The vibrant energy of the evening entertainment drifted across the upper deck as a live band set up near the railing overlooking the dark expanse of the ocean. They played upbeat, infectious tunes, their music mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the distant crash of waves. Some passengers tapped their feet or swayed gently to the rhythm, enjoying the informal concert under the starlit sky. Fairy lights twinkled around the bandstand, casting a warm, inviting glow on the scene. Earlier, Harry and Carwyn had been excitedly discussing the setlist they'd overheard during the soundcheck, eager to hear their favorite lively sea shanty. It was strange that the two boys had not returned when the music began to play. And as the minutes ticked by, and the band moved into their main set, a knot of unease tightened in Severus's chest. Willowyn and Caspian exchanged worried glances as they glanced back in the direction the boys had taken off in.
"They should have been back by now," Willowyn murmured, her usual cheerful demeanor clouded with concern. "They were so excited about seeing the constellations from the Starlight Alcove."
"Perhaps they simply lost track of time," Caspian offered, though a flicker of worry danced in his eyes as well. "Let's go check the stargazing area."
Severus followed the Holloways as they made their way through the growing crowd, the sounds of laughter and music from the lower decks fading slightly as they ascended the winding staircases to the designated upper deck. Each step Severus took was accompanied by a growing unease, a prickling sensation that whispered of something amiss. He told himself they were simply engrossed in the celestial display, lost in the wonder of distant galaxies. Yet, the persistent knot in his chest refused to loosen.
Reaching the top deck, they headed towards the Starlight Alcove, an area specifically designed for celestial observation. Soft, ambient lighting, a gentle, almost ethereal blue, illuminated the space without disrupting the view of the night sky. Comfortable, reclining loungers were strategically placed, some still occupied by solitary figures gazing upwards through personal telescopes mounted on sturdy tripods. Padded benches lined the perimeter, offering a more communal viewing experience. A few other passengers were scattered about, their faces upturned towards the star-dusted sky, peering through the provided telescopes with quiet fascination, but there was no sign of the two boys.
"Harry?" Severus called out, his voice sharper than intended, cutting through the quiet murmur of the other stargazers.
"Carwyn!" Willowyn's voice joined his.
Silence answered them and a cold dread began to seep into Severus's veins.
"They're not here," Caspian stated, his voice flat with worry. "They wouldn't just wander off without telling us, Carwyn especially."
"Nor Harry," Severus said. "He certainly knows better."
Willowyn's gaze darted around the Starlight Alcove, initially a quick scan, but now becoming rapid and jerky. She licked her lips, then said, "Maybe . . . maybe they went somewhere else on the deck? They can't be that far."
They searched the immediate area with increasing desperation, their calls echoing unanswered in the night. The jovial sounds from the entertainment below now seemed a cruel mockery of their growing fear.
"We need to alert someone," Severus said. The image of Alarie, his gaunt face and resentful eyes, flashed unbidden in his mind. He pushed it away, refusing to jump to conclusions, but the seed of suspicion had been planted.
Caspian hurried off to find a member of the ship's staff, his long strides reflecting his urgency. Willowyn ran her fingers through her long hair as she closed her eyes and shook her head.
"This is so unlike Carwyn," she said. "What if something happened to them?"
Severus's own anxieties were a churning vortex within him, but he saw the raw fear in Willowyn's eyes and knew he had to offer some semblance of reassurance, even if he didn't fully feel it himself.
"Perhaps they simply wandered off, their attention caught by something else on deck. Caspian will alert the staff, and they will help us find them quickly." Severus scanned the area once more before adding, "I assure you, though, we will find them."
That was one thing Severus knew he was going to do, even if it was the last thing he ever did. Soon, the calm efficiency of the cruise ship staff kicked into gear. An announcement, carefully worded to avoid alarming the other passengers, requested Harry Snape and Carwyn Holloway to report to the guest services desk. A subtle, ship-wide alert was issued while cruise aurors began searching rooms and lounges, even cabin rooms. For some reason, locator spells were not working, which alarmed the aurors and the parents alike.
As the search began, Severus's gaze swept across the faces of the other passengers. And then he saw him. Alarie. He was lurking near a less-trafficked corridor, his eyes darting nervously as if he were trying to blend into the shadows. Seeing the man sparked a white-hot fury within Severus. What was he doing here?
Without a word to Willowyn, Severus moved with a speed honed by years of dueling and a primal protectiveness. He crossed the distance in a few swift strides and cornered Alarie before he could slip away.
