Potter didn’t respond, and Severus was unwilling to reach out to shake him or do anything else that might cause him to lose his balance. Besides which, in order to shake the brat he would have to let go of the branch with one hand and that he just wasn’t willing to do. “Harry!” He tried to bring his leg up and find a foothold again, and once again couldn’t get purchase. Whenever we get out of this mess, I am going to buy a nice pair of house shoes. Because his boots just weren’t working in this situation. Swinging sideways and trying to get a knee up onto the branch didn’t work either, and trying nearly made him lose his grip in the process. “Potter, snap out of it! Listen to me!” Again, no response. He was tempted to glance down and see what the wyrsa were doing now, but judging by the ease with which they had entrapped him before that would likely be the last decision he would get to make. If I could just get a grip a bit farther up…. He certainly wasn’t in bad shape, not with what he had to go through to get some of the ingredients required for his potions, but the lack of normal nutrition over the past few days—few months, if he was honest since between the Order, Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord he tended to take meals on the run—and less than ideal sleeping conditions meant his body wasn’t responding as promptly as it should have. He gave a hard pull, and managed to shift his right hand to a nob a few inches farther around the branch. One knee, that’s all I need. “Potter! Answer me! Look at me!”

He shook his head, trying to figure out what would get the boy’s attention. “Fire! Snake!” What am I thinking? He likes snakes. “Quidditch practice!” None of them garnered so much as a twitch. He isn’t even hearing me any more—I need to get up on this branch before he dives off the edge. “Harry!” A cry that sounded like a child in pain from below drew his attention, and he nearly looked down at the swirling mass before he caught himself. Clever monsters. “HARRY! Don’t you dare!” The boy had inched a bit closer to the edge, and the longing in his face was decidedly disturbing. Sweet Merlin, there’s no way I’ll be able to catch him….

Muscles clenched, and he swung as hard as he could to his left, barely able to catch one foot over the top of the branch. Almost there…. “Potter, stay where you are!” After a moment’s uncertainty when his cloak caught on the underside of the branch and made a valiant attempt to choke him, he managed to scramble back onto the top of the branch. Potter was leaning farther now…it was amazing he’d kept his balance so lon—“No!” Snape grabbed the back of his cloak and jerked him away from the edge a second before the boy would have tumbled into empty air. Both fell back, fortunately along the length of the branch where the solid wood could support them. Severus was breathing heavily from the exertion, while Potter blinked in confusion.

“P-professor?” Potter looked up at him, dazed. “What happened? One minute we were walking along, and then I saw something down on the ground, and….” He turned to look over the edge and yelped as Severus grabbed him by the neck of his cloak and yanked him back around. “Ow! What was that for?”

“My sanity. I believe we can say with some certainty that the white wyrsa are not extinct. They had you mesmerized, and me as well for a short time.” He shook his head as the boy twisted around again. “I am aware that this is a great deal for your little brain to take in, so I will make this simple—don’t look at them! Honestly, did you not hear what I just said? You very nearly became the boy-who-was-smashed-to-pieces-after-a-100-foot-fall.”

“What? Oh. Hey, what happened to your hands, they’re all scratched up?”

He glanced down and realized that the boy was right—there were several bleeding gashes in both palms and his arms didn’t look much better. “The wyrsa nearly had me joining them as well—if I hadn’t broken eye contact when I started to fall I would be dead now.”

“So not only can we not climb down, we can’t look down anymore either. Great.”

“That is how it appears. Although we both returned to normal as soon as we stopped watching them, so as long as we are alert to each others’ behaviors we should be fine.”

Potter nodded at that. “I wonder how they do that…know how to move so it puts people in a trance. It’s kind of cool.”

“And particularly ‘cool’ is the part in which they send us plummeting to our deaths and then proceed to pick over our remains for dinner.”

“Well, except that part. You think that’s why the other wyrsa left?”

“Most probably. I don’t know anything specific about wyrsa behavior, but most wild animal packs don’t care for other predators coming into their territory. I suppose if we keep walking we’ll eventually walk out of this pack’s territory as well. I was going to suggest that we stop for the night in the next hour or two, but perhaps we had better walk until the sun sets. In the dark we won’t have to worry about seeing them when we look down. Are you able to continue?”

The boy nodded at that and stood slowly. “Yeah, I think I’ll be all right. What about your hands?”

