Anachronism (4/16)
Saturday, 15 May, 10:00 AM
Severus Summoned an armchair and dropped into the seat, taking a swig from one of his restorative potions.
Despite food, potions, and a few hours sleep, the journey from his quarters to the potions lab took all morning. The use of magic winded him, just as much as the shaky steps he had taken down the spiralling staircase that led from his room: the only one in the tower. Why he had built himself a place to die on top of a tower was beyond him, although it did have beautiful views of the gardens. It was an unusual edifice-shiny obsidian black with coils of vividly green jadeite winding up to the top.
As he hobbled past the rows of flora, he took mental note of the potion uses for each ingredient. There were no discernible themes, other than they had apparently attempted to collect every single herb necessary for potion-making. It was a garden fit to rival the one at Hogwarts, albeit with more specialties. The planting boxes curved in a variety of shapes and sizes, and although his current path of stone was a straight shot, the paths of stone, wood, dirt, and water that branched off were almost as unique as the flora. A few went a few paces before ending, while others curled around in spirals. He could discern no functional use to the designs, which interrupted the flow of the plants rather than enhanced it.
At first the diversity of the collection astonished him, but after he'd been walking through the garden for an hour and still hadn't made it halfway across, he cursed his doppelgänger and Potter. Of course, the journey would go more quickly if he removed the spells of disguise and camouflage he was using on himself, but he refused to do so. Why on earth had he built the tower in the centre of the garden, rather than the edge? There was no need to have so many plants, particularly the common English weeds. Without his memories, it was an exercise in futility. Perhaps his mind had wandered towards the end. It was a terrifying thought, even worse than the idea of life without magic. In the end, his mind was all he had.
Another hour more and he had made it to the side door of the house. Thick, heavy wards hung in the air, but they granted him access, allowing him to open the massive oak door and step into the refreshingly cool interior.
Once he could breathe calmly again, he bellowed, "Kreacher!" into the silence.
The house-elf appeared with a pop. He glared at Severus as if the Potions Master had intruded upon his personal space.
Didn't he and Potter own the property jointly? Why did the house-elf act as if he were an intruder? Severus scowled at Kreacher. "Where is Potter?"
Kreacher narrowed his eyes. "Master Harry is not home. Master Harry works very hard. He is in the Ministry at day and the lab at night."
What was Potter doing mucking about in his personal lab? If Potter was in his lab, tainting his experiments, it was more than likely an accident had happened. Maybe that was why Potter was so determined to fix the problem; he knew he was responsible for it, the dimwitted brat.
Kreacher continued, "Master Harry is most considerate. He has asked Kreacher to prepare meals for Master-" he sneered the word. "Snape. Does Master Snape wish to dine in the entryway?"
It was asked as a challenge, but Severus was too exhausted to move. "Yes, bring everything here."
Kreacher shuffled off, mumbling, "Master Harry will never have an heir now that the bat is back. Kreacher tells his poor Master that he is wasting his seed, but Master Harry never listens. Kreacher will have no more family to care for...."
He was not surprised to see that there was still no love lost between Black's house-elf and himself. They'd always detested each other, even though the elf had disliked Black nearly as much as Severus had.
Kreacher returned with a huge tray of food floating behind him. More of Severus's favourites. A hearty beef stew, a fresh loaf of whole grain bread and bread pudding. Even the tea, his own special blend of English Breakfast, was brewed to perfection, although it had an enhancement he had never tried before. Gaultheria procumbens, a mild stimulant and analgesic, that complemented the other herbs splendidly.
After he'd eaten his fill and drunk enough healing and restorative potions so that he no longer felt as if he had sharp-spined hedgehogs doing summersaults up and down his legs, he consulted the floorplan. The bedroom, the library, and the potions lab were the three places that most likely contained the majority of the clues he needed. As if to taunt him, they were placed on nearly opposite ends of the house. The potions lab was in the cellar and under the north wing. The bedroom was on the second storey of the south wing. The library was placed to the right of him on the ground storey, abutting on the garden. Of the three, the bedroom was the one he was least curious about, but it was also the one he wanted to explore without Potter hovering about, so he headed there first.
