Chapter Text
Until the end
See how it shines
Why did we never run
Before our chance was gone?
- Son of Nyx by Hozier
August 2, 1995
The sun was slowly lowering on the hottest day of the year. Harry Potter found himself surreptitiously listening to the sound of the Surrey Evening News coming from the telly inside while hidden under a rather droopy hydrangea bush beneath the Dursley’s window.
It had been an awful summer full of long, hot days that scorched him while he completed mind-numbing chores. Harry was responsible for everything from making breakfast for the family each morning, to maintaining his Aunt Petunia’s garden, made more difficult due to the drought that had plagued the area all season. He had been threatened with even fewer meals if he wasted water, but he would also be punished if her plants died. It was a paradox that made Harry’s head spin, and he ultimately decided to sparingly use water on the plants that could be seen by passersby in the front yard while he covertly pruned any other plants in the back garden that were drying to a crisp before Petunia could screech at him. Harry knew that keeping up appearances was most important, no matter what happened behind closed doors or six-foot high garden fences. He had been getting away with it so far, but it was exhausting work.
He always made time to try to listen to the muggle evening news, though, for hints of something sinister leaking into the non magical world. He had found some relative peace by squirreling away under the window that had frequently been left open to encourage a breeze to blow in during the heat, out of sight of his aunt and uncle. Tonight, he listened intently for any strange or unusual happenings, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so Harry instead enjoyed a moment of being unobserved after another long day of playing house-elf to the Durselys.
In truth, Harry would prefer to end his days bone-weary, for it was the best chance he would have to catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
His summer had been plagued with the most dreadful nightmares. If he wasn’t almost dead on his feet with tiredness from meeting the Dursley’s demands, he was guaranteed to relive the horror that was the third Triwizard task over and over again. In each iteration of the dream, no matter how hard he tried, Cedric’s fate would never change. Harry would always end up standing there uselessly, watching the green light fade away in the reflection of Cedric’s glassy, unseeing eyes.
Sometimes he would wake from the nightmare at that point, heart beating fast and silent tears streaming down his face, the deep guilt he felt over the events of that night leaving him unable to return to sleep. Other times, the dream would morph into being hunted through the maze, tall hedges turning to dark tiled halls, an unknown entity hissing and slithering and stalking him, but never within his sights. Those dreams would end with a shout, his bedsheets twisted around him. If he was lucky, he’d wake before making too much noise and disturbing the rest of the house, but not always.
After those extended dreams, he would be left unrested, with something oily coating his tongue and throat like he was unclean. His scar would prickle uncomfortably for a few hours, his magic roiling under his skin. On those days, he would have to watch his temper carefully, or the loose items around the house would shake ominously as he walked by them.
Harry was extra cautious about setting off the Trace, having received one warning the summer before his second year already, even though it was Dobby that had been wielding the magic. Inexplicably, he had never received a warning about blowing up Aunt Marge the summer after that, but he assumed it had to do with concern over his safety after Sirius’ escape from Azkaban. Not that the ministry would care about Harry’s well-being now.
So, he knew he had to be careful to control his accidental magic. He was trying, but so tired he felt out of control. Each quip from Petunia and gruff word from Vernon was at risk of setting him off. Dudley had turned his taunts up to maximum offense this summer, and only Dudley’s fists were in competition with how much they could hurt Harry on any given day. His mood wasn’t helped by the fact that he hadn’t received news of the wixen world from any of his friends all summer.
Oh, they had written to start, he supposed. But the letters were so vague that it was infuriating - and he was already angry about his lack of sleep due to nightmares. And he knew that Ron and Hermione were together, somehow, spending the summer somewhere that they couldn’t tell him about. Sirius had been just as vague about his plans, but he knew that none of them were coming to get him. He had given up writing back after the first two weeks of break.
Without news on Voldemort’s or the Death Eaters’ movements, Harry had resorted to laying in the dirt under the hydrangea bushes, sifting through the muggle news in his mind while the shriveled petals slowly floated down around him.
Harry had just decided to give up on the night’s reporting and find somewhere else to be when several strange things happened in very quick succession.
