Severus carefully leveraged himself from the side of the trunk onto the branch Potter was currently on. It was more than wide enough for them both to stand on, and judging by the weight of vines and plants covering it—not to mention the animals he currently couldn’t see but were no doubt present—their weight was hardly going to prove an issue. He moved down the branch, testing his footing as he went. That would be perfect, I make it up to this ridiculous height safely only to trip and go crashing to my death. The climb hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared, truly…he’d been uncertain whether they should just fly up and not even make the attempt, but with the magical signature they’d put out last night, he didn’t want to draw any more attention to them than was absolutely necessary. Potter hadn’t objected, and in fact had made the climb considerably more easily than he had. “You probably have to deal with more daunting obstacles than this on a regular basis in your illicit nighttime escapades,” he commented snidely, stopping again to survey the area.

“I have to sneak past you, don’t I?” came the immediate response, just as snappish as his words had been.

What! He spun quickly and found the boy staring up at him, eyes wide and one hand clapped over his mouth. He took a step towards to boy, deliberately looming over him. “Excuse me?”

“Um….” The boy took a step back, glancing around wildly for a moment. “I said ‘I have to…eat…fast food…sometimes’. I have to eat fast food sometimes. It’s not healthy, just like climbing giant trees. Right.”

“Indeed.” The boy blushed even harder at his raised eyebrow. “Well, I would suggest you keep your fast food—” What is ‘fast food’, anyway? I don’t believe muggles normally chase down their dinners. “—comments to yourself. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, Professor.”

Severus turned around before his smirk could twist into a true grin, albeit a small one. The ‘sneaking past you’ comment hadn’t been a bad comeback—for a Gryffindor—and while he wasn’t about to tolerate disrespect from the brat he suspected that his own response had been enough to encourage him to watch his mouth in the future. Fortunately Potter was one of the smallest of the fifth-years…the over six-foot potions master could easily use his height to intimidate. Unfortunately, the talk of food, fast or otherwise, made his stomach grumble, and it sounded as though Potter’s was doing the same. A glance at the surrounding fauna—it was certainly much more colorful up here than it had been on the floor—revealed two or three varieties he thought were probably not poisonous. Whether or not they tasted good was an entirely different story, but there were more pressing concerns than flavoring. He picked one of the larger leaves and bit into it. It was bitter—no surprise there—but the cool liquid in the veins made him realize just how long it had been since he’d had anything to drink. “Mr. Potter, I believe these will make an adequate breakfast.”

Potter came up beside him, plucking one of the leaves for himself and taking a large bite. And promptly spit it right back out. “Ugh, it tastes like rotten skel-e-grow!”

“I suppose you would know. However, you will need the nourishment, so I suggest you find a way to deal with it. I will attempt to determine what other plants are edible.” He was able to find two more that definitely were not poisonous, and half-a-dozen others he was fairly sure weren’t but wasn’t willing to risk his stomach contents, such as they were, attempting. Potter was still working on the first plant—apparently empty stomachs override taste buds. Severus pulled a few leaves from the other two and moved to join hiim. “These are considerably less sour.”

The boy took one of each with a nod of thanks, offering part of the pile he’d picked in return. “How can you tell which ones aren’t poisonous?”

Reasonable enough, I suppose. “All three of these are fairly common, even in semitropical regions. Those two are potions ingredients, and this one is often used as a reactive agent in some of the more difficult potions. Professor Sprout has a small supply for me in her greenhouse.”

“Oh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

“I doubt you’ve looked.” They finished what passed for their meal in silence, ending with the sweetest of the three leaves. Even if it did leave a funny aftertaste.

“So today we figure out where we are and which way we want to go? How long do you think it will take? They’ll be getting worried at Hogwarts.”

