping a finger against his thigh as he thought. He's strong enough to hide whatever features he desires, and I'm sure he would have found a way to hide that scar of his if he's managed to remain hidden this long. What criminal would want to kidnap the author of children's stories? Come to that, what Muggle criminal would be able to kidnap a wizard as strong as Potter? Those Muggle pleasemen aren't going to be able to find him if he was taken by wizards. I think it's time to visit New Jersey.

Having come to a temporary decision, Severus got up from the bed, placing the book back on the table, and went into the W/C for a nice hot shower before going to bed. He had a feeling that the next day would prove wearing.

THREE

The detective scowled darkly at the door of the unassuming home he'd come to visit. It turned out that his wizard victim was none other than J. Porter. He supposed he should have realized that Mr. Porter was a wizard after reading his Charlie Fontain series, but the differences between the made up magic in the books and real magic were done so well that he hadn't noticed it. He supposed that was why Porter had avoided detection by the Ministry for so long. It also turned out that the illustrious J. Porter was a pouf. Go figure.

He raised his hand, knocking smartly on the door with his knuckles, his badge ready in his other hand.

The door opened and a sandy-haired man appeared behind it. "May I help you?" he asked pleasantly. He obviously didn't watch the news if he was this chipper.

"Mr. Samuel Thompson?" the detective asked.

"Yes?" Thompson replied, frowning slightly.

Introducing himself and flashing his badge, the detective asked if he could go inside for a chat.

"Certainly," Thompson replied, moving aside to allow the detective inside. "What's this about, Detective?" he asked once they were in his sitting room. "I haven't broken any laws, have I?"

The detective cracked a small, humorless smile. "No, you haven't," he assured Thompson. "Perhaps you could sit down and we can talk."

Thompson delicately lowered himself onto the sofa, never taking his eyes off of the detective. "What's this about?" he asked again.

The detective sat in an armchair across from Thompson, crossing his legs for effect. "I've been led to understand that you're in a relationship with the author, J. Porter," he said without inflection.

The color seemed to drain from Thompson's face. "Has something happened to him?" he asked, sounding frightened of the answer.

"As far as I can tell, he's been kidnapped," the detective replied.

If possible, Thompson went even paler, his wide blue eyes staring at the detective fearfully. "Kidnapped?" he repeated faintly.

"I'd just like to ask you a few questions."

"Yes, of course. Anything to help you find him."

"Does Mr. Porter have any enemies that you're aware of?" He held his notepad firmly, his ballpoint pen poised and ready to take notes.

Thompson shook his head. "No. Everyone loves Harry. People turn to jelly around him, he's that charming."

The detective started when Thompson called Porter 'Harry', but didn't say anything. He wrote 'Calls victim "Harry" ' in his notebook. "Does he act charming in order to make people like him?" he asked.

Again, Thompson shook his head. "No, he just is charming," he said, rubbing his face roughly with one hand. His eyes were dry when the hand fell back into his lap. "He's one of those people that just gets along with everyone, you know? He's really a good person. That's why I love him so much."

The detective frowned a bit. He wrote 'Too attached. Love potion?' in his notebook and looked back at Thompson. "Can you think of anything he might have done or become involved with that might make someone want to take him captive or harm him?"

"No," Thompson replied. "I mean, he writes children's books, for Christ's sake! He so gentle by nature, I can't imagine why someone would want to hurt him!"

The detective nodded complacently. He wrote 'Defends victim vehemently' in his book. "Where were you between eleven and one last night?"

Thompson looked at him sharply. "Surely you don't think I had something to do with it, do you?" he asked incredulously.

"It's a routine question," the detective replied noncommittally. Truly, he didn't believe this man had anything at all to do with it, but he had to ask, just to be sure.

"Harry and I went out to dinner last night," Thompson said. "In the city-"

"Manhattan?" the detective interrupted.

"Yes, that's right," Thompson replied. "We went to Café Topsy on Hudson. We left around ten and I dropped Harry off at home around eleven. I came straight home after that and went to bed."

"And did anyone see you dropping him off, or when you got home?" the detective asked, just for the sake of protocol.