A loud, echoing crack broke the peaceful evening like a gunshot, which caused a cat to streak out from under a parked car and fly out of sight. It was quickly followed by a shriek and a bellow from the Dursley’s living room.
From some deep place inside of him that had been itching to act all summer, Harry leapt to his feet, drawing his magic to the surface with him, reaching for his wand… or at least he tried. Before he could bring himself to full height, the top of his head collided with the open window. The resultant crash made his aunt Petunia scream even louder.
Harry’s head felt as though it had been split in two. He swayed, trying to get his balance, his magic was dangerously close to escaping from his skin like hot oil on a pan. His eyes watered, he couldn’t see, and just as he started to right himself, two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat.
As though he was looking through a long tunnel, Harry could see Vernon’s pudgy face as it snarled something he couldn’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears. The longer it took Harry to respond, the tighter the grip around his neck became. Harry tried to remove his uncle’s sausage-like fingers in vain, but his strength and focus was going into pulling back on his magic as hard as he could.
Vernon was still trying to say something to him, Harry noticed in a detached-sort-of-way. His uncle was slowly lifting him up as if to pull him into the house by his neck alone. Harry tried to wheeze out a word to ask Vernon to stop, please, but he had no more air to push through his lips.
Then, the pain in his head gave a particularly nasty throb, and Harry’s vision whited out. Vernon’s hands suddenly released him, which had the effect of dropping Harry half-in and half-out of the window. Harry’s ears were still ringing, and it was all he could do to draw in a couple of shaky breaths before dragging himself the rest of the way in the house, out of view of the neighbors. He dropped unceremoniously onto the floor, just missing Petunia's dainty buffet table filled with delicate trinkets.
Slowly, Harry righted himself, sitting with his back against the wall breathing heavily. His throat felt tight, like skin stretched too thin. When his vision fully returned to him, he rather wished it hadn’t.
Harry blinked, pushing his glasses firmly back up onto the bridge of his nose, and sucked in a startled breath. Vernon - who just seconds ago had been strangling the life out of Harry - was across the room in a heap on the floor. Petunia was hovering over her husband, looking at Harry with unbridled fear in her eyes. The living room itself was destroyed. The coffee table looked as if it had been crushed under a giant’s foot, the stuffing in the pillows exploded. Every knickknack on the buffet table that Harry had been momentarily glad to spare had already been smashed. Even the glass in the picture frames on the walls had been shattered.
For a moment, Harry and his aunt stared at each other, for no words could encompass what had just happened.
Then, his uncle stirred. Petunia whimpered and started chanting, “Oh Vernon, you’re awake, are you alright?”
A deep growl escaped the man’s chest.
Vernon pushed himself up to a sitting position, his eyes immediately finding Harry. If Harry hadn’t already faced a monster with actual red eyes earlier this year, he would say that his own uncle’s flashed just the same.
“Boy.” Vernon uttered one word, and Harry knew in his bones that his time was up.
Ignoring the pain in his head and his neck, Harry scrambled to his feet and started to move jerkily towards the hall. Petunia helped Vernon up, and the man stormed after him.
“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, BOY?”
Not answering, Harry made his way up the stairs as fast as he could, dragging a hand along the wall to keep his balance. His uncle would hurt him beyond repair if he caught him now, Harry was sure of it. His accidental magic had completely destroyed the living room. It was unforgivable.
That wasn’t the end of his problems, either. Accidental magic at a scale like that - especially at his age - would have surely set off the Trace. Someone from the Ministry was probably on the way to snap Harry’s wand now. He would have to pack and escape the house, somehow.
Harry managed to get to his room in time to slam the door in Vernon’s face. He pressed his back against the door, trying to keep his uncle out. All of the locks were on the outside, of course, and he wasn’t sure what to do.
“BOY! JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!”
The door rattled and Harry threw all of his weight against it, making his headache even worse, radiating down through his neck and shoulder blades where the door banged against his back.
“YOU’RE OUT OF HERE - DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU. ARE. DONE! RUDDY FREAK!”
“Fine!” Harry yelled through the noise, “I’ll leave - just let me pack!”