Why he'd agreed to live in such an ostentatious place was beyond him. Although the furniture was selected for comfort and utility rather than show, was there any use for a banquet hall? Or a dining room with a table large enough to fit at least thirty guests? Spinner's End had been sufficient for him. There'd been no need to replace it with this gaudy hovel.
The bedroom he shared with Potter was the first one on the right in a long line of bedrooms. There was no reason their house needed six bedrooms, especially since Keacher apparently slept in the attic. Perhaps the Weasleys often stayed over. Severus shuddered. That was a disgusting thought.
He pushed open the doors, expecting to see pompous decorations, but the room was simple and open, the furniture the sort he would have picked had he been required to spend large sums of galleons on bedroom fixtures. There were traces of Potter scattered throughout, such as the crimson and silver throw pillows which dotted the massive black bedspread like drops of blood and mercury, but this room was his.
It was almost as if he were coming home after a long time away, so heavy was the trace of his touch in the room. Still, there were differences. Even without Potter's contributions, it wasn't as dark as he preferred. On the contrary, it was very well lit. The windows were not covered in thick, heavy curtains designed to block out any trace of light. Although the cloths were black like those at Spinner's End, these bore silver vines with crimson flowers that bloomed in bursts of red.
Severus hobbled over to the wardrobes, reached for one of the ornate handles on the carved oak doors and pulled it open. His hand resting on the handle, he stood transfixed by what he saw. Instead of a single wardrobe, he had an entire cupboard of his own, adjacent to Potter's. Combined, the two cupboards were the size of his entire bedroom at Spinner's End, and his was half-full. What a waste! There was no need for it, his wardrobe had been more than sufficient before. He had no use for clothing beyond five regular robes, a dress robe, a nightshirt, and a few Muggle clothes for disguises. Now, he had six black dress robes alone, not to mention the ones in green or even the one with black and crimson. He slammed the door shut. Never in his life had he worn those colours.
He surveyed the room, checking for any further clues of his previous life. No secrets would be found here. He never hid personal artefacts in the bedroom; it was much too obvious a hiding place. However, a bedroom was the perfect place to learn about an individual, and he intended to find out as much as possible about his doppelgänger self. Two bedside tables flanked the head of the bed. The first had to belong to Potter, with an empty glass sitting by a spare pair of glasses, and a well-worn copy of Le Petit Prince, a French children’s book.
He opened the drawer and found several potion vials that he recognised as his own, despite the fact that they were bottled in a different fashion than he had in the past. They were labeled, but he sniffed them anyway to confirm that the writing matched the contents. Dreamless Sleep and several minor remedies for basic aches comprised the bunch. Behind the vials were three unlabeled flat jars. He sniffed at the contents, but could not ascertain what they were for until he dipped a finger in one.
Lubrication.
He threw the jar back in the drawer in horror and hurried to the loo to wash his hands.
Returning to the bedroom he checked out his bedside table. It held a pile of books including Wuthering Heights, one of his favourite Romantic pieces. The drawer was warded shut, but it didn't take long for him to break though his own wards, even with the differences between his old and his new styles. He yanked open the drawer, only to find that it was full of sex toys. His stomach clenched, and he grimaced as he stared at the disturbing contents. There were anal beads, butt plugs, dildos, strips of silk, vibrators, more lubrication, and several items Severus could not recognise but were probably used for more vulgar sex acts. He nearly sent the whole disgusting mess up in flames. Instead, he slammed the drawer shut with revulsion and warded it tightly. He had become a sick, twisted man.
Even more familiar than the bedroom was the bathroom. His toothbrush was the same style and colour as the one he had last used to brush his teeth before he'd woke in the future. It was even placed where his other had been, although the ornate sinks were nothing like the ones he’d ever used at Hogwarts or at Spinner's End. There were two sinks instead of one. Side by side, one contained Potter's items, the other was Severus's. Separated out, their items showed their distinct personalities. Potter's side was cluttered; potion bottles overflowed his cabinet and littered the sink. There was a method amid the mess, as the vials were organised by type. Why one man needed so many variations on sleep aids was beyond him.
There were sparse toiletries on Severus's side. A few choice potions: Dreamless Sleep, his own personal mouthwash (the exact same recipe that he had brewed six years before), a few minor healing potions, headache removers (he never could have enough of those) and a restorative potion. His favourites for mental stimulation and clarity were nowhere to be found. The little snot had removed them, no doubt.