“I am aware of that, Mr. Potter. We won’t know until we can determine our current location. Depending on precisely where in the jungle we are, I suspect our best bet will be to head for the river. There are tribes that boat along it that might be willing to provide us with transportation to some kind of settlement with a wizarding population.” Granted I have no idea how we will explain our clothing or current predicament to said tribesmen, assuming they are even vaguely familiar with the English language, but we certainly aren’t going to be able to march out of the Amazon on our own.

“But first we have to find the river.”

“Obviously.” He glanced back at the tree trunk behind them. “I’m going to climb higher and see if I can’t see something beyond the canopy. You wait here.”

“I…are you sure?”

“The branches are bound to get smaller the higher I climb.”

“I’m lighter than you, and I climb faster.”

“And I believe I am the one in charge. You will remain here. If you wish to make yourself useful, gather some of the edible leaves to take with us when we start traveling.”

He turned and walked past the boy, giving him no more time to argue. In truth, he wasn’t particularly looking forward to climbing any higher himself…he had no particular fear of heights, but memories of climbing trees held no fondness for him and climbing a tree so high that a fall would almost certainly kill him didn’t improve the situation. Potter seemed to be obeying—for once—so he set his feet and began the ascent. When he’d gone as high as he dared, he found that while he couldn’t truly see over the rest of the trees, he could make out a general pattern in their growth. Mountains were rising up in the distance, and combined with the position of the sun….The Amazon River should be that way, I think…north. And in the distance it did look as though the trees were getting slightly larger. The closer you are to water, the bigger things get. North it will be. He began making his way back down the trunk carefully—it was much harder than going up, since he had to look down to place his feet. His right foot slipped on a patch of moss in the toehold he’d selected, and even as he shifted more weight to his arms to compensate he felt a surge of pain through the dark mark.

Not now…. The nerves in his fingers flared and he lost his grip with that hand. In his desperation to find a niche for his hanging foot until the current wave of pain passed, he accidentally dislodged his left foot as well, leaving all of his weight on one good arm, legs pinwheeling below. He made a grab for his broom with his free hand, but the surges of pain made it as difficult to grip his broom as it was to grip the bark of the tree and he couldn’t tug it free of the back straps. His good arm began to burn as well—from the fact that all of his weight was on it—and he wasn’t sure how long his fingers could maintain their grip. If he could just get a moment to concentrate he could apparate—another surge of pain and his entire body convulsed. You’d think being on the other side of the planet would at least lessen the pain! Apparently the Dark Lord was truly angry…usually he gave his followers a few moments to reach him before increasing the power of his summons. Either he was in a worse mood than usual, or he had some new ‘fun’ planned that he wanted his followers to engage in. Often the results were the same, regardless.

Severus heard the ‘crack’ about the same time he felt himself begin to fall…apparently the bark chunk hadn’t been able to withstand the jerks of his body. This time it was his good arm—the one that wasn’t currently spasming—that reached for his broom as he fell, jerking it free and managing to get into a reasonable facsimile of a riding position. Which he was promptly tossed out of as the broom took a sharp veer at the same time Voldemort made another call.

“Professor!”

He didn’t have much time to process the scream, as there was a large tree trunk approaching quickly and in his current position—hanging from his broom by one hand—he could hardly steer away from it. Then something was pulling on the back of his cloak, and he was slowing as he approached the tree. Almost…almost… “Oomph.”

A smaller figure pinned him against the trunk for a moment, and then he was falling again. For a moment, anyway. He was brought to a halt by his cloak. “Professor, are you okay?”

“Potter?” he glanced up, to find the boy above him, hanging more or less upside down on his broom. He was holding onto the shaft with both knees and one arm, his other hand tangled in Severus’ robe. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to keep you from getting your neck broken!” the infuriating boy shot back. He yelped at the same time as another spasm of pain shot from the dark mark through Severus’ body. “Why is he so mad?”

“You can feel—never mind, get us on the ground!” He felt them jerk a little lower, and then halt, and then drop again. He tried to frown up at the boy but doubted that it had much of an effect from this position. “I thought you said your broom was undamaged.”

