Harry Potter stared venomously at his current foe, temper and nerves greatly strained, his sense of security ever dwindling. To lose was unfathomable, too terrible a price would be paid. Victory however wasn't in a good mood, coquettishly wagging its eyes as it fluttered out of reach, tongue extended at an ever bittering twelve year old with black hair and green eyes.

For all of its inanimate characteristics, the spot of sordid green mold seemed to spitefully glare back, sullen mind made up to forever blight Aunt Petunia's white lounge chair cushion, an inexcusable stain upon her summer held soirees where women sipped tea or lemon water from ridiculously small cups and smiled wide nasty smiles while thinking horribly of the other women and speaking horribly in faux couth voices of women not present.

The little mold spot would ruin Aunt Petunia's favorite pastime. Harry could not let that happen, not because of some hidden desire to one day don his very own summer gown --a floral paisley, pink and yellow to be exact-- and engage in the vicious and bloodthirsty war, its timetable perpetuity, best known as gossip, but rather because his dinner depended on it.

A tawdry affair, yes, you guess right, but Harry had reconciled himself to these facts. Life was rather capricious, or entirely uneducated if one is being perfectly honest, when it came to the concept of fairness --Harry blamed the parents-- and he was forced to throw his glove down with mold spots and weeds. The worst part of it was that he was often in the losing section, prize belt being handed out to whatever tenacious weed or bit of dirt happened to be in the ring.

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. He knew defeat when it rapped him on the head and began it's rather off key serenade. Eyeing the cushion with piteous thoughts of his ever shrinking stomach, Harry almost imagined a self-satisfied look settling over the smug little mold spot.

“Alright, alright, you won,” Harry muttered, throwing one last glare. “No need to rub it in.”

Flipping the cushion over, Harry hoped Aunt Petunia wouldn't notice. Hope however was feeble in this case. Harry knew Aunt Petunia would notice and of course a punishment would be put in place. Phantom pain scuttled over him and Harry rubbed a sympathetic palm against his head, he hoped she wasn't ironing, or cooking with the frying pan, when said punishment was doled.

Plumping the cushions, Harry turned to look at the garden, upset at the mold spot and wishing that the blemish didn't exist.

There was a high pitched whistle, the sound of a fast moving object. A flash of brilliant light blinded Harry and a moment later there was the roar of an impact. Harry felt the shockwave and fell to the ground, eyes clenched shut as the sound of shattering wood and the feel of dirt spraying him took over his senses. A moment later everything was as still as it had been before when the mold was the only thing worrying him.

Harry blinked his eyes, squinting up at the bright blue sky and realizing he was on his back. Harry sat up, adjusting his glasses and taking in the now non-existent garden shed and the half decimated row of Aunt Petunia's hybrid musk roses she so fawned over, with a distant sort of horror. Clods of dirt decorated the lawn and reached up to the patio Harry had just stepped off of. Standing up and brushing himself off, Harry stepped hesitantly toward the site of impact. There was a small crater where the garden shed had been and Harry wondered if, since wizards were real and all, aliens were too and an alien spaceship had landed in his backyard.

A hand appeared on the edge of the crater, pale and decorated with rings, fingers slender and in Harry's mind all too much like an alien. Whatever it was hoisted itself the rest of the way up. Harry gaped. It was a man, tall and thin, lank black hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing bespoke slacks with a white button up and matching vest. Something was vaguely familiar about the figure.

They turned, calf high boots, tightly clinging, moving with ease out of the crater and now facing Harry. Harry stared, mouth dropping open in confusion and bewilderment. It was Snape. He had almost not recognized the man, dressed as he was in a sort of roguish fashion, hooked nose broken so he looked dashing, lank hair pulled back to come off as almost pirate like. He wore earrings and little manly trinkets, things Snape wouldn't be caught dead wearing, but the one thing that really hampered Harry's memory was the excitement in those coal black eyes and the cavalier smile adorning the man's face. The Snape Harry knew did not smile.