"Yes, my neighbor, Mrs. Steiner, said hello to me when I was unlocking my front door."

"Which side of you does she live on?"

"Oh, um…" Thompson rubbed his face again, looking as though he was only holding himself together by a thread. "When you go out of my front door, she'd be on the left."

The detective nodded and wrote Mrs. Steiner's name in his notebook, intending to go there next. He stood up, producing a card from inside his coat, which he handed to Thompson. "That's it for now. Call me if you think of anything that might help."

Thompson took the card, staring at it blankly. "Yeah, I will," he said, closing his eyes as he stood up to walk the detective to the door. Just as the detective was walking over the threshold, Thompson grabbed his sleeve. "You've just got to find Harry, Detective. He's my whole world."

"May I ask you one more question?" the detective asked.

"Sure, if it'll help."

"It might not even be pertinent, but then again it might. Why do you call Mr. Porter 'Harry'?"

"Oh, that. Well, his name is Harry James, but he only puts his middle initial on the cover of his books. Something about making him harder to find."

This just kept getting better and better. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Thompson."

Thompson nodded, closing the door gently behind the detective.

Harry James Porter. The detective snorted. It was too obvious to be a coincidence. His kidnapping, possible murder victim was none other than Harry Potter, the Chosen One, Defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the reason the detective was in the U.S. working as a Muggle police officer in the first place. And here he'd thought that Potter had disappeared for good. Go figure. In his notebook he wrote, 'Harry The-Thorn-In-My-Side Potter'.

FOUR

Severus observed the small, blue, ranch style house before him, wondering why all of the windows had please tape across them along with the door. Moving closer, he could see that the windows at the front of the house didn't have glass in them. He frowned. Odd, he thought, moving toward the door. He flicked his wand and the front door clicked before swinging open silently. Ducking under the yellow tape on the doorframe, Severus entered the house, his breath catching when he saw the wreckage within. Carefully, he pushed the door closed, locking it again with his wand. He was careful not to touch anything, knowing that Muggles had ways of finding out a person's identity with the finger prints said person might leave behind. He didn't want to damage the integrity of the crime scene; he only wanted to try to find out what had happened here. He realized that all of the windows were blown inward, the glass littering the floor inside.

After putting on some gloves he had in his pocket, he placed his hand on the wall, closing his eyes and letting his magic explore freely. Almost at once, he felt the residual magic in the house, recognizing it at once as Harry's power. The boy had more power than one person should have been entitled to, and yet all he used it for was warding his home. Another, more malevolent power was present also. He had a vague sense of recognition for that magic as well, but he couldn't place where he'd felt it before.

He moved away from the wall, carefully keeping his eyes averted from the rather large brown spot on the white carpet in front of the hearth. He didn't want to think about what sorts of injuries Harry might have sustained when he'd been taken. He walked toward the open dining area he could see, noting how some of the chairs had been knocked over, but some were still pushed neatly into the table. Once he reached the dining area, he saw a door leading off to the right, so he went that way. Beyond the door was a small kitchen with all of the modern Muggle appliances to make life easy. On the floor by the exterior wall, filled with glass from the blown in windows, were two dog dishes, one filled with water and the other empty and clean, aside from the glass. Figures Potter would get himself a dog. He seemed like a dog person.

Opening the refrigerator, Severus saw an array of different kinds of food, and a take-away box from a place called Café Topsy. He closed the refrigerator and went through the cabinets carefully, looking for clues Muggles might have missed. Finding nothing unusual, he left the kitchen to head toward the corridor that led away from the ruined sitting room. He closed his eyes as he passed the bloodied area, ignoring the thought that Potter might already be dead. On the left side of the corridor, he came to a bedroom. There was a queen-sized bed with Mahogany posts and frame, a matching dresser and night tables, a blue chair next to a Mahogany bookcase that was filled with books, and a door off on the right. Severus opened this door to discover a closet beyond. Inside, there were several sets of black wizard's robes, pushed off to one side, and Muggle dress shirts and trousers pushed to the other side. He frowned deeply, pulling out one of the shirts and holding it up. Either Potter had grown since Severus had last seen him, or he didn't live in this house alone.