Severus sighed. As much as he’d prefer to forget about the experience, a couple of them were deep enough to get infected if he didn’t clean them out and cover them now. He’d collected some rainwater in his ingredient jars the night before…not a lot, but probably enough to do a decent job of cleaning out the cuts. Unfortunately, with injuries on both hands, he was going to need help. Potter seemed to realize that as well, dropping back down to kneel in front of him. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“I know how to clean scrapes. Can I use your knife? I can cut a few more pieces out of my sweater for a washcloth and bandages.”

Severus passed it over without comment, and the green sweater lost another few inches along the hem. “Molly will be most disappointed.”

“Nah, this is the one she made me second year and it was getting a little small anyway. I like the one from third year best.”

“What does that one have on it?” The one that was being slowly turned into scrap bore what he thought was a stylized Quidditch pitch.

“A lion.”

“Of course, what was I thinking? Dare I ask what your sweater from last year had on it?”

“A dragon.”

He wasn’t entirely certain that was the wisest image to send to a child that had nearly been devoured by one of the things—would have been if he wasn’t so good on a broom—but then he wasn’t an expert on child psychology either. Little idiot probably sees it as a badge of honor or something.

“I don’t wear that one very much.”

Or not. “May I ask why?” Potter tied off the bandage on his left arm while Severus wrapped his palm.

“That thing just about took my head off more than once—for weeks afterwards every time I was outside I ducked whenever a shadow passed over my head. And that’s when Ron was mad at me…thought I entered the stupid tournament on purpose. Like I wanted more attention.” He shook his head and reached for Severus’ other wrist. “Ouch, what did you catch this on?”

“I’m not sure…I was a bit more concerned with preventing a hundred-foot fall.” It was a rather ugly gash all things considered…deeper than the others and with bits of bark still inside. “Give me that.” He took the cloth from the boy, dipping it in the remaining water and beginning to scrub out the gash. It wasn’t pleasant, but hardly the worst thing he’d ever dealt with, and before long they were moving again. Both of them were carefully keeping their eyes fixed on the trunks rising up in front of them rather than the shapes passing below.

“Professor?”

Maybe it would have been better if the wyrsa had kept him hypnotized a bit longer—at least then he could haul the boy along without having to listen to him. “What do you want now? We seem to have exhausted your knowledge of both potions and defense—limited as it is—and included more than a bit of herbology. Neither transfiguration nor charms are my specialties, I refuse to discuss magical creatures on the grounds that we’ve had too much practical experience lately, and I don’t believe you’ve taken ancient runes or arithmancy. The only things that remain to discuss are flying which I believe you’ve mastered, muggle studies at which you’re probably more knowledgeable than I am, and the history of magic. Which, judging by the exploits of you and Mr. Malfoy recently, is hardly worth wasting either of our time on.”

“What about astronomy and divination?”

“An interesting way to spend an evening but hardly practical when we can’t even see the sky, and utter rubbish.” I swear, if that woman predicts my death one more time…. Bad enough when I was just beginning to teach, but you would think the fact that I’ve managed to keep myself alive in the intervening years would be enough to give her pause in predicting any more gruesome endings.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d stop telling me that I was going to die every other day. I think she must stay up nights coming up with new and creative ways to kill me.”

Albus did mention that Potter was her choice of students fated to meet an unpleasant ending this year. “Why did you select is as one of your courses then?”

“We figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some idea of what was in our futures. By the time I figured out how bad it was it was too late to change—Hermione could probably walk into a class halfway through and still manage to get the highest marks on the final, but I sure can’t. And since I didn’t start out with any extra classes…” he shrugged.

“What would you select if you could choose again?” he found himself asking reluctantly.

“Ancient runes, I think. It looks complicated, but not as bad as arithmancy, and I like languages. It was what I was thinking about taking before Ron mentioned divination.”

“Do you speak languages other than English and Latin?”

“Just the basics of French and Spanish they taught us at my primary school. And I’m not really very good at Latin—I never heard it until I got here. Mostly I used to look up words.”

“You expect me to believe that you willingly spent time reading a dictionary?” That was about as likely as Filch deciding to throw the students a welcome back party after the summer break.

“They weren’t real dictionaries, just the little travel ones. The school was big on…what was it? ‘Expanding our horizons.’ Some of the stuff I learned to say was funny—‘I have lost my wallet. I have lost my passport. I have lost my faith in the human race.’ And the library was the last place Dudley and his friends were going to look for me.”

