Chapter 6 – The Cure:
16 Months Ago:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry flourished as the only magic school in the United Kingdom. The intake was high, with far less families choosing to send their children overseas to schools in other European countries now that the threat from Voldemort was well and truly finished. Unfortunately, despite the very elderly Headmaster's best efforts, the house of Slytherin was still looked upon with distaste, the stain on its history and name still rooted deeply within people's minds.
It was at breakfast one morning when the largely disgruntled Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin – who had yet to figure out a manner in which to worm his way out of his teaching contract, now that his presence as a spy was no longer required – received a rather odd message via owl post.
A proud owl, with black feathers and silver eyes and a single splash of white across one wing, emerged from the usual morning rush and alighted upon the edge of Severus' goblet – a precarious balancing act which belied the strength of the animal, despite its obvious exhaustion.
Those silver eyes watched him intensely, as though ascertaining his worth in receiving the message the bird had painstakingly delivered to him. Never one to be outdone, Severus calmly stared back, obsidian eyes not giving away any of his thoughts about the matter. If the bird wished to judge him so the missive must have been of some import, and he was more than willing to wait until permission was given to see what it was that was being called to his attention.
To his left Pomona Sprout had paused in eating her own breakfast to observe his interaction with the owl, no doubt trying and failing to come up with an explanation for his behaviour on her own. She had never understood the appreciation Severus secretly held for the intelligent animals, for her own interests were too firmly entrenched in the earth. But they were magnificent, intelligent creatures who were offered little respect or thanks for their efforts, and this owl was a regal specimen indeed.
A full minute into their silent consideration of one another the owl hooted softly, blinking up at Severus and relaxing its posture enough to be seen as an invitation. Head tilted in acceptance Severus reached out with long, pale fingers and deftly untied the roll of parchment from the owl's leg. Ruffling its feathers, pleased with having completed the delivery, the owl rather suddenly ducked its head down, stealing quick gulps of water from Severus' goblet. (He despised pumpkin juice.) Pomona snorted in amusement as Severus stared, momentarily shocked by the owl's sudden audacity. Lifting its head once more those silver eyes seemed to sparkle at him, and Severus silently conceded defeat to the curious owl as it spread its wings and lifted carefully into the air, wary of his goblet, and flew away.
Blinking away his surprise Severus moved the goblet off to the side, quickly followed by his mostly empty plate, and placed the roll of parchment on the table before him. It was sealed with wax, something most people no longer bothered to do with their messages, choosing to rely on spells instead. Picking up a clean knife Severus carefully pried the wax seal away from the parchment, noting that it had immediately loosened somewhat in reaction to his touch – careful spell-casting then, which explained, in part, the owl's scrutiny. A high security message then?
Severus paused the motion of his fingers, pondering the possibility. Likely the content was for his eyes and his eyes only, though he couldn't imagine who would want to send him of all people any sort of sensitive information. There was certainly merit in tucking the missive away and reading it later in the day, in the solitude of his private rooms, not least because the Headmaster was watching him with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his face, apparently pleased at his sudden communication with someone outside of the castle. Still, the temptation was there.
Breakfast was only half over. Leaving now, while not entirely uncommon for him, would raise questions among his fellow members of staff. No, he would just have to take the risk. If the sender had truly wished for it to remain completely private they would have instructed the regal owl to seek him out while he was alone, rather than have it join the masses of morning deliveries.
Grasping the edge of the parchment with two fingers Severus unrolled it, spreading the page out on the table before him. The writing was blunt – inelegant, but concise and legible. The sender lacked proper penmanship. Also… Severus squinted slightly, examining the text. It was not written with a quill. Rather, it looked an awful lot like a ball-point pen. Muggleborn then. The war may have been over for more than a few years now, but one would still be hard-pressed to find a pureblood that would embrace that sort of muggle item.
Carefully blanking his face, Severus began to actually read the content of the letter.
To whom it may concern.
If you have received this letter then you must be a Potions Master of some note. I require, if at all possible, your assistance. All I ask is that you read this through until the end and at least consider my request.
Two people are in somewhat of a bind at the current time, myself and a close friend.