“It is, but I don’t usually fly upside down with someone twice as big as me hanging from my arm…can you maybe grab onto me?”

“What? Why?”

“My fingers are going kind of numb, and I don’t want to drop you. If you were hanging on too, it would be harder to do that.”

Holding himself as calmly as possible, Severus reached up with both hands. One hand closed around Potter’s wrist, the other reaching up farther in an attempt to grab the broom shaft. He’d barely managed to grasp it when the broom dropped another ten feet sharply. “Perhaps not. All right, Mr. Potter, I’m holding on to you. Bring us to the ground, please.”

“Working on it.”

The trip down was slightly nerve-wracking…from the position Potter was in, the bring-me-down signals he normally gave to his broom would actually make it veer up, so he was forced to invert them as they flew, and although his white-knuckled grip on Severus’ arm never released, from the look on his face he was in a great deal of pain. At least the Dark Lord had apparently given up on his summons…what he would do the next time Severus did grace his presence didn’t bear thinking on—‘You sent me to Brazil with the brat destined to destroy you’ isn’t, perhaps the excuse I should make—but for now he’d take what reprieve he could. At six feet above the ground he released his hold, bending his knees to take the brunt of his landing.

“Ow!”

Severus hung in the air, brought up short by the grip on his cloak. “Let go, you dolt!”

“I c-can’t.”

A moment later his feet finally touched down, and Potter fell from his broom beside him. The broom fell on top of him. “What do you mean, you can’t let go?” Potter still had a grip on the center of his cloak, the cloth twisted around the boy’s fist. “Is it knotted?”

“No, my hand just won’t let go!”

With a frown, he unsnapped his cloak and turned to see what the boy was going on about. “Ah. You will be fine.” The muscles in his arm, forced to support far more weight than they normally would, had cramped. Rather severely, from the look of it. He was flexing his left hand rather warily as well, but he’d had his knees for support on his broom and it hadn’t cramped so badly. “Sit down.” He took a seat in front of the boy, rubbing carefully at the muscles of his forearm.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, your muscles are just a tense. They’ll release momentarily. Now, how did you know the Dark Lord was calling?”

Potter stared at the arm Severus was massaging for a moment, and then shrugged. “I feel it…in my scar. Sometimes I can see them.”

“See who? The Deatheaters?”

“The meetings…it’s like I’m there…like I’m him. In him, anyway…I can feel the things he does sometimes.”

“What things?”

“The Cruciatus, mostly. Imperious kind of itches, but it doesn’t really bother me, and Avada Kedavra doesn’t feel like much of anyth—” he hissed as Severus began to peel his fingers away from the cloak.

“Imperious itches?” Severus had to ask. The spell was annoying, certainly, although not a serious threat to him or any other strong-willed witch or wizard, but he’d never heard it described as ‘itchy’ before. And it was far easier to think about that than a fifteen year old regularly bearing the Cruciatus.

“Inside my head, yeah.” He flexed his fingers slowly as Severus released his arm. “That’s a lot better. Thanks.”

Damn the brat for making me feel guilty. And I’m not even the one who casts the damn curse! “I believe I owe you the same,” he acknowledged gruffly, trying not to think of the atrocities the boy quite possibly had seen him carry out in the past several months.

Potter shrugged. “If anything happens to you, I’ll probably be stuck here for forever. And I’ll starve.”

“At least you have your priorities straight,” Severus muttered. “Your other hand?”

“It’s all right, just a little scraped. Are you okay? Your head is kind of bleeding.” The boy reached out.

He pulled back immediately, reaching up to examine his forehead himself. There was a shallow scrape along his temple…probably from when his broom tossed him into the tree trunk. “Head wounds bleed abominably. This is just a scratch.” I’d feel better if I was certain that it hadn’t aggravated whatever happened to my head upon landing in this place, but there is no point in complaining. Even assuming there was a useful spell, I wouldn’t let Potter work magic on me if my skull were truly split in half. “Did you see where my broom went?”