“Hello,” the man, who might be Snape, said.

Harry continued gaping, Snape sounded exactly like Snape, quality of voice still a silky tenor, but it was used with the ruthless intent of charm. Snape could win over armies if he used his voice like that, Harry thought idly.

“Where am I, little boy?” Snape, or super cool somehow new and improved Snape, said in a kind voice.

“I'm almost thirteen,” Harry corrected, indignation flashing at the erroneous title.

Snape didn't get mad though. Instead his grin broadened.

“I should think not, how wrong of me, a brave young lad, nearly a man,” he amended, stepping forward and looking around him.

“You're in Surrey,” Harry supplied, quite liking how this new Snape talked and looked.

The man frowned in confusion before a flash of remembrance went through his eyes.

“Ah, Surrey, yes, of course,” Snape said, suddenly looking at Harry with a keen, considering look which had Harry instinctively hunching.

“Is there anyone else around? Anyone in the house?” Snape asked, a touch of solemnity in his eyes which had Harry wondering what his Potions Professor, so greatly loathed, was doing in Surrey in the Dursley garden.

“No,” Harry replied. “It's just me.”

Aunt Petunia was at Mrs. Wickham’s for lunch, Dudley was out for the day with Piers and his parents, while Uncle Vernon was, of course, at work.

Snape's gaze came up, disappointment slipping into his expression. Harry cringed, for some reason feeling bad about it, he didn't want to disappoint this man. Snape's gaze refocused on Harry and immediately a smile was hiding any negative emotion Harry had perceived.

“Well, I don't suppose you like adventure?” Snape asked kindly, eyes again sparkling with that contagious excitement which thrilled Harry.

Harry gave a small nod.

“Of course you do,” Snape said. “A smart young man like yourself.”

Harry frowned, but banished his misgivings as Snape smiled brilliantly. Maybe the Professor had been pretty crummy to him the last two years at Hogwarts, but he seemed cool and interesting now, and most importantly very friendly.

“Well,” Snape said, peering down at Harry with a considering gaze, “I've never had a companion as young as yourself, but if the timepiece brought me here then it brought me here.”

He seemed to be speaking more to himself than Harry. Snape's deft hands turned to his breast pocket and removed a timepiece, a round pocket watch. His brow furrowed as he examined it, before he flicked the cover closed and was piercing Harry yet again with that considering look.

“I am Severus Tobias Snape, peacekeeper of the universe, explorer of dimensions, debonair dilettante of all fields and, of course, in most dire need of a companion for my adventure.”

Harry blinked, feeling rather out of place in his jeans rolled at the waist and held in place by a bit of gardening twine, shirt hanging like a grey piece of elephant skin all supported by a pair of trainers whose soles had been worn through and we're now kept together with wedges of cardboard.

Summer, though lightened by Aunt Marge's unfortunate injury --a broken leg-- and consequential absence from the regular Dursley family visit, had been dreary and here his most hated Professor, someone radically changed, was offering him a chance to escape.

“Well, sir, I have school in a few weeks,” Harry said hesitantly, worried that rescue now might mean absence from Hogwarts later.

“And attend you shall, my excursions are only as long as they should be, and please, “sir” is for stiff backed fools toting around sticks up their arses, you may call me Severus.”

Harry smiled at the phrasing his professor had used but withheld a giggle.

“Okay,” Harry replied.

Severus stepped past Harry, moving toward the house. Harry followed, puzzled by everything but more than that deeply intrigued. A part of him was concerned, Snape had never acted this way and the man seemed to be someone else entirely. After last year, Harry was a little wary of people who acted one way while being another, he’d never expected Tom Riddle to actually be Voldemort. This Snape might not be who Harry thought they were.

Harry watched the man step in through the glass door, eyes carefully taking in everything, Harry dumbly followed.

