Certain Dark Things || Book Two

vii. bury your secrets

Severus was going to kill Harriet Potter.

Dawn sat heavy upon the horizon, thick and as yellow as Dumbledore's perduring lemon sherbets, the heat already seeping into the earth and into Severus' covered shoulders. The sleepless night and several rapid Apparitions across the isle left the Potions Master somewhat listless; he paused in his hike through the desolate wood to catch his breath, glaring at the sprig of evergreen tied together with Potter's hair floating at eye-level. It continued on, and Severus jerked his cloak out of the leaves, stomping forward.

If he found Potter before the Headmaster, she was going to wish she'd never been born.

The Locater Effigy was, technically, Dark magic—albeit Dark magic Dumbledore turned a blind-eye to if it meant finding Potter before somebody less savory did, though Severus imagined he'd be receiving a rather harsh and tedious lecture later that evening. Breaking and entering, threatening Muggles, performing Dark spells—Severus felt sixteen again, terrified of what the Headmaster would do after he'd gone too far and hexed James Potter's nose off the bastard's fat face. Once the urgency passed, Albus would think upon his punishment, and Severus knew it'd be decidedly unpleasant.

Hugging a Weasley, he thought, dredging up the most ridiculous situations he could to keep his mind busy. Becoming chapter president of a Longbottom fan club. Tea with Trelawney—oh, hell, I'd pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower first.

Dumbledore had more concerning issues to attend to at the moment than Severus' misdemeanors. When the Potions Master had barged into the older wizard's office at an ungodly hour when any sane man would've been fast asleep, he found the Headmaster awake and reading—and surprised to see Severus. That surprise twisted into shock, then anger, then fear as Severus relayed his false tip about Potter possibly being targeted by his past associates and his subsequent trip to Privet Drive. Upon hearing the blood-wards had failed, Dumbledore soared to one of his shelves and pulled forward a silver instrument gone silent, dark, and dusty.

A branch caught the hem of his cloak and Severus slid on the leaves, grunting. What is the brat doing out here? Bantiaumyrddin was fourteen kilometers to the west, but had the girl been there, the Effigy would have brought Severus to the village, not here, not to the middle of the bloody forest with nothing around aside from a Muggle town roughly six kilometers behind him. The Vow let him know she'd escaped danger and yet lived, otherwise Severus would think someone had murdered the girl and dumped her body out here.

Severus was well and truly fuming by the time he crested the rise and stepped into a clearing, prepared to drag Potter back to Hogwarts by the ear if he had to. Slytherin would, hopefully, be preoccupied with some nefarious, long-winded project bent on corrupting impressionable youths, else Severus would have to bring her somewhere else, possibly the old Dumbledore cottage in Godric's Hollow, or—Merlin forbid—Spinner's End.

A tent resided in the clearing's middle. The Locater Effigy lazily drifted closer and closer, until the Charm ceased and dropped onto the canvas with a slight plop. A tent, Severus thought. The girl who survived the Dark Lord's Killing Curse not once, but twice, is living in a tent. Marvelous.

He brought his feet down hard on the ground, breaking leaves and twigs beneath his boots to announce his presence. The tent's flap fluttered in the warm air.

"Potter!" Severus shouted, cursing himself for a fool when his voice echoed, and he glanced about the empty woods. "Miss Potter, present yourself, now."

With no answer forthcoming, Severus kicked the flap aside, stepped into the expanded space beyond—and found himself staring at a dead man.

He would have known the wizard sprawled on the floor was dead by the smell alone and didn't need to see the blood pooled beneath his leg and backside, nor the ghastly, mottled pallor of his swollen face. Wand in hand, Severus took two cautious steps forward and checked the area, finding no sign of a wayward Slytherin girl. Her possessions lay scattered about the tent: books and used clothes, an open package of Every Flavor Beans, a glass cauldron filled to the brim with rare Mermaid's Tears—though he had no bloody idea where she'd gotten that. A Girding Potion sat off to the side, congealing in the open air, and Severus glanced down at the summer essay he'd assigned half-completed on the floor.