That Severus could relate to, although he wasn’t about to admit it. Finding Sirius Black—or James Potter, for that matter—entering the library without serious coercion involved would have required a miracle. “Despite the idiocy of the entire notion, you seem to have done well enough in divination in the past years. McGonagall has mentioned on occasion that your scores are generally acceptable.” Mostly when she was haranguing him about the treatment the boy received in his class, but Potter didn’t need to know that.

“Swear you won’t tell Trelawny?”

He was more than a little surprised that the boy seemed willing to confide in him, but then again, considering the subject... “Potter, if it was my choice I would go the rest of my life without seeing the woman, never mind having to speak to her.” Probably not the most appropriate thing to say in this situation—after all, he’d managed to refrain from directly insulting Umbridge—but…she told me to beware asparagus the last time I was forced to sit next to her at dinner, because apparently Mercury was affecting the growing cycle. As I recall, it wasn’t even being served at the time. “If I dropped dead every time she foretold it, I would be a medical miracle.”

Potter seemed to get more amusement out of that than it strictly deserved, but he did continue. “As long as you predict you’ll be entirely miserable, it’s easy enough to get good grades. Ron and I started making things up second year when the only real image we ever saw in a teacup was a Grim. It scared the heck out of me—I didn’t know who it was at the time, or even what it was. I’d only seen a big wolf-looking thing staring at me out of the bushes right before the Knight Bus came and a picture of one on a book about death omens.”

Severus vaguely remembered Albus saying something about the boy staying in Diagon Alley rather than at his relatives for the week before school began his third year, but since the man had had enough sense not to detail Severus to be one of the ones keeping an eye on the brat he hadn’t bothered to pay much attention. I was just glad I wasn’t going to have to run all over muggle London casting memory charms again, he remembered. What Potter and the Weasley boy had been thinking, using a flying car in full view of all the muggles on the street, he’d never figure out. Especially since he’s grown up with muggles—he should certainly know flying cars are not normal!

“Anyway, I never saw anything else in the tea leaves, or the crystal ball, and palmistry wasn’t any better so we had to think of something.”

“What have you come up with so far?”

“Cuts, burns, losing fights, losing bets—that happens when Ron predicts that he’ll lose fights since I have to bet he’ll win—falling off the astronomy tower, falling out the owlry window, getting drowned by the giant squid, getting stepped on by one of Hagrid’s pets, detentions with Sna—uh…”

Severus smirked at that. “I find it rather encouraging that I qualify as a dire prediction, actually.” Now if the students would just take that into account before they decide to act like idiots in my classes….

That drew a snicker from the child in front of him. “Figures. Um, falling off my broom, anything involving Malfoy, losing stuff—”

“I would imagine that prediction is unusually accurate.”

“Ha ha. Getting sick—I think I’ve run through just about every terminal illness there is—getting trapped in a room with Fudge...”

“Creative.”

“I hadn’t gotten to ‘stuck in a jungle with Professor Snape’ yet,” he pointed out. “Why don’t you ever tell me to put ‘Professor’ or ‘Minister’ or whatever in front of people’s names like everyone else does?”

“Titles are terms of respect. Forcing the use of them with someone who doesn’t have that respect serves no purpose, although when speaking to someone I would expect you to use their title if only to preserve civility. I notice in your list of dire predictions you didn’t mention anything involving the Dark Lord, even those things which you know will happen.”

“I don’t want her to know about the nightmares—I don’t want anybody to know about the nightmares.”

That sounded rather strained, and Severus frowned. There was one way he knew of to block dreams, but teaching it—teaching it effectively, anyway—required a great deal of trust on the part of both the teacher and the student. A week ago if anyone had asked that he instruct the boy—and remembering some of the calculating looks Albus had been giving him since the school year began the suggestion may well have been forthcoming—he would have refused outright. Now…the idea of allowing someone inside his shields still made him distinctly uncomfortable, but he would be more-or-less in control of the link. Assuming of course that Potter was even interested; after all it would be his mind that would be invaded repeatedly until he learned to defend himself. “Are you truly that desperate for them to stop?”

“You saw what the nightmare was like…they’re all like that, sometimes even worse depending on what he’s doing. I almost forget what it was like to be able to go to sleep and not have to be afraid of what would be coming.”

“I may know of a technique that may help you.”