This is where you will likely begin to believe this to be some sort of hoax. I beg of you to hear me out.
The problem has its roots in demons. I understand that it is a widely accepted belief amongst magical people that demons don't exist, but the fact is that they do. They're real, they exist, and they're dangerous.
My friend has a dark taint in his blood from an encounter with a demon as an infant. It gave him certain visions and a slight telekinetic ability, although those two things are no longer issues. The taint is still there, and I want, if at all possible, to be able to purify his body of the lingering demonic residue.
As for my own predicament, it's a little bit more complicated. I'm not here to explain how it came to be, but I have a rather severe amount of demonic energy roaming my magical core. It causes certain, shall we say, complications, with my casting. If I want to ever be able to safely and effectively use my magic again I would need to somehow purge the energy from my core.
These are two very large experimental requests, and I understand that. Given I have only an average understanding of potions myself, I don't even know if this sort of thing is possible, but if anyone were to be capable of it I firmly believe it would be a Potions Master like yourself. You have no obligation to help me, but if you do I will compensate you in any way I can. The price is up to you.
The symbol below is bestowed with a sample of the energy that plagues me, for your reference. Hopefully, if it is of any use to you, you might also be able to use it to imitate the effect on my friend's bloodstream as well, despite the differences in our situations.
Thank you for listening to my request.
Severus's brows creased as he reached the end of the letter, gaze briefly alighting on a strange symbol taking up the remainder of the length of parchment before he turned it over in his hands, looking for a signature of some sort. What sort of inane fool didn't sign their own plea for assistance?
At any rate the letter may very well have reached the only wizard around that would actually believe the things written within. He remembered only too well how demons had risen up within Voldemort's Death Eaters, seemingly out of nowhere. He also remembered Potter's damned one-man army mind-set in taking them out. The brash brat had disappeared shortly after taking down the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore had been unable to locate him, which suited Severus just fine. Potter was out of his hair and no longer his problem.
He rested a hand on his chin, giving up the search for an identity and instead pondering the request. It would be a serious challenge, certainly, but he hadn't had a good challenge in years. There had been no need for his experiments in recent years, and without the need he had not managed to find the motivation on his own to experiment while stuck in the school. The students had drained him of the majority of his creativity.
As the sender mentioned, he had no obligation to complete the request, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a go. If he was successful it could even prove to be useful to himself, on the off-chance he was forced into contact with any further demons. A pre-emptive strike, so to speak. He could dabble and experiment some, and if he happened to make something that worked, he could collect some compensation for it. If nothing came of it, he would simply never respond to the letter.
The edges of his lips curved up ever so slightly in a smirk. He would finally have something interesting to do.
Nimble fingers rolled the parchment back up, but he paused as he went to press down on the wax to reseal it. He hadn't paid it any attention before, but there was a design pressed into the wax. From the shape and size of it he would guess at it being from a ring, so it was likely a family crest. Generally it was only older magical families that possessed family crests, so his previous assumption had to be wrong. Not a muggleborn then. A pureblood, or a distinguished half-blood. But who? And why?
There was something vaguely familiar about the crest, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He frowned, glancing from the wax over to Dumbledore and back again. The Headmaster was relatively well-informed about that sort of thing, but he didn't want to hand over the actual letter for any period of time, because he was concerned about what opinions the elderly wizard might form were he to feel the demonic energy pulsing within the odd symbol. It would not do if he was suddenly under suspicion of going dark once again.
Carefully pushing the seal down Severus slipped the letter into the inner pocket of his robes and checked the time. He would worry about it later.
oOoOo
After dinner Severus secluded himself away in his chambers, as per usual, and took the letter out once more. He placed it on the coffee table in front of his couch before leaving the room, robes swishing behind him. In his bedroom he abandoned his outer teaching robes on the bed, and collected a piece of scrap parchment and a pencil (a guilty pleasure, if it could even qualify as such, because honestly quills just didn't cut it for some things) before returning to his sitting room.