Severus left the bedroom after replacing the shirt and closing the closet. The next door he came to was the W/C on the right hand side of the short corridor. Inside this room, he found a few phials of Dreamless Sleep potion and more phials of Headache Relief. He pocketed these, extremely relieved that the Muggles hadn't found them on their initial search of the place. Inside the combination shower/tub, Severus discovered two different types of shampoo and soap. This confirmed that Potter had a roommate of some kind. Why else would he need two different shampoos and soaps?

Moving down the corridor a bit more, he came to the last door, also on the right, and went inside. As expected, this was another bedroom, but it seemed bare. Severus had always pictured Potter surrounding himself with beautiful things to make up for the ugliness of his life up to that point. The barrenness of this room told a different story. Crouching down, Severus looked under the bed, finding a small leather suitcase beneath. He pulled this out and set it on the bed, opening it with a flick of his wand. If he'd needed anymore convincing that Potter lived here, he found it in the case. There were wizard photographs of Potter and his friends before Hogwarts had been closed during the war. There was a photo of Bill Weasley and that Fleur Delacour at their wedding, and one of the entire Weasley family, Percy included. The ginger-haired family all waved at Severus from the photograph, all of them smiling happily.

Severus wondered why Potter had these things tucked under his bed, rather than displayed about the room in pretty frames, as would be typical for him. Severus closed the case and picked it up, intending to take it with him as well. It wouldn't do for the Muggles to come back and find it. Moving around to the other side of the bed, Severus set the case on the floor so that he could go through the dresser. Everything inside was arranged by color, which struck Severus as odd, until he glanced to the side and saw the dog harness on the floor next to the night table. It appeared that Potter was blind. Closing the draw on the dresser, Severus moved to the night table, picking up the walking stick and dog harness, shrinking them and placing them carefully into his pocket. He looked out of the window onto Potter's lawn, noticing the driveway and garage at this side of the house.

He left the bedroom with the suitcase in hand and Apparated to the garage, wondering what he would find there. The garage had been turned into some kind of studio, a desk in the center, with a typewriter sitting on top. Upon closer inspection, Severus realized that the typewriter wrote in brail. It made sense. Potter was a blind writer; of course he'd need to write in a way that he could check over before sending it along to his publisher. On the desk next to the typewriter was what appeared to be a half-finished manuscript, though Severus obviously couldn't read it. Taking one last long look around, Severus Apparated back to his hotel room, determined to go through the contents of the case more thoroughly once he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. Perhaps it would shed some light on Potter's roommate.

FIVE

The detective sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly. He hated being back in this place, but he had to find out who had taken Potter and why. After realizing just who J. Porter was, he was certain that it had to have something to do with Death Eaters. He knew that not all of the most notorious Death Eaters had been captured, and surely, they'd want revenge for Potter killing their master. The question now was, which Death Eaters had taken Potter and where had they taken him.

He set an alarm charm to warn him if anyone was approaching, and then stood as close to the center of Potter's house as he could. He closed his eyes and began chanting, his wand held aloft, until he could feel the foreign magic powers saturating the house. There were four distinct signatures, though the detective only recognized two of them. The first was Potter's magic, the strongest of all the signatures he detected. The second was that of Severus Snape, but it was faint, as though he'd only cast a few charms and then left. The detective frowned, wondering what Snape would have been doing there. Was Snape one of the perps? If so, why did he help the others capture Potter? To what end were they working? The other two signatures he didn't recognize, but one was definitely female and malevolent. One of the perps must have been a woman. The fourth was different, as though the man had lived in the house with Potter. Of course, if Potter was a blind wizard, it would be helpful to have someone there with him. However, if Potter had a roommate, where was he? Why hadn't he been home when the attack happened? If he had been home, why hadn't he been able to help Potter overcome their assailants? Was the roommate in on it as well?

