Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's note: I apologize for abandoning this story for so long and unfortunately I can't promise it will go much faster but anyway, here's the next chapter.
Time frame: OotP towards the end of the year
- Somewhere in the Forbidden Forest
He was hot. He was sweaty. And it hadn't improved his already sour mood THE LEAST that he had almost walked straight into a nest of oversized spiders within the first hour. If he ever got his hand on Hagrid again the half-giant would regret it dearly. Acromantula were not even supposed to be found in this part of the world!
Pausing Severus Snape heaved a deep sigh and peeled a strand of greasy hair off his sticky face.
Just to think that only seven months ago he had considered things to go rather nicely. He had survived answering a summons of the Dark Lord inexcusable late, had he not? What was more his makeshift explanations for the delay had actually catapulted him to a higher rank among the Death Eaters than ever before; certainly much higher than the position he had held fifteen years ago. Something he would never have dreamt about after waking so abruptly in that broom shed under the Quidditch stadium.
And then, to make his life perfect, fate had handed him Sirius Black on a silver platter. Oh, revenge had been so sweet when his archenemy had finally been trapped in a place where neither his wand nor the pathetic rest of his friends were able to protect him anymore. When he had been forced to look on as others came and went or listened intently to the things he - Snape - had had to tell them. And the man had been so easy to taunt and tease, had reacted so wonderfully to the slightest jibes it had been almost ridiculous... Too bad Black lacked any judgement when it was necessary to stop quarrelling and be serious.
Snape barely suppressed a second sigh while his left hand strayed once more towards the old-fashioned pair of horn-rimmed glasses on his hooked nose. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt the smooth material under his fingertips, caused more by the blurred, half-forgotten memories it brought up than by the actual contact.
The memory of being safely encircled by a pair of warm arms. Of large, work-worn hands turning pages with surprising gentleness. Of his father's low voice murmuring at his ear, reading muggle fairy tales and being relaxed in a way that triggered the foggy knowledge that his mother must not be at home.
Blinking rapidly Snape shook his head and scolded himself for letting his mind wander. This was neither the time nor the place for reminiscences. His father's old reading glasses had been the first suitable object for a night vision spell he got his hands on when he had hectically rummaged through his rooms after his last - disastrous - contact with the order. So they simply had to do. There were a few things more stupid than running through the Forbidden Forest with a lit wand after nightfall but really not many. Like running through the Forbidden Forest after nightfall at all. What brought him back to the reason for all his troubles.
Potter.
At the mere thought the fire of Snape's ever-burning anger flared up again and for a moment he literally shook with rage, hot waves of blind fury radiating from him. Causing the thorny tentacles descending menacingly from above to freeze abruptly in mid-air, hesitate a second and then silently withdraw into the dark leaves high overhead.
He had told Dumbledore it would never do. He had told him when the headmaster had first suggested Occlumency lessons for Potter. He had told him when the boy had refused to make any progress in the course of several months. And he had continued to tell him at any order meeting after the old man had gone and gotten himself driven out of his own school for the SECOND TIME in less than FOUR years. After he had found the brat with his nosy face in his memories he had simply stopped telling him.
Breathing deeply through clenched teeth Snape deliberately relaxed his grip on his wand before he could do serious damage to the precious instrument. At least Potter had no idea WHY this special memory had earned its place in the Pensive, as little comfort as that was. Shoving the glasses viciously - and rather unnecessarily because of the stick-in-place charm on them - up his nose Snape abruptly set out again at a brisk pace.
Ten minutes later he somewhat surprised slowed his steps down. Not without reason he considered himself in rather good shape, the calming effect of physical exercise on his flaring temper being a well-practiced fact all over Hogwarts endless corridors. But now his shortened breath and new sweat soaking the back of his robes reminded him not very kindly of the distance he had already covered tonight. A worrisome information and as he trudged on through the ominous darkness Snape couldn't help feeling more and more anxious.
He should have found them by now. They were teenagers after all, half-grown children and as fifth-years not able to Apparate - hopefully. Blind Apparition was a stupid thing per definition but Apparating blindly in the Forbidden Forest bordered on attempted suicide. Unfortunately that left the disturbing question how they had gotten so far in so little time ... especially considering the fact that Neville Longbottom was one of them. Something Snape still regarded with stunned disbelief - and seething anger.
How dared that boy. Potter and his two friends that had to be expected. And that the youngest Weasley had finally ended up in the group was not really a surprise either. Loona Lovegood definitely was but NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM ... simply had no right. The boy was nothing. The boy would always be nothing. He had been nothing fifteen years ago, hadn't been worth a second thought when the Dark Lord made up his mind about the prophecy and chose to kill his future enemy in the cradle so WHERE DID HE NOW TAKE THE DAMN RIGHT TO MEDDLE IN THIS! He should have let Crabbe suffocate him and -
A sharp screeching sound to his right made Snape spin and duck, wand outstretched, all senses strained in alarm.