“You’re going to try and use it again?”

“It wasn’t the broom’s fault, at least not in its entirety. The Dark Lord has remarkably inconvenient timing. Tell me, do you see every meeting, or only what you chose to see?”

“I don’t choose any of it!”

“My pardon, that was perhaps bad phrasing. Are you able to block the meetings from your mind?” If he could, do you think he’d willingly submit himself to the Cruciatus? I wonder if stupidity is catching…

Potter didn’t seem to see the idiocy in the question, however. “I wish. I mostly only see when he’s really mad, though, or when he’s thinking about me specifically. Unless I’m asleep…then if there’s a meeting I’m always there. I guess he wasn’t really mad right now…I’m not seeing anything.”

“Occasionally he decides that he requires all of our presences even when there is nothing he specifically wants done,” Severus found himself offering, in place of the fact that the Dark Lord wasn’t always angry when he called his followers. No point in telling the boy about the ‘games’ the creature enjoyed playing with the muggles—and occasionally wizards—his followers brought him if he didn’t already know. “It was likely one of those nights.”

Potter shrugged but didn’t look entirely convinced. “There’s your broom. I don’t think it’s fixable this time, though.”

Severus stood, moving to retrieve it. Cracked through…there’s no way this will ever remain airborne again. “Check your own.”

“More scratches, other than that it’s okay.”

“That’s something, I suppose.” He turned, surveying the area. “Well, before my airborne jaunt, I managed to figure out that the river is to our north, and probably not more than a day or two’s walk.”

“That’s great! Did you see any people?” He paled slightly at the look Severus shot him. “Okay, I guess that was kind of a stupid question.”

There was no point in dignifying that with a response…but unfortunately after the idiotic question he’d just asked he didn’t feel justified pursuing the issue. “Shall we go?”

Potter glanced up at the branch above their heads. “I, um…I collected a bunch of leaves and stuff, but they’re sort of still up there…”

Severus sighed. I can hardly fault the brat for that…and having food immediately on hand would be wise. “I suppose there is enough magic in the area, a bit more is hardly going to cause a stir. Go get your supplies.”

A bright grin flashed in his direction. “Yes, sir.” He jumped on his broom, and a moment later dove back down with a pile of leaves tied together with string from his cloak clutched under one arm. “This is everything. Um…which way is north?”

“This way.” Again their walk was spent mostly in silence…they munched leaves for lunch while walking and stopped when it started to get dark again.

“Are we going to walk through the night?”

From his tone, the idea didn’t appeal to the boy very much. “I would rather find a relatively safe place to spend the night and get some sleep,” Severus found himself admitting. “There are likely to be predators near the river, and we would be better off if we were both alert.”

“What about Leithfolds?”

“I don’t plan to sleep on the forest floor, in any case, but I would propose that we sleep in shifts, one keeping watch while the other rests.”

Potter nodded. “Up in the canopy?”

“Unless you can levitate.” He glanced up at the branches in the surrounding trees, finding one that had a fork and a branch just below it. “That looks suitable.”

The boy didn’t respond, already starting his ascent. Severus followed more slowly, aware that he no longer had any secondary means of support if he fell. They’d left his broom behind, hoping the magic bleeding slowly from it would draw any creatures in the area off their trail—not that we’ve done particularly well in terms of avoiding magic use anyway—but considering his last experience in tree-climbing, he almost wished they’d brought it along. When he reached the fork, he found Potter already leaning against one of the split trunks, rubbing his palms together, his broom resting in the crook. “Are you injured?”

“I’m okay, just kind of stiff.” He unlooped the tie holding the remaining leaves to his arm. “Do you want some?”

At this point I would prefer Albus’ lemon drops, Severus admitted, if only to himself… two of the types were genuinely bad-tasting, the third would have been acceptable except for the aftertaste that lasted for hours. I suppose I should be grateful that there is enough in my stomach to complain about, but…. He reached out and selected one of the watery bitter ones. “Are you planning to eat?”