“Your parents, where are they?” Severus asked, stepping through the hallway and looking all about.

Harry peered in the direction Severus was currently looking, seeing the family portrait hanging on the wall, Harry conspicuously absent.

“They um, they passed, when I was a baby,” Harry explained, feeling uncomfortable talking about this, besides, didn’t Snape already know?

Maybe this was his way of making Harry feel bad.

“Yes, right,” Severus murmured absently, nodding his head.

His eyes turned to the cupboard under the stairs, gazing quizzically at it.

“My old room,” Harry blurted out, feeling rather self-conscious and hoping the answer would make his unfeeling potions professor move away.

Severus looked at Harry and Harry felt naked, those black eyes seemingly seeing past everything and judging him.

“They won’t miss you, I presume?” Severus said in a soft and kind voice.

Harry felt a sharp sensation in his gut, it hurt for some reason that Snape was completely right. The Dursleys never missed him. He gave a small nod, eyes unable to meet those piercing black ones.

“Well, adventure awaits,” Severus said, extending a hand and holding it out to Harry.

Harry smiled shyly, placing his hand in Severus’. He was pulled close, told to ‘hang on’ and then the world disappeared.







“He’s what?” Severus Tobias Snape, current professor of potions and wearer of black cloaks and devilishly cruel sneers, hissed.

Albus was perturbed.

“Yes, Mr. Shacklebolt just spoke with me. There was magic used on the premises, when the ministry representative they sent arrived they found no one. He said that it appeared as though a struggle occurred in the backyard.”

Harry Potter had been kidnapped. According to the Ministry of Magic it was Sirius Black. Who knew, but Severus wouldn't put it past either Potter or Black to make his life a living hell, something they'd been doing since Severus was eleven years old.

“Why tell me?” Severus snapped, just sure that Albus had some silly plan that involved him rescuing the annoying brat.

“Someone ought to know, you are best equipped to do something about it, other than myself,” Albus replied.

Severus narrowed his eyes, confounded. Him? The best equipped? Bloody hell he was!

“Please, Severus, I’ll be looking into it myself, but I’m afraid the ministry believes I’m involved. My movement is limited.”

Severus let out a frustrated snarl and stood up.

“Very well,” he snapped.

Severus Snape stood in the backyard of what had once been a well maintained garden and lawn. As of now, the Dursley family had been moved to a safer place by aurors, and at the moment the entire place was perfectly quiet.

The impact site of some sort of now missing object puzzled him. Obviously it was the catalyst to all of this, but the current theory was kidnapping. Severus could see Black making a complete mess, but to a degree such as this and in such a way, it seemed unlikely. And to any other kidnapper, it wasn't quiet nor subtle. It gave them less time to hide and it left more clues than not.

Severus let out a soft sound of thought and carefully approached. The smell, similar to ozone, which was produced by intense magical events, lingered in the air. Footprints littered the area, caused by dimwitted aurors who could care less about preserving it. Crouching down he summoned a small stoppered bottle and collected some of the dirt. Whisking it away, his eyes returned to the crater.

It wasn't large, man sized actually. Severus frowned as he noted the way the dimensions would fit him perfectly. Standing up, he turned away and headed into the house. It was eerily silent, a lone clock ticking in the front room. Everything was astonishingly clean, the decor matched with Petunia's love for pastels and vomit inducing lace, but most curious of all was the lack of photos which indicated the existence of four rather than three people.

He'd toured the entire downstairs, noting the well used step stool in the kitchen, an item which Petunia most certainly had no need for. The last place was a little cupboard under the stairs. Opening it, he was disturbed to see that it had been used as a bedroom. A small, thin mattress from what he would guess was a crib, was on the floor. Stacked in the lowest corner was Potter's trunk, padlocked. The highest side contained a small shelf on which small broken items lay. Closer inspection revealed that they were what he believed to be toys. A little, paper note written in a child's scrawl was taped up. It read "Harry's Room".