Deafening silence met his ears interrupted only by his own erratic breathing. The sweat soaked robes clung suddenly cold to his back. His eyes wandered quickly from left to right and back again, searching for movement in the impenetrable shadows. Slowly his bend legs started aching as minutes stretched like hours. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. At least he hoped it was an owl. But the sound didn't repeat itself.
Finally Snape straightened up again, wand still at the ready. Everything was silent. Keeping a suspicious eye on his surroundings he made a careful step - and sunk knee-deep into formerly solid ground.
His heart leaped into his throat but despite his shocked surprise he threw up his arms, twirling the wand as he did and barked an incantation. The stomach-turning descent stopped just as filthy wetness engulfed him to the hip. Tightening the grip of his left hand around the hook he had conjured out of thin air Snape took a shaking breath.
About a dozen counter-charms, spells and (non-magical) curses later he had managed to levitate himself out of the slimy mass and manoeuvre back on solid ground. Tugging at his soiled robes he nearly retched at the foul stench that rose from the mud clinging to his clothes. Hastily he applied three cleaning spells in quick succession. He didn't dare think of the composition of the disgusting substance in spite of all resistance gained by daily handling of potion ingredients. A closer inspection showed that the heavy boots and thick trousers he had decided to wear underneath for this special task - ignoring the indignant outcry of his mother's voice in his head, the woman had had very strong opinions concerning proper attire for a wizard - were punctured all over with tiny holes. A sufficient explanation for the burning sensation up and down his legs.
Grimacing Snape added a minor healing spell and then, in a fit of temper, blasted the newly dried-over hole of the mud demon apart.
The next second he yelped involuntarily because the annoyed screech of the little creature drowned in a sudden cacophony of scratching, roaring sounds. Unbearable bright light flooded the woods and Snape jumped back, momentarily blinded, nevertheless conjuring up the strongest shield he could manage and bracing for the impact.
It never came. Only the terrible - although vaguely familiar - noise continued, now completed by strange creaking rumbling.
Shielding his eyes against the light Snape first tilted his head then made some slow steps to the side. His eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hairline.
Well, well, the Weasley car. And it looked like the old Ford Anglia had finally met its match. Snape pulled off his glasses and surveyed the scene in front of him with clinical indifference.
The bewitched muggle car was almost lying on its side, half slammed against a thick tree and half propped up on the stump of another, obviously taken down as it had tumbled into this awkward position. The broken wood was lifting it just enough so that the wheels on its right side rotated useless in the air. Those on the left side seemed to have touched the ground at first because they had dug deep holes in the earth while the car had swayed helplessly back and forth over the fallen trunk. Now they too whirled mere inches above the saving surface without reaching it any longer.
Snape shrugged and turned away. Blocking out the continuing noise he put his glasses back on and looked around then up and down. Satisfied he placed his wand on his flat palm and whispered: "Point me Harry Potter."
The wand spun once in a full circle and pointed straight ahead.
Snape pursed his lips, glanced quickly around and then whispered: "Point me Ronald Weasley."
The wand didn't even budge.
A frown crept on Snape's face. "Point me Hermione Granger."
Same result.
Snape's frown deepened. He thought for a second. "Point me Dolores Umbridge."
The wand spun once and pointed to his left, almost back in the direction he had come from. Snape sighed in frustration.
It was no use. The modified Four-Point Spell war working and that left only two possibilities. Either Potter and his friends were very, very close together - not necessarily a good thing in the Forbidden Forest considering the creatures hunting there - or they were very far away. What would also explain why he had not been able to detect any traces of them behind the small clearing littered with broken arrows, disturbingly large drops of blood and completely trampled by hoofs and what looked entirely too much like giant footprints.
Sighing again Snape shook his head. No, it was no use. He needed to go back to Hogwarts and look up a more detailed locating spell maybe even ask one of the other teachers for help. As much as he loathed involving anyone outside the order but this was getting too dangerous with Potter outside the save boundaries of the school and the Dark Lord up to something. If only Minerva hadn't been stunned right into St Mungo's.
At this last admission Snape smiled rather wryly. Who would have thought he'd ever miss the sharp-tongued Head of Gryffindor?
Stepping to a clear spot on the forest floor Snape threw one last uninterested look at the Weasley car. It was still roaring and struggling, swinging fruitlessly back and forth on the fallen tree. He concentrated and lifted his arms to Apparate then dropped them again, glancing once more over his shoulder.
The car reminded of nothing as much as of a small beetle lying on its back, fighting and fighting without any hope of success or rescue.
He rolled his eyes and turned away, concentrated a second time on his destination and once more stopped. Behind his back the engine roared and roared and roared... Snape spun abruptly, swinging his wand in a graceful arc like a fencer moving in for the kill and a red jet shot from its tip.
The tree stump burst to pieces and the car slammed down on all four wheels with a resounding crash. Dirt and dry leaves flew up like a fountain as the engine howled wildly and the next moment the car sped away like a dog with fire on its tail, weaving skilfully through the trees. The bobbing headlights grew smaller and smaller and just before they disappeared completely in the darkness the battered Ford Anglia honked twice.
Snape allowed himself a small smile. With a little luck the car would go and annoy some spiders.
He would like that.