“I’m not…it’s not usually a good idea if I’m going to sleep afterwards. Do you want to sleep now and I’ll watch, or do you want to stay up first?”

“Go ahead and rest,” he answered a moment later. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.” Settling himself more comfortably against the fork opposite the boy, he watched as Potter drew his knees up and his cloak around him, resting his head on his forearms. Darkness came swiftly, and before long his vision was again reduced to only a few clear feet in any direction. It was a little better now that they were up in the trees; more moonlight was filtering through, but not much more. After running through a mental checklist of every potions ingredient he had back in his storeroom at Hogwarts, he walked a short distance out on the branch just under the fork. There wasn’t much to see and he returned immediately at a quiet whimpering sound. “You, Mr. Potter, annoy me,” he considered absently, staring down at the twitching figure. He got no response, aside from a slightly more violent twitch he didn’t believe he could actually take credit for. “Mr. Potter,” he repeated a little louder.

“S-stop it, get ‘way from her. Get back!” Another violent jerk.

“Mr. Potter!” Severus knelt, shaking the boy. And promptly reeled backwards as a fist struck him in the eye. That brat! “Potter!”

“Huh? P-Professor Snape? What—? Where—?” His mind apparently caught up with him at that point, because he stopped trying to move backwards. “I…oops?”

Severus ceased probing at his now-swelling eyelid. “I would say so.”

“’M sorry, Professor, honest, I didn’t mean to…it was an accident. I was having a nightmare and—”

“Enough, Mr. Potter! I am aware you were having a nightmare, and while I might not have particularly enjoyed your method of dealing with a perceived threat, I can understand it.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“My answer may change if I find that my eye is going to swell completely shut, however at this moment I am no more than mildly annoyed. Was that an average run-of-the-mill nightmare, or one of your visions of the Dark Lord?”

“Just a normal nightmare…Ginny and the basilisk. I guess whatever Voldemort was doing earlier he’s finished with—believe me, if it had been him half the forest would know by now.”

Severus ignored the second part of his statement. “Do not use that name in my presence.”

“But Professor Dumbl…um, yes, sir.”

He allowed his expression to relax slightly, point having been made. “Ginny and the basilisk? I assume you are referring to that fiasco with the Chamber of Secrets in your second year?” He sat back down across from the boy.

“Yeah. She was just lying on the ground, almost dead…” he shivered. “If it hadn’t been for Fawkes, we’d both have died there.”

“According to your admirers, you slayed the thing with one hand behind your back, banished Riddle with your eyes closed, and carried her out in your arms without a hair out of place.”

“Professor, have you ever seen me without a hair out of place?”

What! He’d been expecting anger—either at his tone or the dismissal of the brat’s ‘brave deeds’—not…that. With an uneasy feeling his jaw had dropped, he found himself studying the boy more closely. “So what is your version of the story?”

He shrugged. “Ron and I figured out the Chamber—how to get there—from Moaning Myrtle. She died in that bathroom…. I guess we should have figured it out before then. Hermione tried to warn us, but then she got petrified, and we aren’t as good as puzzles at her. Lockhart was with us at the time—”

“Bloody idiot,” Severus muttered. Granted, he knew why Dumbledore wasn’t able to grant him the position of DADA teacher, but couldn’t he find someone even vaguely competent to teach it? So far his best selection had been a werewolf!

“Among other things,” Potter agreed. “You know, no offense, but I think that’s the only time since I’ve been at the school that absolutely everyone liked you.”

Liked me? The hated potions professor? Even my Slytherins aren’t always particularly fond of me. Frankly, the ‘overgrown bat’ image was something he cultivated—his passion was research, not teaching, although he did take some pride in being head of house. But, generally, the fewer the children seeking him out for help the better. “What are you talking about?”

“When you blasted him off that dueling platform.” Teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “That was brilliant. But anyway, when Ron and I found him, he was trying to run away. We sort of dragged him to the entrance and pushed him down it first.”