Severus felt his stomach turn. He drew back, silently closing the door.

Upstairs was a barren room, an extravagant master bedroom, and then a room which was filled to the brim with useless muggle toys and contraptions. Everywhere were photos of an obese child and his proud parents.

Either the kidnapper had cleared the space of any sign of Harry, or the boy was a ghost in his own home. Severus knew "Tuney" well enough to not put the idea past her.

Any spells he could cast for tracking or tracing would've already been performed by the aurors and their presence meant Harry's and his kidnappers had been obscured at this point.

Severus' journey in the house had ended in the boy's room. The miserable owl was his only company here. As for the other occupants of the room, there were maybe a few sets of clothes, a mangled toothbrush and a threadbare blanket.

Severus had only one recourse, and that was potions. Examining the flat, stained pillow, he drew a single black hair from it and carefully stowed it.

The owl let out a piercing screech, the cage rattling as she attempted to spread her wings in threat. Severus frowned, eyeing the creature. Its amber eyes glared back and he knew the thing would rip him to shreds if it could. It was a curious response, most owls were quite docile unless their familiar was threatened. It made Severus think. He shoved the thought away.

"You want out? Don't you?" he muttered.

The owl's next shriek was louder and more angry.

The creature could be of use. Severus grabbed the cage, casting a quick mufflato on the screeching beast, and then turned on his heel, black robes snapping and fluttering in the wake of his movement.

XxX


Harry had no idea where they appeared. It was, for lack of a better word, positively magical. They were in a cave, a huge cave with ceilings which rose for over a hundred meters into the air. The roof was only visible because thousands, possibly millions, of little floating pinpricks hung in the sky.

“Those are anps, they’re thought to be the children of Anpao and Han.”

Harry looked over at Snape, who was smiling gently down at him, he couldn’t help his own grin from lighting up his face.

Around them boulders, rocks, and strange formations Harry had no names for, rose up in the half darkness. Though the anps burned quite brightly, they were far away and they cast more shadows than they did light.

Severus drew his wand and raised it, bracelets ringing together in the soft silence. The magnificent surroundings were unusually quiet, and Harry couldn’t help but feel that he was intruding. Despite being almost thirteen, he was glad that Severus kept his hand around Harry’s.

They moved forward, silently and carefully, and Harry got the feeling that though this Severus seemed to be relaxed and calm there was something here which shouldn’t be disturbed.

Twisting along a path which seemed to be only known to Severus, the two continued on for several minutes. Harry followed, but as they went and his excitement, though still there, was calmed, his brain kicked back on. There were many questions he had, none of which had been answered. Who was this man? What had he meant by adventure? Did anyone know where he was at? Dumbledore? Ron? Hermione? What if they thought he’d been kidnapped or killed?

Harry was grateful to be away from the Dursleys, but, was this what he wanted instead? Glancing up at the lights above him, he realized with a sudden shock that the ceiling had lowered, and he could now see glittering crystals which were spread across it. He tripped, and the magical view disappeared.

He had clenched his eyes shut, expecting to face plant, but instead he found that he’d been caught, his face pressing against fabric which smelled of lavender and something spicy. Harry pulled back, a flush on his face.

“Best be careful,” the man said, offering Harry a small smile before standing back up and continuing, his hand still wrapped around Harry’s own.

Harry nervously licked his lips, still trying to figure out how his hated potions teacher had turned into this.

“Professor?” Harry hazarded, half expecting his angry teacher to make a reappearance.

“Professor?” Severus said, startled, a small chuckle escaping him.

He turned around and Harry shrank back, wary.

“Sir?” he tried, thinking that maybe the man didn’t like his first attempts to address him.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me a professor before,” Severus chuckled.

“Oh, but, aren’t you-” Harry frowned, trying to understand. Was this not Professor Snape?

“Shh,” the man held his fingers to his lips, stiffening as he crouched low, his wand already drawn.