Clad in dark trousers and an equally dark button up shirt Severus allowed himself to sink slightly into the couch, leaning forward to place the parchment next to the letter. He wrapped his fingers around the pencil and began to draw the crest. As he drew he made sure only to glance at the original a few times. Severus wanted it to seem like he'd drawn it from memory, just in case it was something of a certain interest. He didn't want it to seem as though he had something inscribed with it in his possession.
When he finished he leaned back, examining the copy. It was fair, possibly a little too accurate, but it would do.
oOoOo
The next morning Severus intercepted the Headmaster in an empty corridor on his way from his office to the Great Hall for breakfast. He ushered the older wizard into an alcove, ignoring the questioning look levelled at him.
He pulled the scrap of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Dumbledore, face betraying none of his emotions.
"Albus, I was wondering if you recognised this."
Severus watched his once-mentor's face carefully, and had to refrain from putting distance between them when he saw an eager sparkle enter aged blue eyes. It was excitement, but there was an edge to it, something desperate, something almost manic. Suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea after all. This was dangerous territory.
"Severus, this is incredible! Where- where did you see this?" Dumbledore demanded fervently, fairly vibrating with energy. Severus allowed himself a shocked blink.
"I don't recall," Severus replied coolly, forcing his occlumency shields up at maximum strength. "Why? What is it?"
"I suppose it stands to reason that you might not recognise it Severus. This is the Potter family crest! It must be a sign from Harry! Are you absolutely certain you don't know where you stumbled across it?"
Severus allowed himself 0.8 seconds of bewilderment before forcing it aside for the time being, staring at the parchment in irritation.
"No Albus, I have no idea. I was ruminating last night and the image popped into my head. I can't possibly imagine where I might have seen it."
Delicately tugging the parchment from Dumbledore's hand Severus backed off several steps, back into the corridor and out of reach of the Headmaster's twitching fingers. He decided it would be best to skip breakfast, and perhaps have a house elf bring him something to eat in his rooms instead. Any sort of confrontation with Dumbledore was unwise, as it appeared he was still desperately searching for the Potter brat, and no doubt didn't buy his explanation. Severus bid the Headmaster a quick farewell and walked hurriedly down the corridor and away from the shell-shocked wizard, crumpling the parchment in his fist.
Present Day:
Despite his initial reluctance to do anything that might be of use to one Harry Potter, Severus had allowed his curiosity and the challenge of it all override his irritation. He had spent every free moment he possibly could that wouldn't arouse undue suspicion from the Headmaster thinking and experimenting in his private potions lab. It had been exhilarating to say the least, though he would never actually thank Potter for the challenge it presented him. That was one step he was unwilling to take.
It had taken him just under sixteen months to create a seemingly viable concoction, which, while not being a personal best, was still reasonably quick considering the entirely unknown factors involved in the whole scenario. The problem remained that, now that he had created something that had an effect on the energy entrapped in the bizarre symbol, he had no way of getting the potion to Potter.
Or at least, that had been the problem, until he went to put the letter away for the last time after a successful test. More writing had appeared, squeezed into the remaining space at the bottom of the page around the symbol. It was someone else's handwriting, fancier.
Congratulations, it read.
I didn't think it was possible, but you're always proving me wrong you lot. Fascinating. For safety reasons it'd be best if you delivered it in person – I certainly don't trust those damnable birds, not after the last one tried to take a chunk out of my thumb.
Come to Tennessee. I don't care how, you're a wizard, do something fancy. Come to Tennessee then use whatever energy is left in the containment symbol to trace our location. I'd give you an address, but I'd hardly be able to guarantee anyone being home by the time you got there.
Your potion kills him? I won't be happy.
This note wasn't signed either, but Severus didn't think he would know who had written it even if they offered a name. It was dark, threatening. Deliver it in person? He wasn't sure he wanted to meet whoever it was Potter kept company with these days. It sounded exactly like the sort of thing he didn't want to drag himself into.
The whole thing was beginning to get rather out of hand. In order to get to Tennessee Severus would have to acquire an international portkey from the Ministry, and they would inform the Headmaster about it, since he was under Dumbledore's employ and as a former Death Eater his movements were still watched with somewhat more scrutiny than they ought to be. Tracking the energy wouldn't be a problem, there was still a fair amount there, and he'd been so exposed to it over the last year that he would recognise it just about anywhere now. The problem was getting there.