"Alarie," Severus's voice was a low, dangerous growl, his eyes narrowed into slits.
Alarie flinched, his eyes widening in poorly feigned surprise.
"Snape. What do you want?"
"Don't play coy with me," Severus snarled, his hand gripping Alarie's arm like a vise. "My son, Harry. Where is he?"
"I . . . I don't know what you're talking about," Alarie stammered, trying to pull away, his eyes flicking nervously towards the commotion the search was causing.
Rage, cold and sharp, pierced through Severus's carefully constructed control.
"He was with his friend, Carwyn. They've disappeared. And you, of all people, happen to be in the vicinity where it happened? Clearly not a coincidence."
"Let go of me!" Alarie hissed.
"If you've laid a finger on him . . ." Severus's voice dropped to a lethal whisper, his grip tightening painfully.
Before Alarie could respond, Willowyn and Caspian reached them, their faces etched with worry.
"Severus! What's going on?" Caspian exclaimed, trying to pull him away from Alarie.
"He knows something," Severus growled, his focus entirely on the squirming man beneath his hand. "I can feel it."
"I told you, I don't know anything!" Alarie insisted, his voice rising in pitch. He managed to jerk himself free of Severus's grip as he cried out, "Unhand me!"
The sight of Alarie, the man who had tormented Harry in school, coupled with the terrifying uncertainty of his son's whereabouts, pushed Severus past his breaking point. With a guttural growl, he lunged for Alarie, intent on shaking the truth from him, consequences be damned.
"Severus, no!" Willowyn cried, grabbing his arm along with Caspian.
"If I find out you did something to my son," Severus snarled, his gaze locked on Alarie's terrified face, "I will fucking kill you."
Just as Severus was about to seize Alarie again, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down," a calm but authoritative voice said. An Auror, his robes subtly blending with the ship's decor, stood beside Severus, his expression firm but neutral. "What seems to be the problem here?"
"This man," Severus spat, jerking his head towards Alarie, who was now pale and trembling. "He has something to do with my son's disappearance! He's been . . . he's been a problem before."
"Is that so?" The Auror said, glancing at Alarie with suspicious eyes. "Sir, if you'll step this way for a moment, I have a few questions for you."
The Auror gently guided a reluctant Alarie a few steps away, engaging him in a hushed conversation. Severus watched them, his muscles still tense, his suspicion unwavering. He saw Alarie stammering, shaking his head, his eyes darting nervously towards Severus.
After a brief, whispered exchange, the Auror released Alarie. The squib practically melted back into the small crowd that had gathered, keeping a wide berth from Severus. The Auror returned to Severus and Carwyn's parents, his expression apologetic.
"Mr. Snape, Mr. and Mrs. Holloway, I've spoken with the gentleman. While I understand your apprehension, it appears he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He claims to know nothing about the boys' disappearance. Furthermore," the Auror added, his gaze briefly flicking towards where Alarie had disappeared, "he is, by his own admission and easily verifiable, a squib. It seems highly unlikely he would be capable of . . . well, of whatever you might be suspecting."
Severus's jaw tightened.
"Squibs are not incapable of malice, Auror," he retorted, his voice dangerously low. He shot one last venomous glare at Alarie's retreating form.
"Of course, sir, but direct involvement in a magical abduction seems improbable," the Auror said smoothly, maintaining his professional demeanor. "Right now, a thorough search of the vessel is underway." He then turned to Willowyn and Caspian, offering a reassuring smile. "We understand this is a distressing time. We would like to offer you a more comfortable place to wait while we conduct our search. A quiet room where you can rest and receive updates. It will be much more conducive than remaining here on deck."
Severus's mind raced. He knew exactly what the Auror was doing. Removing them from the immediate vicinity, keeping them contained and preventing them from potentially disrupting the investigation or, as the Auror likely saw it, making unfounded accusations against other passengers. He didn't like it, but he also knew that his current state of barely controlled fury wouldn't help Harry. For now, he would have to cooperate. For now.
He gave a curt nod. "Very well, Auror." He looked at Willowyn and Caspian, his own worry mirrored in their pale faces.
The air inside the chest was thick and stale, heavy with the scent of old wood and something vaguely metallic. Pitch blackness pressed in on them from all sides, a suffocating void that stole their sense of direction and space. Harry's breath hitched, a tight knot forming in his chest that constricted with every inhale.
"Carwyn?" His voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the oppressive darkness.