“NOT A CHANCE! ALL OF THOSE FREAKY THINGS WILL BURN -”
And Harry, without taking too much time to consider it, his magic still dangerously close to the surface, willed it to stick the door closed. The door abruptly stopped shaking, as if frozen. And Harry moved.
He had never been so glad to have his things with him and not locked away in the cupboard anymore, for he quickly started throwing his belongings into his trunk, not bothering to fold any clothes or stack any of his books. He lifted up the loose floorboard and snatched his most precious items, along with any food he had been able to stash away. He didn’t know when he would get a meal next.
Harry didn’t have much. All of his packing took roughly two minutes, even as his vision blurred in and out through the pain. Moving to his already-open bedroom window, he looked out across the back garden and determined that the sun was still too high to risk being seen by muggles on his broom. But… maybe his invisibility cloak would cover him and his broom if he was able to shrink his trunk?
Turning back to the room and ignoring the muffled screaming from the other side of the door, Harry spared a moment to consider his options. He had already performed two acts of magic tonight. What was a third, if it meant he could get out of here? Making a decision, Harry went to his trunk and grabbed the cloak. He then took his wand out of his pocket, pointed it at his trunk, and cast a shrinking charm.
Well, if the Ministry hadn’t already been on their way, they definitely were now. But Harry had to go.
Pocketing his trunk, Harry turned to Hedwig’s empty cage. She was already out hunting for the night. He shrunk her cage as well, placing it in his pocket after the trunk. All that was left was the Firebolt.
Carefully crouching on the window sill, pushing through his rapidly worsening headache, Harry glanced over his room one last time. He swung his cloak over his shoulders, making sure the hood fully covered his head, and jumped out of the window, swinging himself over his broom with muscle memory he was thankful for in his diminished state.
Harry rose up over the houses of Privet Drive, feeling strangely elated, despite his growing assurances that he was in some deep, deep trouble.
He was finally free.
Taking a moment to better arrange his cloak to fully cover the tail of his broom, Harry spared a thought to where he was actually going to go. The Burrow was the obvious choice. He knew roughly where it was, in Devon to the west, and there was a good chance that’s where Ron and Hermione were spending the summer.
Maneuvering his broom to point at the sunset, Harry sped off to find his friends.
Harry had vague recollections of the flight from Privet Drive to the Burrow the summer before his second year.
Oh, he remembered the joy, laughing in the flying car with Ron, Fred, and George, cracking jokes and reliving the escape from his aunt and uncle, but he didn’t remember how long it took at all.
This flight was much different.
Harry was barely staying upright on his broom. His upper body was screaming at him - the hours on the Firebolt after not training for over a year were brutal. The sun had set hours ago, and his ability to see where he was going from the air had vanished with it. Harry was mentally thanking Hermione, despite his frustration with her, for getting him his broom compass last year for Christmas. He was able to follow a westward path even with the sun down, for he had no other way to navigate to Ottery St. Catchpole in the dark.
After escaping from the Dursley’s, he didn’t dare risk any more magic, for the Ministry might track his movements in the air. He didn’t want to get this close to freedom just to have the aurors show up at the Burrow and snap his wand. So, as it got darker, Harry flew lower to better see the landscape below. He thought he might be getting closer - the fields were getting larger, the hills rounder. Harry was determined to find it without magic, even if he flew around all night.
Not twenty minutes later, Harry was very thankful for his Potter-luck, because he recognized a small village just to the south of where he was flying. Turning sharply, he flew closer to the town and saw the very familiar sight of the single church in the town.
There.
The little village of Ottery St. Catchpole came and went, and the Burrow rose like a lighthouse beacon just beyond, familiar and welcoming. As he flew closer he could see the little pond outside the Burrow reflecting the starlight. Harry swooped toward the ground, toes skimming the tall grass. The nighttime insects were buzzing their late summer song. Relief rushed through him like a glass of cool water.
A hundred yards from the Burrow, Harry promptly bounced off a ward that shimmered into existence as it threw him off of his broom.
What?!
Sprawled in the grass, Harry shook his head and gazed up at the night sky. His body shuddered, not taking the impact well at all. His headache that had mostly reduced to background pain roared back to life. Carefully, he sat up and gazed at the structure in front of him.