Potter's wizard razor sat in the middle and Severus pushed it and the potions that threatened to encroach on his territory over to the middle of Potter's side. Even if the items hadn't given away which side belonged to whom, it would be obvious due the lack of mirror on Severus's side.
A second sweep of the rooms for non-obvious artefacts alerted him to a warded area in the back of Potter's cupboard. Severus smirked. Idiot. Potter's magic and wards were unfamiliar to him, but the boy had no mastery of the subject, and it didn't take long for Severus to strip through them. Potter's old school trunk lay beneath the mess of magic. After checking for booby traps, he opened the lid to find Potter's Invisibility Cloak, a Snitch, a broken shard of mirror, a spare bit of parchment, clothing, and a stack of papers. As he lifted the papers, a business card fluttered to the floor. Severus bent down and picked it up.
Jason Andreros, Personal Assistant. The telephone number below stated that the man was a Muggle. Below the number were words Severus did not understand but assumed to be Muggle as well. JasonAndreros@yahoo.com.
After memorising the characters, Severus dropped the card back into the trunk.
He rifled through more of the trunk's contents and found some papers which he proceeded to read. The stack of papers consisted of correspondence from various individuals to Potter: Black, Granger, a few Weasleys, and himself. It was uncanny to see his handwriting on letters he had written but had no memory of ever composing.
A short, small bit of parchment dated the twenty fourth of November 2002 read:
Harry-
France is miserable; too many French people. I will never attempt to come here again without you.
Severus
Another, dated the fourth of September, 2001 read:
Potter -
If you put baking powder into the container which is clearly marked baking soda ever again, you will not be permitted to touch anything in the kitchen on pain of death. Leave the cooking to your betters, which in this case, includes your incompetent house-elf.
Severus
PS. Pick up some fresh elderberries at the market. The proper market.
Since when did he cook? It must have been something he'd picked up after the war.
A thicker bit of folded parchment was labeled the eleventh of April, 2002.
Potter-
These past three weeks apart have revealed to me that perhaps I was too hasty when I rejected your proposal. My work has always been my own and I've never felt the inclination for any sort of partnership, even with those who have talent. To brew for profit is necessary, but that does not mean that I must sacrifice my independence.
If we do intend to go down this path, then I will insist on retaining my rights to every potion brewed. Your wealth does not entitle you to my work and I have no desire to brew based upon your whims and requirements. You say now that you would never ask me to brew anything that I would not want to work on myself, but I know you. If it were up to you, I would work non-stop on creating potions for all your favorite charity projects.
Even without these complications, the mutual peace we have reached over these four years will be forever tainted should you become my employer. In our last 'conversation', you accused me of pride and I do not deny that I am proud. However, you seem to be laboring under the impression that I believe my pride posits me above you. While it is clear that I hold superiority in certain matters such as cooking, brewing, and spell creation amongst others, I do acknowledge that you have your own favourable attributes. I do not remark on them for lack of observation, but because I expect that your friends and sycophants have made you well aware of these traits. Believe me, I hold my time to be far too valuable to waste four years of it with a man I despise.
I have gathered nearly everything I require and will return to England in three days. We will discuss this matter further upon my return.
Severus
The parchment had been folded and refolded several times and Severus could imagine Potter reading and re-reading the letter. Like the others, it was uncharacteristically open and emotional for him, but not far enough removed from who he was for him to reject it outright. He had changed a lot after the war. His future self could express things he had never dared to say to Lily. He searched through the rest of the letters. There were no 'I love you's' or 'I miss you's’. Although the few earlier letters contained insults directed at Potter, as time passed, the insults shifted to other people. One letter, dated the 2nd of July 2003, consisted of nothing but Severus ranting about a new customer. Why Potter had kept the letter was beyond him, but he copied down the name, as he had fallen ill at the end of December in 2003.
There were no letters dating after he had fallen ill. The last letter was dated the 5th of November, 2003.
Harry-
The last thing I want to do is spend the evening with a bunch of dunderheads who think they know potions. I'll be taking you to dinner instead. Be ready at seven.