"I'm here, Harry," Carwyn's voice, though strained, was a steady anchor in the swirling blackness. "Are you okay?"
But 'here' was terrifyingly small. They were crammed together, limbs tangled, the hard wood of the chest digging into their sides. The lack of visual cues amplified every sensation – the frantic thump of Harry's own heart, the shallow rasp of his breathing, the faint rustle of Carwyn's clothes as he shifted.
Then it hit him. The darkness. The confinement. The feeling of being trapped, unseen, forgotten. It clawed at the edges of his mind, dragging him back to a place he had fought so hard to leave behind. The cupboard under the stairs. Small. Dark. Alone. The Dursleys' indifference, their casual cruelty, echoed in the suffocating silence of the chest.
A wave of panic washed over him, cold and paralyzing. His breath quickened, each inhale a ragged gasp that didn't seem to fill his lungs. The walls of the chest seemed to be closing in, crushing him. He could feel the frantic beat of his own pulse throbbing in his ears.
"I . . . I can't . . ." The words caught in his throat, a strangled sob escaping. He squeezed his eyes shut, though it made no difference in the all-encompassing blackness.
"Harry! What is it?" Carwyn's voice was urgent now. He shifted, trying to get closer in the cramped space. "Harry, talk to me."
"Dark . . . can't . . . can't breathe . . ." The memories flooded his mind – the sneers, the taunts, the feeling of being utterly alone and unwanted. The magic that usually thrummed beneath his skin felt distant, useless in this wooden prison.
"Hey, hey, it's okay." Carwyn's hands found his, his touch surprisingly firm and grounding. "Harry, I'm right here. You're not alone. Can you try to take a deep breath with me?"
Harry tried, but the air felt thick, heavy. His chest heaved.
"Okay, okay," Carwyn said. "Think of something else. Anything. Tell me about a magical creature," Carwyn said. "What's the first one that pops into your head?"
Harry squeezed his eyes tighter, the darkness behind his eyelids mirroring the suffocating blackness around them.
"A . . . a dragon," he managed, his voice still shaky.
"Good," Carwyn said, his grip on Harry's hands firm. "Imagine a Common Welsh Green. Sleek, emerald scales, golden eyes. They love high mountains. Think of the wide-open sky above the mountains. Can you see it?"
Harry focused, trying to conjure the image of the majestic creature soaring through a vast, airy landscape, a stark contrast to their current confinement. His breathing hitched a little less.
"Yeah . . . the green . . . and the wings," Harry whispered.
"That's it," Carwyn encouraged. "Now, what's another one? Something completely different."
Harry thought for a moment, the image of the dragon slowly fading.
"A niffler," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the fear.
Carwyn chuckled softly.
"Those little bundles of mischief! Imagine their long snouts twitching, their beady eyes darting around, always searching for something shiny. Remember how they waddle? And how they try to stuff everything into their pouches? Picture one trying to squeeze a whole galleon in there, its little legs kicking."
"They are!" Carwyn agreed, a little more excitedly. "Okay, one more! You have to hear about mooncalves. They're my absolute favorite! You know, Mum and Dad have tons of books about them Have you ever seen one? Maybe in a book?"
Harry shook his head a bit in the darkness.
"Right, well, they're super shy, and they only come out when the moon is huge and round. Imagine . . . they're all pale and smooth, like . . . like a big, squishy egg, but with these massive, round eyes that look all sparkly in the moonlight! And the best bit? They do this amazing dance. It's all swirly and loopy, like they're having the best time ever under the moon! So picture this field, right? It's all silvery from the moonlight, and all these mooncalves are bouncing around and doing their crazy dances. It's like a secret party that only they know about!"
Harry concentrated, a small smile forming in the darkness. Carwyn's excitement was infectious, a bright spark in their confined space. The image of the dancing mooncalves, seen through Carwyn's eyes, was whimsical and calming, a welcome distraction from the oppressive reality of their situation. His breathing grew even more regular, the tight knot in his chest finally beginning to ease.
"A mooncalf…" Harry muttered. His breathing was steadier now, the frantic edge of panic receding.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Harry took a deeper, steadier breath.
"Thanks, Carwyn," he murmured, his voice still rough but no longer panicked.
"Anytime, mate," Carwyn replied, a hint of relief in his voice. "This is rubbish, though, isn't it?" He shifted again, bumping against Harry in the cramped space. "Right, well, our parents are brilliant. They'll realize we're missing soon."