He hadn’t realized that the Weasley’s had wards around their home. He guessed it made sense for safety reasons. Dangerous times were upon them all. Would they notice he had tried to get through?
Harry wasn’t sure how to get their attention. He could try shooting red sparks in the air, but if everyone was asleep, would they even see it?
As Harry kept his eyes trained on the Burrow, something seemed… off. Typically, there were candles burning low in at least one window, no matter how late it was. But there were no signs of life coming from the house. In fact, there was something wrong with the front garden too. It was never neatly pruned, not like the obsessive tidiness of Peturnia’s garden, but the Weasley’s garden was absolutely wild right now.
The Burrow looked abandoned.
Had the Weasley’s not lived here all summer? Were they somewhere else and hadn’t told Harry? Or was this some kind of secrecy glamour to make it look like no one was home?
His stomach dropped. He felt almost ill. Laying back, he rested his aching head against the cool dirt, wishing that anything would be simple for him. Gingerly, he touched his neck where it was sore and swollen. He couldn’t see it, but it felt like it was badly bruised and he had nothing for it. Harry desperately needed some water to soothe his throat.
Sighing deeply, Harry considered his options. He had flown cross-country to escape his terrible relatives, only to find his best friend's home empty, or so well protected that he would never break through the enchantments. What was he to do now?
He didn’t have Hedwig, so he couldn’t send an owl to ask anyone to come get him. It was the middle of the night, and any attempts to get the attention of someone inside the Burrow would surely alert the Ministry to his location. Suddenly feeling angry, he slammed his fists against the ground twice in frustration. He was alone, outside in the dark, with no way to let anyone know of his location without getting into even more trouble.
But, an insidious voice said in his head, did he want to be found?
His friends, and even his godfather, had ignored him all summer. They sent him placating notes about how “We’ve been told not to say much,” and he should “Keep his nose clean.” By who? Who decided that? Why is Harry being kept in the dark? Hadn’t he proved himself capable? He was the one that had been tied to a tombstone and witnessed Voldemort’s return! He was the one that saw Cedric murdered!
No, don’t think about that, he sank his fingers into the dirt as he reprimanded himself. He needed to focus on what to do next. Pushing his swirling thoughts aside, Harry sat up again, taking a deep breath to clear his shaky vision.
Well, he couldn’t stay here out in this open field next to the wards around the Burrow. He needed to find some kind of shelter.
Harry looked around. Mr Weasley’s work shed was well within the wards and wasn’t an option. There were no other structures that he could access. But, he knew that just beyond the Burrow was a small copse of trees that lined the stream that ran alongside the property. Harry supposed that it would be enough shelter until the sun rose. He could assess his predicament with the morning light.
Grabbing his broom and cloak, he flew low around the reach of the wards towards where he could just make out the outlines of the trees in the dark. He didn’t dare use a lumos to light the way, instead taking it slow. Harry landed, much more gracefully this time, and walked just behind the first line of trees.
Sitting against the trunk of a large oak hidden from view of the field, Harry decided that he was probably safe enough right where he was. He hid his broom in a tall fern within easy reach - in case someone came looking he would have an escape option.
Securing the invisibility cloak, Harry arranged himself gently against the bark of the tree, stretching out his legs as much as he could while keeping covered. He didn’t plan to sleep, but the night was warm, and soon enough the softly singing nocturnal insects lulled him into slumber.
—
The adult residents of Number 12 Grimmauld Place were gathered around the kitchen table, staring blankly at Albus Dumbledore.
It had been a strange night, and there was an undercurrent of panic fizzing and popping through the people in the room.
The evening had started something like this: Remus Lupin had been enjoying a book and an after-dinner cuppa in the library when he heard shouting somewhere downstairs.
That in-and-of itself was not unusual at Grimmauld Place. Sirius was regularly raising his voice at the residents of the house, human and non-human alike. His most likely targets were Kreacher or his mother’s portrait in the entry hall. Although, at the start of the summer, Sirius had got into it with Molly frequently as well. Lately that had seemed to fizzle out as Sirius gave up trying to run his own household and acquiesced to Molly’s iron fist.