“Hm. At least you found the one area where he could be useful—a target.” He’d rather liked to have seen that, actually. He had enjoyed tossing the man off the platform…it would have been even more enjoyable to put him in the infirmary for a week or two, but he didn’t think the headmaster would believe him if he claimed to have underestimated his own strength.

“Well, Ron and I went after him, but when we got there he managed to steal Ron’s wand. He tried to obliviate us…he was going to make up a story about him being a great hero and discovering the chamber but being too late to save Ginny and Ron and I losing our minds when we found her….” He shook his head. “It sounded even stupider when he said it, believe it or not. And he used Ron’s broken wand—the one that made him spit slugs when he tried to hex Malfoy—and the spell backfired. Pretty neat, actually, except there was a cave-in when he hit the wall. I told Ron to try and clear out the blockage at least enough that we could crawl back out, and then I went on by myself.”

“Into a situation you knew basically nothing about except that you would be facing a creature that had already killed at least once and petrified several members of the student body.” And once again, I find myself amazed that this bloody idiot has survived as long as he has.

“Yeah, I guess we should have called for help when we found the entrance, but….” He shrugged. “It was probably just as well we didn’t…everything had to be activated by Parseltongue and since no one would have let me down there you’d never have gotten in. I ended up in this hall…there was water surrounding it, and these huge statues of snake heads. It was pretty creepy, and I don’t usually mind snakes.”

“I would hope not, considering that particular talent of yours.”

He didn’t appear to hear Severus’ words. “Ginny was just lying there. Tom Riddle was there, too. I’d found his diary in the Myrtle’s bathroom after Ginny threw it away—I guess you know he possessed her through it? I didn’t…I didn’t know what he was, then. I kept asking him to help me save her. He got my wand, and then he started talking.” This time the shiver was more pronounced. “When he said something about carrying out Salazar Slytherin’s greatest work I started to realize what a mess I was in, and then he said how he didn’t care about mudbloods anymore…he wrote out his name and it rearranged itself. ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle…I am Lord Voldemort.’

Severus allowed himself a frown at the boy’s use of the Dark Lord’s name but didn’t correct him. This time.

“We got into an argument about Dumbledore, and then Fawkes was there with the hat. I thought he’d gone nuts—so did Tom. That’s when he called up the basilisk. It was huge…we had figured out what was going to be there—we aren’t completely stupid—but…even after seeing the skin I didn’t figure on it being that big. I tried to run, but I fell, and then Fawkes was there again. He blinded it for me. After some running and some hiding I ended up back in the Chamber. I…I needed help, badly, and this sword appeared in the hat.”

“Gryffindor’s sword, I presume?” Dumbledore had been so pleased that his Golden Boy was the heir to his house.

“Yeah, but I didn’t find that out until later. It was a sharp object, which was all I really cared about at the time. The basilisk got me pinned down on top of this statue thing—another snake head, wouldn’t you know?—and then it was coming straight down at me. One of the earlier hits knocked the sword out of my hand, and I didn’t have time to think. I just grabbed it and stabbed up. The sword went right through the top of its skull.”

“And Riddle?”

“I…one of the basilisk fangs broke off in my arm. I pulled it out, but I was still carrying it when I went down to see Ginny. She was so pale…so pale and so cold…. And then Riddle was back. He said she’d be dead soon. He said I’d be dead soon. But the diary was right there, so I stabbed it with that stupid fang. I…it made sense at the time. He was just a memory, held in that stupid book, so kill the book, and…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I stabbed it over, and over, and over. And he broke apart, right there in front of me. That’s when Ginny woke up.”

“How did you survive being bitten by a basilisk?” The fangs carried some of the most venomous poison known to the wizarding world.

“Oh, that was Fawkes again. Phoenix tears. And then he carried the four of us out—me, and Ginny and Ron and Lockhart.”