Harry frowned, not exactly sure why the man was shushing him. He had so many questions, ones which still hadn’t been answered. But all the same, he kept his mouth shut and listened.

He heard nothing at first, then something which sounded like water running against stones, there was an odd quality to it which Harry couldn’t identify, like it wasn’t a fixed stream. It sounded like the water was moving around, the stream switching places. Harry opened his mouth to speak but a hand shot out and he found himself being brought closer.

“I’ll need you to wear this,” Severus whispered, the lavender smell even stronger this close to the man, almost too strong.

Harry gave a little nod, not entirely sure what “this” was. He saw it a moment later, a silken black strip of cloth that Severus quickly brought up and drew around his eyes and head, glasses being drawn off before Harry could protest. With his sight gone, Harry could hear the sound of the running water grow closer, his own breathing speeding up. Severus’ fingers tied the knot and the black cloth was secured. The lavender smell disappeared as Severus drew back and Harry felt terror seize him.

Something was getting closer, and Severus had left. He had to defend himself, somehow, but his wand! It was still in his trunk, along with anything else he could defend himself with. Groping out, Harry held back his desire to cry out. He had to move, quickly, he didn’t know what was in the cave with him, but he felt like it was after them.

Then as suddenly as the man had left, Severus was back, hand finding Harry’s and his head dipped down so that he was whispering in Harry’s ear.

“It’s alright, you’re alright Harry,” he reassured.

Harry gulped, realizing that his breaths had become sharp and fast. He took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. Having Severus closer made him feel better, but the sound of the running water was still loud, and it was still growing louder. Harry clutched at Severus’ hand, hoping the man wouldn’t let go and leave again.

“Just don’t let go of me, and whatever you do, don’t take off your blindfold.”

Then the sound abruptly stopped. It was dead silent in the cave, and for a moment, Harry felt like maybe he’d imagined the strange noise.

“Who are you?”

A woman’s voice hissed through the air, light and airy, the words almost musical.

It was silent, Harry felt Severus squeeze his hand.

“Have you come for me, or for my treasures?”

Harry wasn’t sure he should talk, or if he should do anything at all.

“I am Severus Tobias Snape, peacekeeper of the universe, explorer of dimensio-”

“SPEAK!” the woman roared.

Severus stopped speaking unfortunately and for a moment it was silent again. Harry felt his stomach twist with tension.

“I apologize, I am Severus Snape, I’ve come for something by which I believe only you can help me.”

“If you cannot speak to me, then I will eat you vermin. I am Unhcegila, and I do not like when small creatures disturb me.”

Harry had a bad feeling that neither this woman, or possibly creature, nor Severus could understand each other. But how could Harry?

“Please, is there anyway for you to understand me?” Severus tried again.

The woman did not speak, instead an angry hiss issuing from her and the sound of the running water starting again. Cold air blew on them, and Harry had a feeling that the woman was done waiting on Severus to start speaking her language. Severus kept talking, switching into languages Harry didn’t know, meanwhile the running water grew louder and louder. Harry’s heart beat quicker, and his lungs seemed to seize up as the cold grew sharper.

“WAIT!” Harry cried.

Severus stiffened, his hand tightening in Harry’s. The sounds disappeared again.

“You speak, little one?” the woman said.

Harry nodded his head vigorously.

“I-I’m Harry, this is my friend, Severus.”

There was a soft humm from the woman and Harry felt the air around him grow warmer.

“I haven’t had a visitor in quite some time. Why are you here?” she didn’t sound angry, or frightening anymore, but Harry was worried that might change if he didn’t have an answer.

He tugged at Severus and the man leaned down.

“She wants to know why we’re here,” he whispered.

“Ah, of course she does,” Severus whispered back, “tell her that I merely need a scale of hers.”

Harry frowned. That seemed rude to demand a scale. And what did he mean scale? Was this woman actually a reptile or some sort? A snake?