Severus
He snorted and continued his search of the trunk. A miniature model of a firedrake nipped at him. Severus shooed it away to collect the prize it was guarding. It was a picture of Potter with Charlie Weasley wrapped around him. As Severus watched with weights in his stomach, Weasley draped his arms over Potter's shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. Potter laughed and grinned at the camera, one hand reaching up to curl in Weasley's hair. Had Potter worked his way through the Weasley clan? What a slag. Severus flicked the photo back into the trunk with a sneer, hoping the drake would send it up in flames.
After thoroughly searching the rest of the trunk and the room, Severus replaced the letters and readjusted the wards before leaving for the potions lab.
When he'd looked at the map of the house, he had wondered at the stupidity of placing the potions lab, where his experiments were conducted, directly under the house, even if it was only a side wing. However, the long section between the north wing and the main quarters of the house labelled 'walkway' was actually a patio with a lattice roof. A creek ran through the earthen walkway, separating the Potions Lab from the house.
Severus crossed one of the small wooden bridges that joined the two sections. The ground storey of the north wing had been labelled 'storage' on the map, but when Severus opened the door, he found himself in a climate-controlled greenhouse. More plants? Was the outside garden not large enough? He stepped forward, and the smell of ozone hit his nose, as well as a particular damp moisture that could only be found in certain climates. Glancing around, he confirmed with his eyes what his nose already knew: these plants were not the type that normally grew in England.
Ignoring the stairs that led to the cellar for the moment, he hobbled down the passageways, examining the plants. Hydnora. Welwitschia. Amorphophallus. Even several Tacca chantrieri, a difficult bloomer that Professor Sprout hadn't been able to grow. The garden outside had contained a wide variety of plants, but few as exotic or rare as this collection. Itemising the plants as he walked, he calculated the number of potions he could create with each plant. If his calculations were correct and the few samples he saw representative of the collection at large, there were very few floral potion ingredients he would ever have to order. Even more importantly, the potions he could brew based on this garden would be unmatched by any brewed using purchased ingredients. Any professional Potions Master knew that to make perfect potions, the ingredients had to be selected with utmost care, as well. Soil, temperature, insect control, pollination, everything mattered, everything could affect the outcome of a potion. He and Potter had more wealth than he had imagined.
Turning, he headed down towards the lab. The entrance was guarded with thick, strong wards. If anyone else had been responsible for them, he would not have bothered trying to break through them, but he had built these, and he would not let Potter keep him from the one place he needed to be. To conserve his strength, he sat on the floor as he worked his way through the familiar yet different enchantments. The wards initially refused to yield, not recognising him, but the more he pushed, the more they relaxed, and soon he was able to break through.
The triumph of defying the arrogant brat filled him with enough energy to ignore the protests of his body and pull himself to his feet.
Severus reached for the door handle and pulled. The door swung open slowly, but it still did not give him enough time to process what he saw. He knew his future self had created the lab with copious amounts of money, but it did not prepare him for the sight that greeted his eyes. Many times, he had dreamt about the sort of laboratory he would create if given ample funds, but there were none as perfect as this, even in his dreams. For a moment he could do nothing but stand in the doorway and blink, half-expecting to wake up. If he had looked in the Mirror of Erised with a wish for a lab, this was what he would see.
Severus stepped farther into the room to observe the layout. He had not one, but two laboratories hidden in the cellar. The first was huge, twice the size of the Potions classroom back at Hogwarts. He had enough work stations to brew twenty different potions at once. Rows and rows of jars filled with ingredients were lined up above the sinks and equipment. Three doors lined the near wall. The first, open, revealed the office. Walking past it for now, he headed over to open the other two doors, revealing cupboards filled with every possible ingredient he could imagine.
The second lab, at the end of the cellar farthest from the house, had been sectioned off from the rest of the cellar. It took Severus a moment to realise why it was so empty and why there were two rooms between the door to the smaller lab and the exit from the larger one.
It was a clean lab, designed entirely for research with volatile, dangerous chemicals. The thick, padded walls of stone, earth, and water, were supported by heavy wards designed to protect the rest of the structures should any spell or potion go awry. Was this where he’d had his accident? Changing his robes and casting purification and cleansing spells on himself, he stepped into the cool room, inhaling carefully. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of stale air. The room smelt as if the lab had been walled off for years. Running his fingers over the worktable, he noted a small, greyish tint clinging to the edges of his fingertips. A bit of dust. If his accident had occurred here, it hadn't been used since.
