Fate Set Right

Chapter 27

—S—

April 4, 1977

"Fecking hell!" Severus roared, shoving the cauldron off the portable burner. It crashed to the floor, though it had no way of causing much more damage than a dent: the potion inside it was a congealed mess, almost as if he had left it sitting around for days instead of having just finished brewing. He'd at least been able to pull out the stirring rod Hermione had given him before the experiment went south.

A couple angry flicks of his wand and the cauldron was righted and cleaned, but his temper didn't calm.

He had days—barely any time at all—before he had to meet with the Death Eaters again. He'd received another letter from the Dark Lord, telling him that an escort would meet him at Hogwarts to take him to a gathering during the Easter hols. There would undoubtedly be another test, and while he probably wouldn't have the opportunity to heal whomever he was forced to maim or torture, he wanted to know he could.

But he hadn't had any luck.

He'd tried spells, some obscure, some common. The rats he'd purchased to test on hadn't survived. He'd tried potions, including basic essence of dittany, and still nothing. Though the essence had given him an idea. It helped the rats live longer, but it took too long work against the curse. So, the essence became the base for a healing potion that he was sure would work, but there was something wrong with the mandrake and he kept screwing up.

He was out of dittany. He needed more.

It couldn't wait.

He summoned a sheet of parchment and a quill from his backpack and scribbled a hasty note for Hermione. She was supposed to meet him here not long after dinner, but he'd heard Black beg for her help with his homework, since Lupin wasn't around. She wasn't late, really, but he wasn't sure if he'd meet her on the way to tell her that he was going to look for ingredients.

Which, of course, begged the question of how the hell he was supposed to get them. He could, he supposed, ask Slughorn or Sprout for what he needed. But the former would probably keep him in the classroom and ask him all kinds of questions that Severus had no intention of answering. The latter would just ask too many questions. He wasn't sure Sprout was part of this Order nonsense he'd gotten sucked into, and Dumbledore seemed to believe that the less people knew, the better.

He grit his teeth, realizing he was going to have to make a trip to Diagon Alley. He could take the tunnel by the humped witch and pop into Hogsmeade. But he was still a student, and even transfiguring or changing his uniform would not change the fact that they had only seen him the weekend before, and they'd report him to Dumbledore. He doubted his cooperation with the Order would keep him out of detention.

He left his tie and sweater on the table behind him; Severus picked up his robes and transfigured them into a set of casual business robes. He made sure he had his small sack of Galleons before heading out.

It was odd that he passed next to no one until he was near the courtyard closest to the Whomping Willow.

It was there, near the alcoves, that he heard soft giggles and whispers.

"Sirius!" a high-pitched voice giggled. "We're going to get caught!"

"We won't," Black replied, his voice a bit off. Maybe from lust. Now there was a disgusting thought.

"Black," Severus said casually enough, hoping the witch he was with wasn't a Slytherin. "Black!" Severus snapped again when his initial call went ignored.

Black's head popped out of the alcove, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

Severus, frankly, didn't care. "I'm going on an excursion via the Shrieking Shack."