"Yeah," he said, a little more confidently. "Dad'll be worried sick."
"Exactly," Carwyn said. "So, either they'll find us, or . . . well, if we have to, we'll find our own way out of this." His voice held a newfound determination. "This old box can't hold us forever."
"Maybe I can reach out to my Dad," Harry said. "We have a magical connection that let's us communicate no matter where we are."
"That's nifty," Carwyn said. "Go on, give it a shot."
Harry closed his eyes and focused on wanting to see his father, which was not hard to do as there was no one he wanted to see more at the moment. However, after several minutes of concentrating and pushing a lot of his energy into the connection, nothing happened. He sighed as he opened his eyes.
"It's not working," he whined.
"Probably the chest we're in," Carwyn said. He thumped against the wood with a fist, as if hoping it might pop open with enough force. "Might have some charms or whatever on it to keep it from being found."
"What do we do now?"
"We keep trying," Carwyn said. "You keep reaching out to your dad, I'm going to keep pounding and making noise. Worth a shot."
So, Harry closed his eyes again and focused on the connection while Carwyn kicked and pounded on the chest. He wasn't sure how long they were at it for, but they must have fallen asleep at some point during the night. They were both stirred awake by a sudden, jarring movement. The chest lurched violently, tilting precariously as it was lifted at one end, the other scraping roughly against a hard surface. The familiar gentle sway of the sea had ceased, replaced by an unsteady, ground-level jostling. The air outside now carried the distinct, exotic scents of a magical community – the sharp tang of unfamiliar herbs, the sweet aroma of enchanted blooms, and a subtle undercurrent of ozone that spoke of concentrated magic."Hey!" Carwyn shouted, pounding against the wood. "Help! We're inside!"
Harry joined Carwyn this time in banging against the old wood, yelling out as well.
The sounds outside shifted. The general hubbub of the ship had been replaced by the more vibrant sounds of a bustling magical town – the chatter of voices speaking in rapid Spanish, the occasional pop of apparition, and the trill of unfamiliar magical creatures.
Then, a sharp, authoritative voice, speaking in heavily accented English, cut through the external sounds.
"Hold there! What is in this cumbersome . . . caja?"
"Just . . . personal items," Alarie said, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
"This is Puerto Encanto," the first voice stated firmly. "Due to the . . . regrettable disappearance of two young individuals from the cruise ship, all disembarking items are subject to inspection. We need to be certain nothing . . . untoward . . . is leaving the vessel."
Harry's heart leaped. Puerto Encanto! A magical seaside town in Spain! He recalled his father mentioning it once or twice prior to learning about their cruise ship. And it sounded like the Aurors here knew they were missing!
"Missing children?" Alarie scoffed. "That is most unfortunate, but I assure you, Oficial, I am merely a squib. No magical abilities whatsoever. How could I possibly be involved in the disappearance of magical children?" There was a pause, the sounds of the bustling port momentarily muted.
"A squib, you say?" the Auror's voice was skeptical. "You possess no magical artifacts? No means of . . . containing magical individuals?"
Absolutely not, Oficial. You are welcome to examine me. Here's my card. I wouldn't know a self-shrinking trunk from a . . . a teacup that bites!"
Carwyn and Harry were screaming as loud as they could while they banged against the inside of the chest. However, it was like no one could hear them. Another brief silence from the Auror was all they got, then, with a sigh of what sounded like weary resignation, the Auror said, "Muy bien. Proceed, then. But be aware, the entire community is on alert. If anything seems amiss . . ."
The scraping and bumping resumed, and Harry's hope, which had flared so brightly, dimmed again. They were off the ship, in a magical town, but still trapped and in the hands of their captor. Carwyn's frustrated shouts intensified, his small fists pounding with renewed urgency against their wooden prison.
"They were right there!" Harry whispered, a wave of despair washing over him. "So close . . ."
"We're still in this, Harry," Carwyn said, his voice tight with a nine-year-old's stubborn refusal to give up. "They haven't won yet." He kicked the side of the chest again, a small, defiant thud against the heavy wood.
The boys weren't sure how far they traveled like this, Alarie dragging the chest behind him, the rough bumpiness of the road knocking the boys together now and then. Then, the scraping stopped, and the chest was unceremoniously dropped onto a rough surface, and Carwyn and Harry yelped as their heads bumped into each other, and they rubbed their heads while sharing a mutual annoyed glare.
Heavy footsteps approached.