Removing his wand, he tried to pull up traces of the spells that had been cast in the area, but the room had been magically purified. Someone had removed any trace of what had transpired. It was not suspicious in and of itself; if they thought a spell accident responsible for Severus’s illness, the room would have been cleaned to prevent anyone else from coming to harm. He would have to examine the scrolls Potter had given him to determine what those who had cleaned the room had found.
He gave the room one last look, before returning to the larger laboratory. Severus cast about the room, checking for spells, wards and any other useful information. As typical of most labs, this room had not been magically cleaned for a while, and the traces of old spells lingered on the worktables, in the cauldrons, and on the equipment. Healing potions, restorative potions, stabilising potions, and sleep aids, were the only potions of which he found traces; nothing atypical had been brewed recently. A cauldron full of Dreamless Sleep was bubbling in the corner, but it was the only one in use.
His explorations of the main lab complete, he returned to the office, stepping through the open door. Everything had appeared smaller on the map when he first examined it, and the office was no exception. Twice as big as the storage cupboards, it was nearly three times the size of the one he had held at Hogwarts. Two side-by-side desks straddled the middle of the room, surrounded by books, filing cabinets, boxes and even more ingredients. The desk he assumed to be Potter's overflowed with scrolls, stacks of parchment, and record books.
His own was as neat and tidy as the desk in his tower, scrolls and quills organised, although the organisation was slightly different from the way he had arranged his desk in the past. Flipping through the bits of parchment, he felt magic emanating from the desk. Setting down the parchments, he explored the desk, only to find that it had been taken apart. Whoever had done it, Potter no doubt, had tried to put everything back in order, but he could tell the signs of destruction. Even his chair hadn't been spared; it had been taken apart and was now held together with wizard glue and magic. Stupid boy. He would never be so careless as to leave anything important in or near his desk.
Absently, he ran his hands over the area, searching for anything that Potter might have found. Who was to say he'd not lost his mind during the time the illness grew stronger and he grew weaker? He knelt on the floor and searched the underside of the chairs and the desk. No sign of anything hidden in the wood: Muggle or magical. Grabbing onto the chair to pull himself up again, he adjusted his feet, only to notice that one of the tiles beneath his hand was glowing.
He lifted his hand.
The glow faded.
He put his hand back.
The glow returned.
He felt around for wards, any trace of magic, but none could be found. He touched the tile with the tip of his finger.
It glowed.
He removed his finger, pulled off a bit of hair, and dropped it on the tile.
It glowed for a second, then returned to normal.
Fascinating. He had heard about this type of magic but had never been able to get it to work himself. Well, he'd not yet, he corrected himself. It was blood magic; it could not be detected through any normal magical means and could only be activated by those of blood kin. As he had no relatives alive, he had to have set the ward himself. He cast a simple cutting spell on his fingertip and dripped three drops of blood onto the tile. As the last drop hit, the tile vanished, revealing a small block of wood almost as long as his hand and half the width of his palm. Although the wood appeared solid, Severus knew it was a box in disguise. Reaching in, he removed the box, then squeezed more blood from his finger, and the tile reappeared. He tucked the box into his robes.
He conjured a spray bottle and filled it with a mixture of his blood and water. It was enough to search the entire office and lab for more hidden artefacts, but he found no more. A simple cleaning spell set the room right again and, after he had re-examined his old desk, he searched Potter's.
He was still looking through the files of the customers they had dealt with when Potter opened the door.
"Find anything?"
"No." Severus remained seated at Potter's desk, flipping through the files.
Potter lingered in the doorway. "You were in the research lab when I found you on the floor. You were working on something. I remember there were ingredients and an open spell book. I rushed you to St Mungo's, and you begged me to stay with you. They couldn't find anything physically wrong with you and they released you the same day. I thought you were fine. You didn't tell me you were sick until a week later." Taking two steps into the room, Potter continued, "I didn't make a note of the ingredients at the time, and when I realised you were ill, I thought you knew what had happened. I didn't think to search through my memories until nearly three weeks later. Despite my best attempts, I couldn't recognise the ingredients or the book. That memory is in the vial of memories I gave you."
Without looking up, Severus asked in a cool voice, "Why did you dismantle my desk?"