Potter spun. “What? Really? What is it? Is it a charm? A potion? Hermione was looking, but she hasn’t found anyth—”

“If you will be silent for a moment, I will tell you. It is called Occlumency, and it is a rather obscure branch of magic. It involves a technique that allows one to close his mind to the outside world. A great deal of emotional control is required…it is not an easy skill to learn.”

“But you know how?”

“Yes. Occlumency has allowed me to keep my loyalties hidden from the Dark Lord for so many years.”

“So how do I do it?”

“First, you need to practice clearing your mind of all emotion. Be perfectly calm. Give him nothing to latch onto. Your fear of nightmares is probably contributing to them…the stress and tension make it that much easier for him to pull you in.”

The boy was silent for a moment, and then, “Okay, I’m calm.”

Severus’ lips twitched. Obviously we have vastly different definitions of the word. “Irritating child, if you believe yourself to be calm now it is amazing that you have not suffered a nervous breakdown in the last four years. Leaving aside the fact that we are in a situation practically guaranteed to induce tension, your desire to be free of the Dark Lord’s visions is most certainly clouding your mind.”

“But Professor—”

“We will not be able to do anything immediately—Occlumency is internal, but the wyrsa will absorb the magic if I attempt Legilimency on you.”

“What’s that?”

“An intelligent question at last. It is what the Dark Lord normally uses to invade a person’s mind—what I’ll be using on you to teach you how to block it.”

“Wait…you’re going to be in my head?”

He looked distinctly uneasy at that. So the brat does have a sense of self-preservation. “How else, precisely, do you expect to learn to be able to block someone?”

“Are you going to be able to see what I’m thinking?”

“Some of what you’re thinking, some of your memories—the effort you put into blocking me will determine how much or how little I see.”

“Will I be able to see into your head too?”

“Certainly not!” The idea of Potter seeing his memories made him feel distinctly ill. “You will be learning to block outside presences from your mind; nothing more. And so help me if you even attempt more, with anyone….” His voice trailed off. “The use of Legilimency without either consent from the subject or authorization from the Ministry is punishable by time in Azkaban—it is the equivalent of mental rape.” Fortunately for me, I’m more than skilled enough to be unobtrusive about it…unless the other person is an extremely skilled Occlumens there is no way for them to know. And if the Deatheaters found out, they’d hardly go running off to tell the Ministry. The rest of my life would be extremely short, but it wouldn’t end in Azkaban. “Do you understand?”

Potter glanced back, looking appropriately cowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Then practice deep, even breathing now and I’ll explain a few of the blocking techniques in more detail tonight.”

“Professor?”

“What, Mr. Potter?”

“When did you learn?”

The feel of the Dark Lord ripping through his mind as the Dark Mark burned into his arm came back with a vengeance. Forcing him to see things long forgotten, things long blocked…. For the next months he’d spent whatever free time he had hiding, either in the basement at home or the dungeons at Hogwarts, going over every book he could acquire on the subject of Occlumency, never wanting to be subject to such an experience again. The Dark Lord had known what he was doing—there was no way he could not have—and every time the Deatheaters met he seemed to take great pleasure in tearing apart whatever progress Severus had made in the interim. Certainly he hadn’t singled out any of the other students who’d taken the Dark Mark at the same time for such personal attentions, with the exception of course of Lucius Malfoy. But he was being groomed for a position in the Ministry, an entirely different circumstance altogether.

He didn’t have to do it so painfully—he’s certainly practiced enough at the skill to have Legilimized me without my notice if he so desired—he just enjoyed causing pain. Sadistic bastard. If it hadn’t been for my potions knowledge, I think he would have driven me mad, eventually, Severus acknowledged. Or killed me outright for daring to defy him. But the Dark Lord didn’t have any Potions Masters, and there had been no one else likely to attempt the Mastery. Certainly no one else who would have succeeded. It’s not as though he didn’t have other means of control…and not even Occlumency works fully if the victim is in too much pain to concentrate. By the time circumstances had become bad enough that he’d gone to the headmaster, though, he had been able to successfully occlude his mind, or at least the portions of it that he did not want the Dark Lord to find out about, no matter how great the torture. Albus had helped him refine his technique in the years that followed at the same time he taught Severus Legilimency, but there wasn’t truly much left that the older man could show him. Pain was, unfortunately, one of the best teachers in existence.