Remus and Sirius had their own share of arguments too, but those tended to be hushed and located behind a privacy ward in a bedroom somewhere. Remus didn’t like to think about it.
But no, the shouts filtering up from downstairs quickly had taken on a tone of fear that made the hair on the back of Remus’ neck stand on end. It had him sprinting down the stairs and into the kitchen before he could think much on it.
Sirius was there of course, facing off with Molly and someone that had clearly just come through the floo. As Remus edged around the table to see, he was rather shocked to find that it was Arthur that was taking the full force of Sirius’ ire.
“And isn’t it ultimately up to Dumbledore if Harry has been expelled?!” Sirius’ chest was heaving, eyes bright.
Remus blinked, looking from one man to the other, trying to determine what had led to this topic of conversation. Before he could say or do anything, Arthur turned relieved eyes on him, “Ah, Remus. I’m glad you’re here. There have been some developments tonight at the Ministry. Regarding Harry.”
Sirius scoffed, throwing his hands in the air, “Developments? Developments?! Moony,” Sirius turned the full weight of his gaze on him, “They’ve expelled Harry for simple underage magic!”
At that moment, Severus opened the door leading to the cellar, where his lab was located. Remus met his eyes warily as Molly cleared her throat, “How did you hear about this Arthur?”
“The Improper Use of Magic Office is on my floor, it caused quite a stir when the Trace went off. Some interns were in the hallway talking - apparently Harry has been cited for underage magic in front of muggles before,” at this, Remus and Severus looked at each other with brows raised while Sirius started to pace, “And the standard procedure is expulsion… especially for the level of magic they are saying he performed.”
Remus closed his eyes and took in a shuddering breath. This was not good.
“And what magic are they accusing him of performing, exactly?” Severus drawled as he came to a stop beside Remus, arms folded in his cloak.
“The aurors won’t be sure until they get to the scene, but the concentration of magic was enough to get people scrambling. And, well, they sent Harry the automatic expulsion letter. They’ll be on their way to Little Whinging to apprehend Harry and…” Arthur gulps, “Snap his wand.”
Molly covered her face with a sound of denial, while Sirius rushed to Remus, grabbing the front of his sweater, “Moony - Harry will run if he gets that letter. He is not safe! Someone needs to go get him before the Ministry gets there! Let’s go together, right now!” Severus was standing completely still next to them. Remus wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.
“Sirius…” Remus placed his hands over Sirius’ and squeezed. Severus flinched infinitesimally as if he wanted to intervene.
Arthur made a step toward the three men, as if to soothe Sirius, “I’ve sent a message to Dumbledore - he is already at the Ministry trying to smooth things over. That’s why I came here. I’ve faith that he’ll set this right in a jiffy.”
Remus finally extracted Sirius from his shirt, “See? Everything will be fine. Let’s wait for the Headmaster before we make any rash decisions.”
Sirius released him with a small shove, “Rash? Of course. That’s all you think of me, isn’t it?”
“Black, now is not the time to make this about you. We will wait for the Headmaster to send word before acting, and that is final,” Severus sneered.
Sirius turned his full distaste upon the potions master, “Final, huh? Like you have any authority here Sniv-”
“Sirius - no.” Remus sighed, tiredly. He didn’t expect the two of them to ever see eye-to-eye, but he drew the line at the childish name-calling.
“Fine! Fine! You two are always on the same side, I just want to make sure my godson is okay!” Sirius threw his arms into the air and stomped out of the kitchen.
When he was gone, Arthur let out a breath that drew the other two men’s attention, “Well, I should probably go back to the Ministry, and see if I can learn anything else useful. Sorry, Molly, it’s going to be a late night.” With a peck on his wife’s cheek, he was gone again.
That had been hours ago. Now, he, Severus, Sirius, Arthur, and Molly were sitting around the kitchen table with Dumbledore, tea going cold in the cups in front of each of them. Dumbledore had come through the floo just minutes before with dire news - Harry was nowhere to be found. The aurors had gone to Privet Drive, intending to snap Harry’s wand, disregarding the Headmaster’s advice. They had found a smashed living room, three irate muggles, and a destroyed young man’s bedroom.
“His bedroom was destroyed? I don’t understand.” Molly shook her head, “Why would Harry do that?”