Dumbledore would find out one way or another, and he would question him about it, one way or another. The safest – though possibly most infuriating – course of action was to confront the Headmaster about this directly. Dumbledore would no doubt be more than a little annoyed to find out that Severus had had contact with Potter and not told him about it, particularly after spending the last sixteen months searching with renewed vigour for the boy's – well, Severus supposed he was a man now – location after Severus made the mistake of going to him for information. That he had remained unsuccessful was curious, but since Severus didn't know what sort of methods the Headmaster was employing in his search he couldn't truly judge their effectiveness.
It was with a sense of dread and apprehension that Severus approached Dumbledore, and his fears turned out to be right on the mark.
Dumbledore insisted he accompany Severus to America when he went, despite it being unwise for someone his age to engage in such long distance magical travel. Severus was also ordered not to leave the school other than for organisational purposes – and of course, by association, the country – until Dumbledore had a chance to put together a group of people who would come with him to, supposedly, 'rescue' Potter from whatever strange situation he'd gotten himself into over the years.
Rescue of any sort seemed like the last thing Potter would actually want, judging not only from a long string of previous experiences but from the tone of the missive as well, but Severus of course had no say in the decision making process. The Headmaster tended to have a one track mind, something that had only gotten worse and worse as he continued to creep steadily towards the age of forced retirement. (The only reason he hadn't yet been gently coerced from his position being that no one else was exactly eagerly offering themselves up as his replacement.)
He steam-rolled right on over the protestations and opinions of other people when he got into one of his moods.
(Not that anyone would dare to call it a 'mood' to his face. Severus was certain he wasn't the only one who thought it often though.)
On the whole Wizarding Britain had done a good job forgetting about Potter's contributions to their lives and about his general existence. Dumbledore had, for reason's unfathomable to Severus, taken a certain level of offence to this behaviour on Potter's behalf. At least, that's how it probably appeared to most people who cared to give it a passing thought.
Severus wasn't so sure.
It was nearing a decade since the death of the Dark Lord - and Severus knew with the most certainty that he had ever known anything in his life that it truly was his final death - yet on occasion he still caught Dumbledore staring Severus' way, as if he could see through the fabric of his sleeves to check his mark for signs of activity.
Loathe as he was to admit it, there was a part of Severus deep down where he hid his most vulnerable pieces that was scared Dumbledore didn't believe that this particular war had finally come to an end.
If he was reading the elderly wizard correctly he concluded that it was the Headmaster's intention to drag Potter back to Britain, whether the man wanted to come or not.
oOoOo
Severus was unsurprised to see the entourage the old man had gathered for a trip that realistically only required Severus himself.
It was not an overly large group. Dumbledore had only managed to rally a few people to join him. Lupin informed Severus that the Headmaster had attempted to enlist Mr Longbottom and Miss Lovegood for their little travelling circus, as well as other old schoolmates of Potter such as the Weasley twins, but they had all refused. Privately, he had to admit that it was very impressive for Longbottom of all people to refuse a direct request from the Headmaster for the greater good of an old friend. They clearly understood the situation better than Dumbledore did.
Lupin himself appeared uneasy about being there. Severus surmised that he was there partly from a desire to see for himself that Potter was alive and well, and partly in order to restrain the Headmaster if something were to happen. Old age had certainly caused a shift in Dumbledore's rational that Severus wasn't entirely comfortable with. Running a school was one thing – it was a repetitive motion that he had been engaged in for a very long time – but his habit of making decisions for people without giving any consideration to their opinion seemed to have only gotten worse as he aged.
Miss Granger was also there, stern and tight-lipped, pulled from her Unspeakable duties for however long their trip would take. There was no excitement in her face or her stance. If he remembered correctly Granger had been the most understanding of Potter's obsession before his disappearance, and though saddened by the lack of a farewell, she had not struck him as overly affected by his departure. She was acting in Potter's best interests, which would very possibly mean aiding in his escape.
The other professors had all refused Dumbledore's request, as they had the convenient excuse of needing to look after the school, which was still in session (something that seemed to have slipped Dumbledore's mind). A couple of ex-Order members filled out the rest of the Headmaster's travelling party.