Ending the spell, the detective sat down on the edge of the overturned divan, tapping his right knee with his forefinger, thinking hard. If Death Eaters truly were the ones responsible for this, he'd have to get the Ministry involved, but he didn't want to do that. The Ministry would undoubtedly claim jurisdiction on the case and boot him back to his Muggle police station with no further say on the investigation. Not only that, but they'd most likely send a statement to the wizarding papers, announcing that the famous Boy-Who-Lived had been located… sort of. They'd expose him, and once Potter was found, if he was alive, his well-earned anonymity would be gone. The detective didn't want that to happen. With a sigh, he decided that he'd just have to figure this one out on his own. He'd distract his partner somehow, to keep him from finding out too much, and hope to find Potter before the Death Eaters killed him.

SIX

Harry sat shivering on the stone floor, his arm wrapped protectively around his dog. He wished that he could see his prison, but figured that it wouldn't make his situation any better. His captors had, for some reason, left his dog with him in his cell. He'd already explored it and realized it was rather small, surrounded by bars on all sides except for the back wall, which was also made of stone. Next to him, his dog whined a bit.

"Don't worry, boy," Harry said, rubbing the thick fur gently. "I've gotten out of worse scraps than this."

The dog gave a short bark, as though to say, You weren't blind then.

Harry chuckled lightly. "We'll figure something out," he assured the dog, rubbing the fur more vigorously. He turned sharply toward the front of the cell when he heard a cruel chuckle.

"Has little Potter lost his senses?" the hateful woman's voice asked mockingly. "Is his little doggie going to help him escape?"

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling his dog closer to him. If there was anything the dog wasn't, it was little. Harry's dog was a Scottish Deerhound, one of the largest dog breeds in the world. He'd had to get his harness made special because usually Seeing Eye Dogs were German Shepherds, smaller than Scottish Deerhounds, for certain. Next to him, the dog in question began to growl.

"Hush, boy," Harry whispered to him. "Don't let her get to you." The dog gave another low growl before falling silent.

The woman laughed a mad, unholy laugh. "You and your little puppy will be dead soon, don't worry," she said.

"Why don't you just kill us now and get it over with, then?" Harry asked stoically. "I do so hate long waits."

"You still have your uses, Potter," the woman snapped, her sibilant, babyish voice vanishing.

"Can I at least have a divan or a chair or something?" Harry asked sarcastically. "This floor is rather uncomfortable, you know."

"Your mouth is going to get you killed before your time, boy," the woman replied.

"It seems I'm going to die before my time anyway," Harry commented lightly. "I may as well be comfortable before I go." His dog nipped his hand sharply, as though telling him to shut up. Harry heard the woman growl, and then the swish of robes as she turned on her heel and stormed away angrily.

"You know," Harry said to his dog. "She really needs to learn to relax. She might have a heart attack or something."

The dog made a breathy, panting sound that almost sounded like laughter.

Harry grimaced as his head gave another fierce jab, the lump on the back throbbing painfully. Harry raised his hand and gingerly examined the area, feeling the dried blood there clumped in his hair. "I hope this doesn't leave a scar," he said.

His dog made as though to move away from him, so Harry held on tighter. "There's nothing you can do here," he told it.

The dog barked in protest.

"I've already felt around the wards," Harry said. "They're too strong for you to break, so stop thinking about it."

The dog barked again, this time butting his head against Harry's hand.

"You're going to get yourself killed if you try anything," Harry told him. "I rather like having you alive, if you don't mind."

The dog whined pitifully, licking Harry's face in either apology or request, though Harry couldn't tell which.

"No, Snuffles," he said, just to be sure.

The dog whined again before laying next to Harry and falling silent.

"Don't worry too much," Harry said. "Someone will find us."

Snuffles whined a bit, not sounding so sure that he believed Harry.

SEVEN

Severus was back in Harry's neighbourhood, intent on speaking with the young man's neighbours. A woman opened the door he'd just knocked on, her gray hair pulled back into a bun on the back of her head. She was around 70, by Severus' estimation, and had kind brown eyes.

"May I help you?" she asked pleasantly, her accent placing her from somewhere in the south.

"Yes," Severus replied. He held out his hand for her to shake. "My name is Severus Snape, and I'm a friend of young Mr. Porter. I believe he lives next door to you?"