“You’re talking? Your friend does not speak my language, does he?”

Harry shook his head, then realized that a verbal response might be better.

“Erm, no, he doesn’t. We’re here for a scale, one of yours.”

The snake woman was quiet, but the air stayed warm.

“Why?” she asked, voice curious, “My scales can hardly be of any use.”

Harry tugged on Severus again, “she wants to know what you want to use them for.”

Harry himself wanted to know.

“Just tell her that they’re for a potion.”

“They’re for a potion.”

There was a long, raspy sigh and water seemed to trickle quietly for just a moment. Then it was still once again.

“I don’t care if you take one, just,” she paused, “I want you to look at me.”

Harry frowned, remembering what Severus had said about the blindfold. But they must need this scale, and the woman seemed kind enough. Harry gave a small nod, reaching a hand out.

Warm fingers pressed against his out-held palm, he flinched a little, but the soft skin of her fingertips skated pleasantly over him, seeming to warm him up. Letting go of Severus’ hand, he reached up and tugged at his blindfold. The cloth fell.

In front of him was was strange cloudy mass, in the center of which was the face of a woman, nearly enshrouded by the smoke, her eyes bright like flames. She was looking at him with curiosity, and Harry was doing the same to her. Then their eyes met. Harry felt his breath leave him, body becoming suddenly light, the world spun and turned black and then he was gone.

Potions meant for ascertaining a person’s whereabouts were not easy to make, nor were they easy to understand. They had strange responses, and half the difficulty of them lay not in their actual creation but in understanding what they were telling you.

Severus had been poring over several texts about the subject, still not completely sure which he wanted to use, or if any. At the moment the ministry couldn’t find the Potter child, his wand was with Severus (him having taken the trunk) and whoever had taken the child had powerful wards against charms. However, many witches and wizards were less adept at warding against potions, many didn’t even think of potions a threat. They weren’t wrong considering that most were difficult to brew, and, as Severus knew, difficult to use.

The owl gave a low hiss and Severus glanced over at the thing to see that it was still eyeing him with what he thought was as close to hatred that an animal could convey.

Severus shook his head, wishing the bloody thing would leave him alone. He was trying to save its bratty familiar, not harm him, or for that matter harm the bloody animal either.

He turned back to the rhenium cauldron and hoped to Merlin that his attempts didn’t ruin one of the most expensive items he owned. Cauldrons made in rare metals were not common, and they usually were only good for a very specific set of potions. In this case rhenium would hopefully increase the potency of the tracking potion he intended on using. He needed its potency increased, the potion relied upon the relation to the person sought, and though Severus had spent nearly two years near the boy on a daily basis (at least at school) it was slight enough that the effects of the potion might not come through.

Positive, warm thoughts were needed, a genuine and well-intentioned desire to find the person you sought was important as well. The potion had originally been developed by mothers to be able to identify children way back when infertility was high and stealing a child common in the wizarding community.

Severus glanced at this bookmarked potion. He had searched for another option, but all the others weren’t feasible or they required things which Severus could not provide.

This potion was likely his only option. With a soft sigh he glanced back over it. He’d already taken detailed notes, had annotated as needed, and he had gathered all the ingredients. It would take mere hours to brew it.

“Well, it will have to do,” he muttered, swiftly standing and moving over to where his potions were laid out.
The owl let out a keening wail and Severus turned to see its amber eyes staring at him imploringly. He shook his head, he needed to find Potter soon. An investigation had already been opened against Albus Dumbledore, accusations of him having conducted the kidnapping, while in the newspapers two stories warred: one which painted Sirius Black as the kidnapper and possible killer, and the other one which was attempting to drag Dumbledore’s name through the mud.

Clearing his mind, Severus began carefully preparing the first ingredients.


XxX


Harry woke to pain, that and an awkward cramped feeling in his entire body as he was jostled. Someone was carrying him, much like how one would carry a small child. He protested at the idea, but the pain was too much and all he could do was keep from crying out. Blinking his eyes open he was shocked to see that it was pitch black, he could see nothing.