The boy was still looking back at him expectantly, however, and none of that information was anything that Severus wanted shared. “That is none of your business,” he snapped. “Did I, or did I not, tell you to practice breathing? You can hardly do that if you keep pestering me with these ridiculous questions.” Memories refused momentarily to be forced back into their place, and he found himself continuing in a tone normally reserved for the most incompetent potions brewers after particularly spectacular failures. “Of all the people I had to get stuck in a jungle with, it had to be a chattering, disobedient brat with a complete inability to follow a simple instruction.”

“I…sorry, Professor.”

Potter went silent, and Severus puzzled over the uncertain note that had been in the boy’s voice. Obviously the boy had no right to question him, he could respond in any manner he chose. No justification was required.“I learned in self-defense,” he finally growled. “Not long after I took the Mark. The Dark Lord uses a variety of methods to ensure his followers’ loyalties, and forced Legilimency is by far one of the less pleasant ones.”

“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

“Obviously.” Despite the fact that I told you Occlumency is how I hide my activities. You’ve proved that you have a brain, child, I don’t suppose that you would consider using it on occasion? “It is not a time that I care to remember; please do not ask me about it again. Now, your breathing?”

“Yes, sir.” Potter sounded rather disturbingly relieved when no more comments were forthcoming.

Wondering when, exactly, his opinion had come to mean anything to the boy, Severus followed him along the branch in silence. Darkness came more quickly than he expected—perhaps the wyrsa had held them in thrall for longer than he had realized?—but fortunately it wasn’t heralded by the pouring rain of the night before. They halted while there was still some light seeping through the canopy; it would hardly do to walk off a branch after all Severus had done to avert that fate earlier. “Sit down across from me, Mr. Potter.”

Potter settled himself appropriately. “What are we going to do if you can’t actually try this Legilimency stuff here?”

“You need to develop some defensive strategies,” Severus began, slipping into lecture mode. “I do not know whether the Dark Lord knows that you can share his thoughts or not—I suspect not—but he’s had a lifetime of practice. You will not simply be able to put up a mental ‘wall’ and stop him.”

“So what can I do?”

“The best technique, particularly when you sleep, is to clear your mind entirely. Think of nothing and his mind will have nothing on which to latch. However, you cannot go around during the day thinking of nothing, despite the evidence to the contrary you insist on displaying in my class.”

“I try, Professor! Between you glaring at me all the time and Malfoy and his friends throwing stuff in my cauldron…”

“Mr. Potter, do you wish me to explain the blocking techniques or not?” He took the glare he received in response as assent and tried to hide a quick grin. Somehow he doubted the attempt had been successful. “Then kindly quit interrupting me every thirty seconds. Now, as I was saying, you cannot think of nothing at all times. What you will need to do is construct something of a…mental maze, I suppose you would say.” He tried to picture how, exactly, it was that he kept out the Dark Lord’s thoughts. “It will work slightly differently for you, I suspect—he must have eye contact with me in order for there to be any exchange of information, whereas with you that limitation does not seem to apply. And the books I managed to find dealt more in generalities than specifics. However, the result should be the same—he will see what you desire him to see and nothing more. In the forefront of your mind—the part that is immediately ‘visible’ to him, for lack of a better term—should be thoughts of no consequence. Quidditch tactics and the like.”

“Hey!”

Severus caught himself almost smiling again at the indignant tone. “Once you have a front that will prevent him from seeing anything of consequence, you should be able to throw him out of your mind as soon as you feel him probing. Do you have any warning before you find yourself experiencing what the Dark Lord does?”

“The only time I’m really…with him, in him, or whatever, is when I’m asleep, during the day I mostly just get feelings that I know aren’t mine. Getting really mad or happy or something for no reason.”

“Well, that simplifies things slightly. We’ll concentrate on building your maze for now and you can work up to holding those thoughts continuously.” That was the hardest things about Occlumency, in truth…being able to think in parallel both what you truly believed and what you wanted the other person to see or not see. Some people never managed it. If the boy couldn’t…well, they would cross that bridge if they came to it.

“What’s the point of having this maze thing built up if I’m just going to toss him out anyway?” Potter asked. “Shouldn’t I be concentrating on the getting rid of him part?”

“He is stronger than you; you will need some sort of front to hold his attention before you will be able to get rid of him.” And you won’t be able to practice ejecting someone until I am in a position to work magic anyway, did I not just explain that? “Now, think of a maze. What are you seeing?”