The tense group – six in total, himself included – gathered in the Ministry foyer to collect the portkey from a member of the Department of Magical Travel. Severus had the potion in unbreakable vials, placed into a padded box and slipped into the inner pocket of his robes. His chosen robe more resembled a cloak, his most muggle-friendly robe in fact. Granger forewent a robe entirely, having dressed completely muggle, as was her norm outside of work. Lupin was also dressed muggle, which was unsurprising considering it was generally the only place he could find work.
In comparison, Auror Tonks was in her uniform, Dumbledore was clad in one of his gaudiest robes, and Hestia Jones was wearing a dress that looked as though it came from the 1800s. It didn't appear to have occurred to them that the magical population of America was few and far between, and it was highly likely that they would be in a muggle dominated area wherever they ended up. In fact, as far as Severus was aware, there was no such thing as a wizard dominated area of the States. They integrated.
When their liaison finally arrived with their portkey he gave them a disparaging once-over, gaze lingering disapprovingly over Dumbledore and Tonks, though he remained silent, perhaps unwilling to try and tell one of the most revered and powerful wizards in Britain that he was 'doing it wrong'.
Though it was Dumbledore who had forcibly commandeered this journey, it was to Severus that the man directed his words.
"This is a larger group than I was expecting, Professor."
Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement. He had been to the ministry several times over the last few weeks, making frustratingly vague inquiries and arrangements. It was this man, Elyan Stoker, who had been forced to deal with him and his requests. He had been blessedly patient about it then; now, faced with the obvious reason for the lack of detail, he seemed sympathetic. His calm professionalism was a god-send in Severus' day to day life.
"I apologise, Mr Stoker, for being unable to confirm numbers beforehand. Be glad there aren't more."
"Yes," Dumbledore chimed in, visibly annoyed at being ignored but refusing to voice the emotion, "it's such a shame the others were unable to accompany us."
Lupin turned a snort of laughter into a throaty cough. His thoughts on the trip were obvious. Stoker's lips twitched upwards, into a shadow of a smirk. Severus rolled his eyes.
"Indeed. A dreadful shame, I'm certain." Stoker smoothed his free hand down the jacket of his three-piece suit before slipping it into his pocket. His other hand held an elegant walking stick – one which he had no need for – which he leaned on almost lazily. "Before we get on with this, I need to brief you on some things. May I?"
"Of course."
"Thank you. Now, normally you would get this talk at the American Ministry, but since you're bypassing them on the way there it falls to me."
That had been one of Dumbledore's stipulations. He hadn't wanted to 'waste time' dealing with bureaucracy inside a foreign ministry when they were on such a 'time-sensitive' operation. Severus had little doubt that Dumbledore would ignore any and all of the guidelines about to be laid down for them.
"There isn't too much that needs to be said. Remember, first and foremost, that as an integrated society the American Ministry have different views on secrecy and what amounts to 'exposure'. America is a hotbed of non-magical supernatural activity, and the Statute of Secrecy is… flexible, for lack of a better word.
Subtle magic around muggles is fine – not only are they very good at coming up with explanations for the many odd things they encounter throughout their lives, but there are a less savoury bunch of magic users scattered across the country that fall under no such protection laws, and small incidents can always be blamed on them. Don't do anything too flashy, keeps your wands out of sight, and never assume you can identify what sort of people you're surrounded by.
As registered visitors to the country, they will monitor your magical activities with that thought in mind. The country is a veritable haven for all sorts of unofficial stowaways, but they don't tend to make a fuss over it.
Secondly, be careful of what you say. Things said are harder to forget than things seen, or so they claim. There are general monitoring charms all across the country, set to search for specific conversation patterns. Certain phrases have a taboo of sorts on them, which alert the monitoring department. If you're found explaining magic, you may be visited by officials. Keep discussions of magical theory to yourself until your return here, to be on the safe side.
The third and final thing relates to your return journey. This portkey," here Stoker tapped the walking stick once against the marble floor, "is one-way. If you try and use your own magic to recalibrate it, it will self-destruct. In order to arrange your return portkey, you must visit the American Ministry. If you were travelling straight there, you could have picked it up upon arrival, but as you aren't, you must find it yourself."