“Harry's guardians were not very forthcoming,” Dumbledore replied, “According to the aurors that went to the scene, they said something about Harry doing some magic outside that scared them, and when they tried to get Harry inside, he exploded the sitting room. Then he ran up the stairs to pack in order to leave the residence, and by the time they caught up with him, he was gone and his bedroom was in a state. Tonks was with the aurors that went to the house, she’ll be able to tell us more once she gets here. There was a spot of paperwork to fill out.”
Remus looked around at the adults. Molly looked sadly at the Headmaster, Arthur was looking at the table with a contemplative expression. Severus’ face was unreadable, as always. And Sirius… Sirius looked ready to explode, himself.
“I may be in the minority here, but something about that explanation doesn’t feel right,” Remus ventured. Everyone turned their eyes to him, “I mean, why would Harry be messing around with magic outside? And for no reason? Did he see something that scared him? And where was his guard? We’ve been rotating shifts all summer.”
“Ah, yes, that is the other part of this unfortunate story,” Dumbledore folded one hand over the other before continuing, “I spoke to Arabella Figg just before I arrived here. Mundungus was on duty today, Arabella confirmed he came through her floo on time. But one of her kneazles alerted her to his sudden disappearance well before shift-change this evening. It would have been right around the timing of the events.”
Dumbedore looked over his half-moon spectacles at all of them, “I have been unable to get into contact with Mundungus, so we can’t rule out foul play just yet.”
Sirius finally lost his composure, “What do you mean, ‘You can’t rule out foul play just yet?!’ There is a chance Harry’s been taken by Death Eaters! We need to find him!” He jumped up and slammed his palms into the table, making the teacups rattle on the saucers. “It’s been hours, and we’ve just been waiting around, thumbs up our arses - we need to do something to get Harry back!”
“Sirius!” Molly admonished the vulgarity.
Remus sucked in a breath. Privately, he agreed with Sirius - they needed to find Harry, now. But they needed to work together.
“Headmaster, it is my assumption that Mr. Potter has not performed any other acts of magic since his disappearance?” Severus inquired smoothly.
“That is not quite correct, Severus. The Trace was set off three more times at his residence -”
It was at that moment that the kitchen hearth burned bright green, and a sprite witch tumbled out of it. Tonks, hair bright pink, dusted off her red Auror robes as she righted herself and looked around at the other gathered wixen, “Evening all! I’ve got more details about the situation, Headmaster.”
Tonks plopped into a seat next to a still standing Sirius, and Dumbledore nodded at her to continue. Tonks took a sip of Sirius’ now cold tea, and immediately spat it back out, “Ergh! Gross, cousin. That’s mostly firewhiskey!”
Sirius rolled his eyes, but sat back down. Arthur cleared his throat pointedly, and Tonks took the hint to continue, “Well, I think we can tentatively rule out a kidnapping, thankfully. Evidence in the destroyed bedroom showed that a sticking charm was applied to Harry’s bedroom door as well as two shrinking spells cast on unidentified objects inside. Most of Harry’s clothes were gone, and none of his school supplies were left behind in the wreckage. His trunk and broom were gone, too. A Death Eater would hardly be concerned with packing his things for him, would they?”
The Headmaster gave Severus a long look, and Severus simply drummed his long fingers on the table a few times, meeting the older man’s eyes in return. Everyone watched the silent exchange. When Severus looked down and away, Remus caught Severus’ eyes as the Headmaster reassured the group, “I do not believe it would be Voldemort’s supporters behind Harry’s disappearance tonight. Molly, I know your youngest boys picked up Harry from his relatives’ three years ago - they don’t have anything to do with this, do they?”
“I have spoken with all of the children residing under this roof tonight, Albus, and they were distraught to learn of Harry’s disappearance. I’m sure they don’t know what’s going on.”
“Did they have any ideas of where he might be, Molly? Any other friends he might convince to pick him up?” Asked Remus.
“No, none. Ron and Hermione said they would think on it, of course. But they seemed pretty sure that if this had been planned, Harry would have informed one of them.”