"Well? Do you have him, Alarie?" a cold, imperious voice demanded.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Yaxley," Alarie's voice, laced with a nervous eagerness, replied. "Just like you planned. He's inside . . . plus one."
"Plus . . . one?" the voice growled slowly.
There was a slight hesitation from Alarie.
"There was . . . a friend. He was with Potter. I had to take him too."
Yaxley was silent for a moment. Then, a low growl rumbled in his chest.
"Incompetent fool. I told you, Potter was the priority. How could you fail at such a simple plan—I even provided you with a magic proof chest! You had one job."
"It was the only way," Alarie stammered, trying to defend himself. "They were together, exploring. I couldn't just grab Potter without the other one raising an alarm."
Yaxley sighed, a sound of pure irritation.
"Regardless. The deed is done. For now." He flicked his wand, and the heavy wooden chest lifted into the air, floating silently behind him. "Take me to the rendezvous point."
Alarie scurried to obey, leading Yaxley away from the bustling port, towards a more desolate section of the shoreline where dilapidated buildings sagged under the weight of the salty air. Yaxley, with the floating chest trailing behind him like a morbid piece of luggage, followed, his gaze fixed on the abandoned house in the distance.
Inside the chest, the sudden movement and change in environment stirred Harry from his uneasy calm. He could feel the shift as they were carried, the odd weightlessness of the air around him.
Finally, the floating stopped with a dull thud as it once again struck the earth, earning a groan from the boys. The sound of a door creaking open and slamming shut echoed faintly through the wood. Then, the scraping of a latch.
The lid was thrown open, and blinding light flooded the darkness. Harry and Carwyn blinked, disoriented, as Alarie's gaunt face peered down at them, a smug look on his face that quickly faded as Yaxley's imposing figure appeared behind him.
Yaxley's sharp eyes scanned the two boys crammed inside the chest. "Two," he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "I can't believe you brought me two."
Alarie swallowed hard. "He was with Potter, sir. I explained . . ."
Yaxley waved a dismissive hand, his attention already on the boys. He was the picture of a pureblood wizard who still clung to old traditions, clad in richly embroidered, dark green robes that flowed dramatically around his tall frame. Silver thread wove intricate patterns of ancient runes across the fabric, and a heavy silver signet ring adorned one of his long, pale fingers. His dark hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and the cruel set of his thin lips. But it was his nose that drew the eye – a prominent, crooked thing that jutted out at an odd angle, a stark contrast to the otherwise aristocratic lines of his features.
He flicked his wand with a flourish, and Harry and Carwyn were roughly levitated out of the chest, dangling momentarily before being unceremoniously dropped onto the dusty floor of the abandoned house. Yaxley's polished black boots crunched on the debris-strewn floor as he took a step closer, his wand never wavering from its aim.
"Harry Potter," Yaxley purred, his cruel smile returning, widening to reveal teeth that were just a little too sharp. His dark eyes gleamed with a disturbing triumph. "The Boy Who Lived. Soon to be . . . mine." He then tapped a long, elegant finger against the side of his crooked nose.
"See this, Potter?" he said, his voice laced with a venomous undertone. "This . . . imperfection? That little traitor you now call your father did this to me. A mark of his treachery. A reminder of the debt he owes . . . and now, you will pay it."
"I hope my dad comes and messes up something else on your face," Harry spat.
Yaxley's eyes narrowed, then his gaze flicked to Carwyn, his expression shifting from cruel satisfaction to one of cold calculation. Harry looked at Carwyn, and he was surprised to see his friend had as much of a loathing glare for their captor, seemingly unfazed by the evil stare, as if facing off against deadly predators was a daily occurrence for Carwyn.
"And you," Yaxley drawled, his wand still steady on Harry, "are an unfortunate . . . complication. Still," he mused, a flicker of a different kind of avarice entering his eyes, "not entirely useless. The Carrows always had a . . . need for certain types. They might find a blood traitor amusing, and your parents likely have resources they'd be willing to part with for your safe return. Yes," he concluded, a thin smile spreading across his lips, "perhaps you can be pawned off. A little side venture to offset Alarie's . . . inefficiency."
Yaxley stepped closer, and Harry stayed close to Carwyn, who did not back down the slightest, and they held their ground as Yaxley walked up to them. He sneered at the boys bravado, then he snatched a fistful of Harry's hair and tilted the boy's head back, making Harry cry out in fear and pain.
"Yes, there it is," Yaxley commented as he eyed the infamous scar on Harry's head. He traced it with the tip of his wand. "Funny, they always said it looked more like a lightning bolt."