“Harry? Harry you’re awake?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. His throat was dry, and his chest felt so heavy.

“Hold on, child, we’ll get you a healer, don’t worry.”

Harry could say nothing, closing his eyes again and wishing that the pain would go away. The jostling continued, whoever was holding him walking at a very brisk pace. Harry tried to stay awake, but it was impossible and he found himself drifting off in a sea of pain.


XxX


It took ten hours of nearly non-stop work to get the potion right, but considering some potions he had made, this one came together quickly. Standing in front of the rhenium cauldron, its color a strange turquoise, the metal reacting to the potion inside it, Severus stared down at the fluorescent colored mixture.

It would be ready to ingest in another five minutes. He pondered what would happen next. If it truly was Black, he would enjoy making the man suffer, but the idea that the boy was already dead was a strong possibility. Other possible perpetrators were other death eaters, ones still loyal like Lestrange and Crouch, yet they were still in Azkaban. Were there others who would and could take the boy? Voldemort had loved to play games, and keeping the identities of his servants hidden was one of them.

And if a death eater had taken the boy, what had they done to him? Was Harry Potter still Harry Potter? He’d seen the Longbottoms, and countless muggles, after their bouts with the cruciatus. A speck of grief had bloomed in chest in the last hours as he considered what he would find. There was also the matter of the evidence in the house which pointed at possible neglect, maybe more as Severus knew too well how easily those sorts of things could be hid. What would Lily say to it all?

He let out another heavy sigh and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. His summer had turned into a mess because of Potter, and by extension his own many past mistakes. The brat was only a target because of having supposedly defeated the Dark Lord, and Severus knew that that had been made possible by his own choices.

A soft humm issued throughout the room. Severus’ head came up. His timer, he could put his potion to the test. He drew a glass up and with a willow ladle he poured about 100mL in. He eyed it distastefully, remembering the instructions. He had to want to find Potter, and he had to have some sort of positive feelings in regards to the boy. His mind went to Lily, to her face, to the way her nose scrunched up when she laughed, care tossed to the wind and her entire body laughing with her. He smiled, letting himself forget that she was dead. Then he let the name Harry come to mind, thinking of how Lily would want her son safe.

He knocked back the potion and waited.

Several seconds passed before a warm tug in his navel pulled at him. He frowned, drawing his wand. It tugged again, soft but insistent. It seemed to want him to go somewhere. Severus glanced over at the snowy owl which was now watching him with sharp eyes. He approached her cage and unlatched it. The creature sprang out, hopping onto his arm and then moving to his shoulder. It nipped his ear, but not too hard, then it let out a cry.

Severus raised his wand, magic responding to the potion and telling him where to go. With an audible pop, they disappeared from the potions lab of Spinner’s End.


XxX


Professor Severus Snape reappeared in a place which was not familiar to him. Rolling plains, all nearly flat, stretched out in front of him. Turning, he saw hills which crested in rough rock. Large animals he didn’t recognize initially speckled the landscape. He blinked, they were chiru. Frowning, he realized that he was not in Great Britain anymore, nor anywhere near it.

The tug in his navel was still present, and he glanced at his companion. The owl was huddled on his shoulder, bright amber eyes wide and glinting. The thing looked shaken. Severus began walking, realizing that he couldn’t apparate closer. This potion would only take him so far, his relation to Harry Potter not strong enough to bring him all the way, and his temporary emotions already waning. As he continued in the direction of the tug, it grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared.

He stood there, staring at the rough crests of rock which seemed to capriciously sprout from the ground. Then he looked at his charge. The owl clicked her beak and let out a soft hoot. She blinked. All her aggression from earlier seemed to have dissipated. Mercurial passerine, Severus thought to himself.

“Where is he?” Severus whispered softly.