“You couldn’t have left him there? Lockhart, I mean”

“He didn’t remember anything…it was actually kind of funny.” Potter shrugged. “That’s the whole story, I guess. I never get that far in the dream though…just to the point where Tom is standing there twirling my wand and telling me how Ginny is going to die, and she’s just lying there, and the stone is opening and that stupid basilisk is coming through…”

“You have this dream regularly?”

“Often enough.” He reached out to select one of the remaining leaves. “I guess it’s your turn to sleep, I won’t be able to anymore tonight.”

Severus frowned. “You’ve gotten less than four hours of sleep.”

“It’s okay, Professor, I’m used to it.”

“How often do you normally have these dreams?”

“Not all the time. It’s not too bad; I can usually take a nap during the day to make up whatever sleep I missed.”

“I don’t believe that answered my question.” He wasn’t even sure why he was asking at this point. I do not care what nightmares Gryffindor’s Golden Boy is suffering from…he should have them, considering the situations he puts himself in. If he’d just behave…. The words sounded hollower than they should have. “Fine, but don’t expect to be taking naps tomorrow to make up for your obstinacy. And do not fall asleep on watch. Wake me when it’s light.” Assuming I manage to sleep that long. The brat isn’t the only one who’s nights are plagued with things better forgotten.

He was apparently more tired than he thought, though, eyes drifting shut almost as soon as his forehead landed on his forearms. “—essor? Professor Snape, wake up.”

In Merlin’s name, what is a student doing in my chambers? Detention for a month, and so help me Albus, if this was your id— He lifted his head, taking note of his strange sleeping position, and memories returned quickly. “What is it, Mr. Potter?”

“It’s morning…”

“I can see that.” He stood, thirty-odd year old muscles protesting the position he’d left them in last night. “I suppose we should get moving…is there any food left?”

“A couple leaves. And I found these.” He held out a round fruit. “There were a bunch of them growing, but I haven’t tried any yet.”

A sign of common sense, at last. “I believe these are figs. They should be perfectly safe.” He took one and began eating, his movements mimicked by the boy who’d set the rest on the branch.

“Do we know for sure that it’s the Amazon River we’re going to get to today?”

“Not for certain, no…it’s possible that it is a tributary or another smaller river, but even so we stand the best chance of discovery by staying on the water. And as long as we follow it downstream, we can’t possibly go in circles. Show me where you found these figs.” If there are enough of them, we need not force more of those leaves down today.

The second day of walking commenced and as in previous days was mostly spent in silence. Frankly, Severus was astonished that the teenager could keep his mouth shut for that long. But a few hours after they had eaten lunch—both now sported a bundle of figs tied into their cloaks—and a few hours before darkness would set in, they fought their way through one last tangle of brush to stand on the banks of a wide river. “Are you sure that’s a river and not the ocean?” Potter asked quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course it’s a river; you can make out the trees on the other side.”

“I didn’t know it was that wide.”

“If I remember correctly, there is an island approximately the size of Switzerland somewhere in this river, so perhaps three miles is not so wide in comparison.”

The boy looked up at him. “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I am joking? Now, I’m not certain where you picked up your habits of personal hygiene, but I am not accustomed to going multiple days without bathing.” His hair might have picked up a permanently greasy look and his skin pale and pocketed, but both conditions were due to the dungeon conditions and the fumes from his potions, not uncleanliness on his part. As the students—and a few of the other professors—seemed to assume. As if I could afford to have oils on my hands while working with volatile substances—or getting hair in a potion. Idiots. “As we have this rather large body of water in front of us, I would like to take advantage of it before we continue on.”

Potter looked at the water dubiously as he shrugged off his broom and cloak. “Aren’t there those biting kinds of fish here, though? Piranhas? Dudley used to make up these awful stories…”

“The area looks deserted enough,” Severus returned after a moment, tossing a stone into the water to see if anything responded with interest. “I would think we will be safe enough. If you see any small fish with large teeth approaching, get back on the bank.”

“Right.”