That was a jab at Dumbledore no doubt. The man had never been to the States before, and had made no effort to research anything about the place. Stoker had already told Severus how to locate the ministry; he had yet to decide if he would share that information. Then again, Severus wouldn't put it past the old man to attempt to apparate back to England. He would fail, of that Severus had no doubt – in his youth, perhaps he would have been able to accomplish such a hefty feat, but at his age there was no chance.
Dumbledore was checking his pocket watch. Lupin nodded thoughtfully and offered a quick "thank you" to Stoker before anyone could ask questions or interject. A smart move, as the headmaster seemed ready to protest the time they were wasting and, despite the situation, Granger appeared to be formulating questions about politics or some other such topic that Severus had no desire to listen to.
"In that case, are you all prepared?"
There was a smattering of murmured affirmations.
Stoker straightened and handed the walking stick to Severus. He then fished his wand out of its holster.
Severus held the walking stick out in front of himself. The rest of the rag-tag group held out hands to take hold of the polished wood.
Stoker tapped the end of the stick with his wand, muttering something under his breath – likely the ministry start-up sequence for their regulation portkeys. He initiated the countdown without warning, taking a measured step away from their group as he did.
One moment they were in the Ministry lobby, the next they were hurtling through space at unimaginable speeds. International portkeys were at least five times as disconcerting as regular portkeys, due to the distances they crossed, and were often more violent, as shown by their rough landing in a dark alleyway.
As soon as his feet hit solid ground Severus relinquished his white-knuckled grip on the wood and took several quick steps back, collapsing against the wall, face a shade or two paler than usual. Granger appeared a tad green. Lupin was bent double, wheezing. Nymphadora's hair, which had been an already surprisingly subdued shade of brown before they left, was now a bedraggled grey mess. Hestia had a hand to her forehead, looking for all the world as though she were probably still spinning – her eyes were moving back and forward repeatedly. Dumbledore had the gall to appear completely unaffected.
Severus swore he was never going to allow himself to be roped into that sort of travel ever again once this was all over. He would rather suffer through hours on a muggle plane.
"Severus," Dumbledore began, a vaguely manic gleam in his eyes as he zeroed in on the exhausted potions master. "How do we go about locating Mr Potter from here?"
Severus frowned over at him, straightening and stepping away from the alley wall. He shoved his left hand into the outside pocket of his cloak, where he had hidden away the letter, and allowed himself a moment to re-familiarise himself with the energy the parchment was saturated with. Though he hadn't voiced it to anyone, he got the feeling that the energy was not in any way a sample of Potter's magic, but rather it likely belonged to whoever had left the secondary note, meaning Potter was in close contact with a demon. He could only pray the man knew what he was doing.
"It will take more than a moment Headmaster," he replied drily, taking a deep breath and forcing his magic out into the air around them. To his surprise there were actually faint hints – remnants really – of the energy all about them. It wasn't there now though. "Perhaps it would also be prudent to purchase a map of the area?" Severus turned his gaze to Granger and, understanding his unspoken order, she retreated out into the open street, looking for some sort of gas station or tourist shop to find a map.
"What are you using to track him Severus?" Lupin asked quietly, curiously, having centred himself and regained his stability. Sending Dumbledore a calculating look Severus realised that there was no point trying to hide his methods. He was after all about to attempt something showy and a bit ridiculous once Miss Granger returned with a sufficient map.
"Energy." He ignored the confused looks on everyone's faces. "I intend to use the map as a focus to pinpoint the current location of the source of the energy."
"So you mean to say that you're capable of tracking Mr Potter's magical signature Severus? Why ever didn't you say something earlier?"
Severus clenched his jaw and breathed out a sigh through his nose, eyeing the Headmaster blankly.
"It's not an easy task, Albus. I have never been particularly adept at following magical signatures of any kind. However one gains a certain familiarity when they work with the same energy day in and day out for more than a year. I can tell you that he," Severus neglected to inform them that 'he' wasn't actually Potter, though he was sorely tempted to, just to see the look on Dumbledore's face, "has been here recently, in the last few months, but he isn't here right now. Physically searching with my senses I can only scan my own surroundings. That's why I sent Miss Granger to fetch a map, for I have no intention to apparate all across this blasted country searching for him."