“What about muggle friends? I’m sure Potter has a gang of hooligans he runs around with in the summers - could he have gone to one of their homes?” Severus asked as he looked to Molly.
Both Molly and Arthur frowned at this, while Tonks looked thoughtful. Sirius made a strange, jerky motion and Remus looked at him with a question on his lips, but before he could ask it, Sirius was shaking his head, “No, no I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem to have a good time there.”
Severus didn’t snark a reply and his brows furrowed slightly at Sirius’ conclusion. The whole table seemed to deflate. They truly had no leads.
“I believe,” Dumbledore began, “That it is time to turn to more arcane methods of finding a wayward young wizard. Severus? Remus? I’ll require your assistance. Everyone else, we’ll update as soon as we have a location on young Mr. Potter.”
At that, Molly waved her wand to send the cups and saucers to the sink to be washed and dried. Arthur stood and led Sirius out of the room with promises of a drink in the parlor upstairs and minimal fuss. Tonks gave the Headmaster a jaunty salute, and left via the floo.
Both Remus and Severus turned to follow the Headmaster through the door to the cellar-turned-potions lab located one level below the kitchen. The stairs were stone and steep, most likely built long before the structure overhead that served as modern-day Grimmauld Place. The Black ancestral home was located in the heart of London, but the Black family had been residing upon the land long before the brick buildings that made up the residential area came into existence.
The main room of the cellar ran the length of the building, and was an open area with surprisingly high ceilings for being so far underground. There were three long potion benches surrounded by shelves of ingredients and cauldrons. At the back of the room on the left was a heavy iron door with the Black family crest welded into it, complete with inlaid black rubies that sparkled menacingly in the low light. On the right was a tall but skinny barred door. Sirius had said the right door originally led to a dungeon room, but Remus now used it for his full moon transformations. It locked and unlocked with only a key that Severus now kept upon his person, much to Sirius’ annoyance. The door on the left, however, only Sirius could open. He wouldn’t talk about what was behind it. The whole underground area smelled of moist earth, astringent potions ingredients, and sweet, slightly rotten dark magic. When Remus had first come down here earlier in the summer, he had discovered the heady dark magic scent only got more oppressive the closer one got to the ornate door.
The three men made their way over to one of the unused benches, and Dumbledore pulled a large rolled up parchment from the depths of his robes, “The Invenire Ritual, Severus?”
“Very well, Headmaster.”
Severus turned to the wall of ingredients and began waving his wand to summon several as the Headmaster unrolled the parchment upon the table. It was a map of the British Isles. He secured the edges to the table with a wave of his wand. Remus stepped up to look over the details of the map just as Severus turned, floating three jars and letting them land neatly next to the map. Next, he grabbed a standard cauldron from the table behind him and placed it over the nearest burner, igniting it and filling the basin with a silent aguamenti.
As the cauldron began to heat, Severus prepped the ingredients. Remus could pick out squid ink sacs, bat wings, and some kind of small, dark, raw crystal pieces inside the jars. Before Remus could become too enraptured with Severus’ mastery over his chosen field, Dumbledore cleared his throat gently.
“Remus, I do believe you have some experience with the art of mapmaking? As well as crafting spells to make tracking possible upon a map?” Dumbledore was looking at Remus over his glasses, eyes twinkling.
“Yes - that I do.” Remus shifted guiltily from one foot to another. He just knew that Severus had told the Headmaster about the Marauder’s Map after that bewildering year he taught Defense at Hogwarts. Remus had never expected to come across it again, and had been floored when he’d found Harry with it. Severus, of course, had eventually sniffed out that Remus had taken it back into his possession one evening when Remus had left it out on his desk and they’d gotten… distracted in his chambers. Remus had given it back to Harry at the end of the year, much to Severus’ dismay. And now the Headmaster was in on the secret as well.
“Do you think you can alter the incantation to use in a finding ritual? To track the location of one letter flying with an owl?”
Remus hummed thoughtfully, “I’ll need to do some Arithmancy. And most likely anchor the ritual with a rune.” As he was speaking, he summoned some parchment, a quill, and ink over from the basket on one shelf and began to write.