“The third task.”

His voice was dull, and Severus shook his head. I should have realized that. It’s certainly not something I wish him to relive constantly—that will drive him as mad as the Dark Lord’s visions. “Too much unpleasantness is associated with that. Find something else, something less…emotional.”

“That’s the only thing I think of when I hear the word ‘maze’.”

“Then I suppose we’ll need to find another term for it.” Personally, Severus used the twisting dungeons at Hogwarts—during his time as a student they’d been excellent places to go when he didn’t want to be found, and he doubted anyone living there now, including the Headmaster, knew them as well as he did. But the brat didn’t need to know that. “Where is somewhere without a lot of distinguishing characteristics? Somewhere you’ve been a lot.”

“The streets in Little Whinging?” Potter offered. “They all look exactly the same. Even the houses are identical. One time the kid who lives down at number seven put a ramp in the driveway for his skateboard and the neighbors had a fit. Neighborhood Association meeting and everything—you’d think he’d killed someone.”

“I’m not sure that will do. The Dark Lord is not stupid—giving him any clues as to your whereabouts when you are not at Hogwarts is not a good idea. Is there anywhere else that you can think of? What about somewhere that you feel safe? That will add to the protection it provides.”

“I…the attics at Hogwarts, maybe?”

They were certainly warped enough, Severus decided. He had preferred to go down rather than up when he was upset, but he’d gone in search of items up there for Albus often enough to know. “That will do. Concentrate on holding that image in your mind as we speak. Now, name the five most common uses for snapping marshweed leaves.”

“You asked me that yesterday, Professor.”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have any trouble remembering.”

“But what does this have to do with Occlumency?”

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, are you that dense? You will have to be able to lead a normal life at the same time you work this magic. Now, are you maintaining your image of the attics?”

“Um…”

“I thought so. Bring it to the forefront of your mind and then answer my question.”

By the time Potter got tired and started snapping instead of trying the light had disappeared completely and Severus was willing to call it a night as well. “I will stay on watch first and wake you in a few hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Attempt to Occlude your mind before you rest.”

Potter didn’t respond, but he also didn’t experience another screaming nightmare so Severus counted the day as a partial success. And the next morning they continued drilling as they walked. At least he’s managed to remember the majority of the answers that I told him yesterday, Severus observed. Whether he’s managing to maintain the mental attic image at the same time…. Well, he would find out the answer to that when they were safely away from the wyrsa.

As though they’d heard his thoughts, one of the creatures below gave one of the unnerving cries, the ones sounding so suspiciously like a young child. “I hate it when they do that,” Potter muttered.

“As do I.” A second one echoed the first, and he glanced around. “Do you see any more of your fruit? We can’t look at them, but if we throw enough in that general direction perhaps we can discourage the howling.”

Potter nodded, closing his eyes as he reached over the side of the branch and pulled up a few, passing half over to his teacher. And then both turned at the sound of voices. “Was that people?”

“I would say so, Mr. Potter. Stay behind me. And be ready to pull me back.” Severus put down his fruit and edged closer to the side of the branch, taking a wary glance below. The wyrsa were still there, but instead of the hypnotizing motions they’d been moving in they were now staring at something out in the brush that Severus couldn’t see. He frowned, and then decided to risk calling out. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

There was a yell, and then one of the wyrsa below staggered and fell. There were eight that he could see…three of which were nonmoving. It was hard to tell but—

“Hey, I think that one’s got something stuck in its chest!” Potter exclaimed from beside him. “Something’s attacking them!”

“Did I, or did I not, tell you to say behind me?”

“Come on, Professor, whoever’s fighting them we have to help.”

Another wyrsa staggered but didn’t fall, and the four remaining sprang into the brush after whatever was attacking them. “Mr. Potter, stay here.” Severus moved towards the nearest tree trunk, intending to climb down far enough to see who or what the wyrsa were after. He turned and saw the boy’s mouth opening, clearly in argument. “I will not discuss this with you. You will remain here on this branch until I say otherwise, is that understood?”