The woman shook his hand. "Margaret Slightman, but you can call me Maggie," she replied. "Would you like to come in?"

"That would be lovely," Severus replied, following the woman into her home. It was the typical home for a Muggle widow, adorned in flowery things with lots of knick-knacks scattered about.

"Would you like something to drink, or eat?" Maggie asked as Severus made himself comfortable on her flowery divan.

"No, thank you," he said, crossing his legs and placing his hands in his lap.

Maggie sat down in the armchair across from him and peered at him curiously. "What can I do for you?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Well, I'm trying to help the…" he paused, trying to remember the correct pronunciation before continuing, "police locate Mr. Porter. He's a good friend of mine, and I'm afraid that whoever has taken him won't keep him alive for much longer."

Maggie's expression became sad. "Harry is such a nice young man," she said ruefully. "He's always willing to help me with anything. I swear, he gets around my house better than I do, and he can't see a thing!"

Severus nodded, attempting to look sympathetic rather than impatient. "Could you tell me whom he lives with?" he asked.

"Lives with?" Maggie repeated. "Well, no one, unless you count that giant dog of his."

"I have never seen Harry's dog, though I've heard all about him," Severus said, praying that the dog was male. "Surely he can't be that big?" He smiled at her to show he was joking, hoping she'd take the bait.

"Oh, he's just about the biggest dog I've ever seen," Maggie commented. "Not that I'm an expert on dog breeds or anything, but he's about as big as a Great Dane, at least." She seemed to be on a roll now, and Severus wasn't about to interrupt her. "Black as midnight, too," she went on. "He's got the most beautiful fur, and Harry takes such good care of him. It's odd, though, the way he talks to that dog. Speaks to him as if he were human! 'Snuffles, if you break that, you're going to get it when we get home.' It's the funniest thing. Especially since Harry can't see just what Snuffles is messing with, but always knows somehow."

Severus nodded, keeping his pleasant smile on his face. "Yes, that sounds just like Harry," he said. "I wanted to ask; did you hear anything the night Harry vanished?"

"I sure did," Maggie replied. "There was this loud crash, and some shouting. I heard a thump, a loud crack, and then nothing. I called the police. Harry was already gone when they got here, though. I can't imagine how they got him out of there so fast."

Severus nodded, thinking hard. The crash would have been when the windows imploded when the wards fell. A thump -- that could only be Harry falling to the floor. A Stunner, perhaps? The loud crack was obviously the assailant Disapparating with Harry and his dog, Snuffles. The dog was another story all together. Severus felt as though he'd seen a dog just like that somewhere before. Also, the name Snuffles seemed familiar somehow, as though he'd heard it in passing once. It was impossible, though. Potter had never had a dog, as far as Severus knew, and if he had, it would have died before now. Dogs just didn't live that long. "Did you see anything unusual?" he asked.

"No," Maggie replied. "By the time I got to my window, they were gone. I didn't even get a glimpse of who it was. It must have been a big man, though, to overpower Snuffles and Harry. That dog was fiercely protective over Harry."

"Is, Maggie," Severus corrected. "We must keep faith that they are both alive and will be coming home soon."

Maggie sniffled a bit. "You're right. Snuffles is protective over Harry. Wherever they are, I hope they get home all right. I'd hate to see anything bad happen to that boy."

"I quite agree," Severus replied. "Thank you for all of your help, Maggie. You have no idea how much you've given."

Maggie nodded. "Anything to help Harry get home safe."

Severus stood up, Maggie following suit. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said, shaking her hand once more. "I'm afraid I must be going. We need to work fast if we're to help Harry."

Maggie nodded and walked him to the door. "If you find him, tell him I hope he's all right."

"I will," Severus promised before turning and walking away from the house. He went back to Potter's house, determined to find out whom that other magical signature belonged to. He knew he'd felt it before, if only he could remember where and when.

Author's Note: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Katy, for making this legible for all of you nice folks. I forgot to thank her in the first chapter. I'm sorry! Thanks also to...

LeeLeePotter: Thanks!

Aditional Note: Cafe Topsy is a real place that is actually located on Hudson St. in New York. They specialize in Brittish foods.