"Of course not Severus," Dumbledore attempted to placate him, unsuccessfully. "We wouldn't expect that of you."
Severus ignored him, turning his attention to the mouth of the alleyway, watching for Granger's return. Lupin was still watching him, but he was sufficiently skilled at ignoring watchful gazes on his person so as to be completely undisturbed by it.
Granger returned several minutes later, the slight flush to her cheeks attesting to the fact that she had at least hurried back, if not also there. She handed the map to Severus and he crouched down, unfolding it and laying it on the concrete. It was a map of the Tennessee area. He would simply have to hope that Potter had remained in the State.
Slightly unnerved by the fact that everyone was watching him intently, for he wasn't all that sure if it would work or not, Severus carefully extracted the energy from the parchment. Pulling his left hand from his pocket he held a magical containment field in the shape of an orb, full of a violent storm of flashing dark reds and blacks. The energy had never seemed so oddly malicious until he actually laid eyes upon it. It had simply been dark; a familiar sort of darkness, all things considered.
For a moment Severus held the orb in front of his face, taking in the myriad hues the energy gave off. Considering Potter's temperament, it was wild enough to theoretically pass as his magical signature, but the colours begged to differ.
He lifted his gaze over the top of the orb, taking in the reactions of his current companions. For the most part they appeared confused, though Lupin appeared to be scenting the air. Did the energy retain some sort of unusual scent that had lingered enough for the werewolf to sense it? Severus had a vague recollection of sulphur from long ago, but he'd not noticed a thing in all the time he'd spent working with it. Dumbledore, on the other hand, sported a contemplative frown that certainly didn't put Severus at ease.
"You're certain this is Harry's?"
Severus closed his eyes briefly and inhaled sharply, irritated. "I'm certain it will lead us to Potter, yes, if it works at all."
If Dumbledore noticed he was skirting the subject he didn't comment. As age wore on him it was getting harder and harder to predict what sort of things would catch his attention and which would fall unnoticed to the wayside. Severus surmised he was more invested in the end result rather than how it came about – the question not a jab about misdirection but anxiety about the whole thing falling through.
Returning his focus to the task at hand, Severus silently shaped the containment orb with his hands, dragging at the magic with deft fingers. He was planning this whole thing along the lines of some older location rituals, those that could be performed by most people with any level of magical power, as long as they had some sort of focus and a steady will.
The orb he shaped into a prism, which narrowed down to a single point at the bottom. He tugged a thin string of energy from the top. It might as well have been a crystal necklace.
Finished with his crafting, Severus held the tip of the not-string and dangled the prism above the centre of the map, the point just above the surface. Holding his hand perfectly still, he took a cleansing breath, and focused his mind on what he wanted to achieve.
At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, it began to swing in lazy circles over the map, each rotation of a different diameter, smaller then bigger then smaller again. Though unnoticeable to the eye, Severus could feel the prism hesitate for mere fractions of a second all across the map. Just as the energy lingered in the alleyway, it seemed its presence could be felt in many parts of the State. Potter's dubious acquaintance was rather well-travelled.
Eventually it slowed, the circles becoming smaller and smaller until finally it came to a stop.
The point of the prism rested upon a black dot labelled Jackson.
"Well?"
Severus bit back a snide remark at the sound of Dumbledore's voice.
"We'll go to Jackson. Once we're there I'll try and pinpoint his location."
Eyes skimming the map, he rattled off the city's coordinates before folding it up and shoving it uncaringly into a pocket.
A petty part of him hoped they'd all get lost so Severus could complete his contractual obligation without company, but unfortunately that was only ever going to be a wistful fantasy.
A/N: This ended up with bigger Dumbledore-bashing vibes than I intended, but truthfully it's just that Dumbledore is hella old now and sometimes when you're that old your brain starts doing some weird things. Let's call it Stubborn Paranoid Old Man Syndrome and leave it at that.