“But Professor…”

Severus turned back towards the boy, moving until he was looming over the smaller figure. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus nodded, moving back to the trunk. Whoever or whatever was out there, they were certainly well-concealed…if it wasn’t for the cries of the wyrsa pack he wouldn’t even know where to look. Pausing halfway down, he debated whether to continue. On one hand whoever was fighting the wyrsa pack might need help; on the other he had no desire to die in this place. White wyrsa were supposed to be extinct, he hardly carried the antidote to their venom in his cloak. Another human—or most-likely human, anyway—yell made his decision for him, and he continued down the trunk cursing himself mentally. What kind of self-respecting Slytherin deliberately puts himself in danger for another—and a complete stranger at that! Never mind that he was doing it on a regular basis for the Dark Lord; that was Albus’ idea. “Hello? Do you need help?”

“Professor?”

He reached the bottom of the trunk and glared up at the boy. “Potter, stay where you are!”

Three of the fallen wyrsa had holes in their chest—two had no evidence of what had done the damage, the third had a wooden spike in the vicinity of its heart. The fourth that had been hit but hadn’t truly fallen seemed to have a broken foreleg from another spike—it was standing, hissing at him, but making no immediate move to attack. He backed up slightly to pick up a fallen branch for use as a weapon and briefly considered the idiocy of taking on a pack of venom-producing predators with what amounted to a club. The creature seemed to realize his intention and backed away as Severus moved toward it. I can’t leave this thing alive at my back…. He stepped forward again and it hissed warningly. Another step and it leapt at him, as best it could with a bad leg.

“Professor, look out!”

A ‘splat’ from behind him at the same time as the cry from above had him diving sideways rather than facing it head-on as he intended, and as he came to a halt with his back against the trunk he found himself facing not only the single injured wyrsa but a second as well, this one larger and apparently healthy. “Bright Merlin.” The larger one had the remnants of a fig on its forehead—Potter had apparently hit it at the same time he called a warning. Damnit, have to remember to thank the brat. The two tried to twist around each other in the same hypnotic motion that had nearly killed him and his student earlier, but a jerking motion each time the first tried to use its bad leg kept disrupting the pattern. Just as well, I can’t fight them with my eyes closed. They were too close for him to make it back up the tree—they’d be on him, dragging him down before he got more than three feet off the ground. His stick seemed to be holding them at bay, but…. The injured wyrsa staggered again, and the healthy one turned to spring at a teenager not much older than his student who’d appeared out of the brush. Severus didn’t think, taking a leap forward and slamming his stick into the side of the creature’s head. It fell, and before it could get up again a man came up beside the boy and rammed a spear into its chest. Three others appeared—two more men, and another boy about the age of the first. “Um…hello.”

One of the men babbled something.

Brilliant. I wish I knew one of the hear-all speak-all spells. Why don’t they teach that at Hogwarts? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. Do you speak English?”

“I English some,” the first boy offered. “I go to school. My and my father’s thanks for your help.”

“Thank you as well,” Severus returned.

There was excited noise from the group, and he glanced up to see Potter climbing quickly down to join them. “Professor, are you okay?”

“You are professor?” the boy asked.

“Yes, to both questions. Mr. Potter, did I not tell you to remain in the tree?”

“The wyrsa are dead; I wanted to meet these guys too.”

Severus shook his head in exasperation, and then turned back to the boy. “Yes, I am a professor, at a school back in England. Could you ask your father if there is any way we could get in contact with the others there?”

“Inglaterra?” one of the men asked, and the boy nodded, indicating Severus and saying something quickly. He received an equally fast reply.

The boy turned back to Severus and nodded. “We help. We return to our village now that fantasmas mortíferos are dead. You come with. Names?”

“My name is Severus Snape, and this is Harry Potter.” The boy moved to stand at his elbow, and Severus wondered for a minute if he shouldn’t have lied about his identity. The Dark Lord had spies everywhere…too late now, I suppose. If they are not for the light, we will have to deal that as it comes.

“I am Joao Cruz, this is father, Roque, father’s brother, Mateus, mother’s brother, Pedro Olivares, and mother’s brother’s son, Vicente.”

Severus nodded. “How far is your village?” If it was only a few hours away they might be able to get back to Hogwarts in a day or two. It would be a relief to be back in familiar surroundings.

Before the boy—Joao—could answer, one of the hunters staggered. The other boy’s father, if Severus remembered correctly, this one’s uncle. “What’s wrong?” Potter asked at the same time the other two men moved to support him.

Whether the man was responding to Potter or simply showing the others the problem they faced, he turned his arm to show three gashes. “Apparently the wyrsa did not go quietly,” Severus observed.