Yaxley tilted Harry's head every which way as he studied the boy.
"You're rather unremarkable for being the Boy-Who-Lived," Yaxley said. "Alas, you'll make a fine little servant for me until the Dark Lord returns. Then you will be gifted to the Dark Lord, and he will reward my loyalty most favorably."
Yaxley put the tip of his wand under Harry's chin, dragging it across his cheek slightly.
"Oh, all the little things I could make you do. We could put that mouth of yours to some actual good use."
"Let him go, you psycho!" Carwyn demanded as he shoved against Yaxley as hard as he could, surprising the man that he stumbled back a few steps.
"That's enough out of you!" Yaxley said, and he turned his wand on Carwyn. "You will learn your place!"
"Dad!" Harry suddenly cried out, waving his arms frantically. "Dad! In here!"
"What . . ." Yaxley paled and turned on his feet quickly, facing a window while Alarie scrambled over to the door as if to barricade it. Realizing no one was outside, Yaxley turned with an annoyed expression, only for Carwyn to throw a fistful of sand at the man's face.
"Filthy brat!" Yaxley roared, clutching at his eyes, his wand arm flailing.
Alarie lunged for Carwyn, but Harry had run forward. Years of dodging Dudley and his gang had honed a certain instinct. With a swift, surprisingly accurate kick, Harry aimed for and connected squarely with Alarie's groin.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Alarie let out a strangled cry, his face contorting in agony as he doubled over, clutching himself and collapsing to his knees with a wheezing gasp.
"Let's go," Carwyn said, throwing the door open and running out of the abandoned house, Harry right behind him.
"Go after them!" Yaxley snapped at Alarie as he struggled with his stinging eyes.
The boys didn't hesitate, didn't look back at the enraged shouts that already echoed from the abandoned house. Their feet pounded on the uneven ground as they sprinted away from the desolate shoreline, their sights set on the sounds of the bustling town marketplace that lay just beyond the cluster of run-down buildings – a chaotic haven where they hoped to lose themselves in the crowd.
Meanwhile, inside the tastefully decorated but sterile room the Aurors had provided, the hours had bled into a torturous eternity. The plush armchairs felt like instruments of torment, offering no comfort against the gnawing anxiety that had taken root. The promised updates had been infrequent and vague, each passing hour amplifying the parents' fear. Severus paced the length of the room like a caged predator. Willowyn sat rigidly on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white, while Caspian stared out the window at the slowly lightening sky, his face a mask of grim concern.
"They've had their chance," Severus finally stated, cutting through the heavy silence. He stopped pacing and turned to face Willowyn and Caspian, his dark eyes blazing with a fierce resolve. "All night. They've had all night to find our sons, and what do we have? Vague assurances and polite requests to remain patient. My patience has run out."
Willowyn and Caspian exchanged a look, their own frustration and fear mirroring Severus's.
"I agree," Caspian said. "We can't just sit here and wait any longer. We need to be doing something."
"Absolutely," Willowyn added, rising to her feet. "If the Aurors can't find them, then we will."
With a silent understanding passing between them, they moved towards the door. Severus cast a quick Colloportus on the lock from the inside, ensuring no one would interrupt their departure. They slipped out into the quiet corridor, their footsteps hushed on the carpeted floor.
"We should try another locator charm," Caspian murmured, drawing his wand. He had attempted several throughout the night, but each time, the magic had fizzled uselessly, a frustrating dead end.
He cast the charm again, his brow furrowed in concentration. A faint golden thread shimmered into existence, surprisingly strong and clear. Willowyn gasped softly, and Severus felt a jolt of fierce hope.
"It's working!" Caspian exclaimed, his voice filled with relief and a renewed sense of purpose. "It's . . . it's pulling strongly."
Their gazes followed the luminous thread as it snaked through the ship's corridors, leading them inexorably towards the disembarkation point and beyond. It pulsed with a vibrant energy, a beacon in their desperate search.
"But . . . it's heading towards the port," Willowyn said, a hint of confusion in her voice. "Towards the town."
Severus's mind raced. Why would the locator charm suddenly be working now, and why would it lead them away from the ship and towards the bustling Spanish coast? A cold dread mixed with his burgeoning hope. Something had happened after they were taken.
"Then that's where we need to go," Severus said, his voice grim. The protective fury within him intensified. Whatever awaited them in that busy magical town, they would face it together.