The bird blinked again before her head swivelled away. She spread her wings and hopped to his forearm. Sensing what she wanted, he threw his arm up and watched her shoot up into the sky. The snowy owl spread her wings and coasted before letting out a raucous cry and beginning to advance in a certain direction. Severus followed.

Minutes slipped by, the owl circling back every so often so as to not lose him, and eventually they came to a hill. They came to the top, and the view of a small valley was revealed, a small grouping of yurts was sprawled about fifty meters from Severus, and several qianlima. The large, black beasts -scales glittering in the sun- were wandering quite innocently around the area, and one was munching on the corpse of a chiru. Though quite similar to horses, they were a foot taller and had scales which covered their entire body.

Drawing his wand, Severus carefully edged closer. As he reached the encampment, one of the horses snorted softly, lifting its head to look at him. Severus froze, unsure if the beast would attack. It knickered quietly and turned its head away. Severus frowned, magical creatures were usually particular about who they let near them, they weren’t this friendly unless they knew the witch or wizard. It wouldn’t do to waste time on it for now, he needed to get to Potter and then get out of there.

“Point me Potter,” he said softly, flourishing his wand.

A small light burst from the end and flew away from him. It paused above the entrance of one of the yurts. Severus advanced, wand held tight and his breath steady.

Raising his hand, he pulled the cloth entrance aside. Inside the yurt was lighted by a few large orbs of light which looked like small creatures, like scaleless wyrms dancing in circles. Severus did not know what they were. Below these were three figures, one was clearly Potter, the child layed out, asleep or unconscious, and looking very ill.

There were two figures kneeling next to the boy, one of them gently pushing the boy’s hair back. The hand, dressed in rings and a bracelet, was oddly familiar, however this person’s back was completely to Severus. The other was an old woman who was only partially turned, and her grey hair fell loosely about her shoulders.

“He will recover in a few more days time, but his eyes, you need magic I don’t have,” the woman said.

Severus felt his brain freeze at the next statement.

“Thank you, Lorna.”

The voice was Severus’ own. The figure drew their hand back and straightened, they began to get up and as they turned, Severus saw himself rise. His brain ran through the slim possibilities that he knew of and settled on the only feasible one. Someone had taken polyjuice and was currently impersonating him.

Without wasting a moment, Severus spat out a curse. Red light illuminated the yurt, the light creatures screeching and flying up. The structure collapsed and the next few moments turned into chaos. Throwing himself forward, Severus ignored the walls of the structure which were quickly falling inward, his eyes only on Potter’s form. He was sidelined, a body plowing into his own and bringing him to the ground.

Hands struck out, the cloth having fallen and obscured everything, Severus struck back, floundering for his wand which he had dropped. A harshly whispered spell brought it to his hands, flourishing it, the constricting fabric turned into a thick swarm of moths. They beat against his face, so thick he could barely see, but they were quickly thinning.

Standing several feet away, his doppelganger stood, Potter draped in his arms. His own coal black eyes stared back at him and Severus felt the overwhelming prescience that this was not the effects of polyjuice. His pause cost him.

He raised his wand, but the old woman had reappeared, a sharp whistle issuing from her. The qianlima let out a roaring screech, and Severus had to quickly dodge out of the way as one threw itself at him, needle like teeth barely missing him. There was a brilliant flash of light and Potter and Severus’ double disappeared.

Severus dodged out of the way of another qianlima, and with a half second’s thought whipped his wand up, disappearing with a loud pop.

He landed a hundred meters away, gasping for breath after the tumultuous confrontation. The screech of the snowy white owl caused him to look up and see Potter’s bird descending. His eyes turned to where the qianlima were still rampaging in their search of him, the old woman standing in the center of it.

Severus let himself catch his breath, the owl landing on his shoulder. His mind was racing through the facts. If it was polyjuice, he had few means of tracking the impostor. But, if it was something else, tracking himself would be easier.