Severus brewed, Remus scratched out formulas, and Dumbledore conjured a chair and tea set. While the Headmaster made himself comfortable, the two younger men worked briskly on their separate tasks.
Remus was done with his calculations first, confident that his incantation modifier would work with the ritual. He walked over to a supplies cabinet in the corner by the staircase, searching for a stone to inscribe a rune.
Rune stones were finicky - and best chosen by hand, not summoning. One needed to feel the energy of the material to make an anchoring stone. Luckily, the Black family had an excess of non-perishable supplies for both the every day potions brewer as well as more in-depth and esoteric spellcasting. Remus surveyed the available stones and chose a small, flat river rock that had veins of red and green. His intuition told him it fit the subject.
When he returned to the table, Severus was dousing the fire under the cauldron that now held a pitch-black brew. Dumbledore stood and vanished his chair as well as his tea. Remus set the stone on the table.
“Thoughts on the rune we should use, Remus?” Asked Dumbledore.
“Well…” Remus swallowed and looked at Severus, “I think there’s only one we can use in a ritual to find Harry.”
Severus narrowed his eyes and Remus tried to convey his apology with a wince.
Dumbledore nodded his head, “Indeed.” He raised his long, ancient wand, and directed it at the rune stone. Sowilo ᛋ was carved upon it with a twitch of his wrist. “Remus, you should be the one to write the note to Harry. I daresay he’ll find your handwriting most familiar?”
Remus felt a lick of shame run down his spine. He really hadn’t written to Harry much since they’d reconnected two years ago. He’d left it to Sirius, mostly. But Remus nodded his head and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment anyway. Harry would know his hand from his feedback on his third-year DADA essays. It went without saying that it would be better received than a letter from Severus.
Remus scribbled a short note for Harry, then rolled it up. Dumbledore did the same to the map. Both were handed to Severus, who placed them next to the cauldron. Finally, the Headmaster handed over the rune stone.
“I’ll let you do the honors, Severus.”
Severus accepted the rune stone into his left palm with ceremony. With his right, he flicked his wand, and the sconces around the chamber dimmed to a smoulder.
Remus shivered at the shifting of the air in the now silent room. He could smell Severus pulling his power to himself, like the sharp bite of a winter storm. Severus was a powerful wizard and the youngest potions master ever certified in Britain. He had exacting standards and precise magic to match. Remus always found himself in awe of his partner’s skill when he witnessed Severus use magic like this.
Remus was drawn back to the present when Severus moved. With a sweep of his wand around his head, Severus pointed into the steaming cauldron and began chanting in Latin in a low intonation.
The candles in their sconces shuddered and a disjointed breeze could be felt at the back of Remus’ neck. It gave him goosebumps. As the magic gathered in the air around Severus, the man carefully dropped the rune stone into the brew. The dark substance shifted then, momentarily flaring a brilliant gold, before swiftly changing to completely clear. So clear that Remus could see to the bottom of the cauldron. The stone was nowhere to be seen.
Severus’ chanting changed slightly as he picked up the map, carefully levitating it into the cauldron, submerging it completely. He held it under for a moment, then levitated it out. The parchment looked completely dry. Severus did the same with the letter Remus had written.
At this point, magic was layered so thick upon the space that Remus could feel it seeping up from the stone floor. It felt like jolts of energy moving in waves through his body. When Severus laid the map upon the table, it unfurled with a snap. Immediately after, the letter to Harry was drawn over the top as if with a mind of its own. Severus chanted two more repetitive lines and then went quiet. As if drawn in by a compulsion, all three men placed the tips of their wands to the center of the letter.
“Ibis venator inveniet,” Remus recited his modified incantation for the mapping spell.
All three of the men’s wands glowed for a moment, and then it was done.
The lights in the room resumed their original brightness, the oppressive feel of magic melted away from Remus’ body back into the floor. Severus let out a long, almost silent breath. Dumbledore looked pleased.
“Well, thank you, Severus, Remus, for your work tonight. I believe it is time to return to the surface to set this plan into motion.” The Headmaster picked up the map and letter and turned to head for the stairs, “Does this household possess an owl?”
Severus snorted and followed the Headmaster. Remus trailed behind with a sigh, “I’ll find Pigwidgeon.”