"The same reason I searched everywhere in this house for clues to your illness. I thought you couldn't solve the problem on your own and needed my help. You always said there were two places where I should never hide artefacts I wanted to stay hidden: wardrobes and desks. I figured, since you always said you would never hide anything by your desk, it would be a good place to look."
And it had been. Had he known Potter would search his desk? But why use the blood spell if he'd wanted Potter to find it?
He glanced up, giving the boy his full attention. Potter had changed out of his Auror robes and dressed himself in a tight, forest green t-shirt and jeans. The boy was toned, not thick yet, but with a body that suggested far more exercise than he had received at Hogwarts. In less than a year to his mind, Potter had changed from a scrawny kid to a full-grown man. Years of time missing that had transformed Potter into a person Severus did not quite know. It was a disconcerting thought. Without those memories, he didn't belong to this place and time. He was out of step. He needed those missing memories back. He needed to bridge this gap of time.
"Let's arrange," said Potter, "to spend two hours together every night until we sort this out."
Severus raised an eyebrow at Potter. "Why would I burden myself with your aid?"
Potter strode in and dropped into Severus's chair. "You enjoyed your life here. You-"
"You assume that it was not a suicide attempt."
Bowing his head, Potter stared at his hands. After a moment, he said, "I did think of that. However-" He raised his head, his eyes dry. "-it's such a fucked-up way to commit suicide. Destroying yourself with your magic has to be the worst way to go. Besides, you spent all your time building the garden and the tower and working on your cure. If you did intend to commit suicide, you changed your mind right after."
"Why are the gardens not added to the map of the house?"
"You kept the plans for that in here." Potter tapped the side of his temple. "You'd draw out squares for the workers to build and plant each day. I tried to find them after you...fell unconscious, but I couldn't. Let's see...." Potter pulled a scroll from his robes. "From your desk down here I gathered a few clues. You wrote 'Zenith: Draco' shortly before you retired to your tower. I've researched spells and potions that require Draco to be at the Zenith, but I've been unable to find anything." Potter shook his head.
There were very few potions that required the constellations to be in precise locations due to the remoteness of their stars from the earth. The sun and the planets had a far greater effect on magic. Considering how often Draco had been at Zenith at Hogwarts, such a potion would be easy to brew. He wouldn't bother to write such a thing down, as it was easier to check the star charts.
"I also found what appears to be the word 'Evenett' or 'Everett' on a scrap of parchment stuck in a book. They're both popular names, although Everett is also the name of a few cities in America." Potter removed a photo from his robes and handed it to Severus. "Here's the original as well as the enhancement I had made."
Severus took the photo and stared at it. The bit of parchment in the photo was a scrap, a tiny piece torn off. So many spells had been used to reconstruct the scribbled, smudged word that he doubted the letters recovered were what had been originally written.
"I also found an order for various stones and gems," said Potter as he read from the scroll in his hands. "You purchased bloodstone, emerald, golden beryl, jadeite, moonstone, obsidian, opal, rose quartz, staurolite, and tanzanite. You used the obsidian for your tower as well as the jadeite. Tanzanite was used to outline your room. Opal is at the bottom of the pools of water." He looked up from reading the list. "I was unable to figure out what you did with the rest. They could be buried in the tower or the garden, I don't know, you modified the memories of the workmen. I didn't want to try to take it apart while you were still alive in case it was keeping you alive." Glancing up, Potter looked at Severus as if he expected a response.
Severus ran a finger slowly over his lips. He used obsidian blades in his lab since they could reach a thinness unmatched by any other material. Even surgical steel was thicker and rougher than obsidian due to the volcanic glass's lack of crystal structure. Compared to traditional building materials, obsidian fractured easily. Jadeite was stronger, but he suspected the tower had only been lined in the stones.
Why he'd ordered jadeite was a mystery to him. He'd had a jade cauldron to brew a few things at Hogwarts, but it wasn't often used in potion brewing; only a few recipes called for it, mostly those to do with healing. Opal and moonstone were often ground up and used in potions. Moonstone was a component of Wolfsbane and a few healing potions he'd made regularly at Hogwarts. He had never heard of staurolite and knew next to nothing about tanzanite. The rest were familiar as gemstones, but he had never used them in brewing and knew little of their magical properties.
Returning his gaze to the parchment, Potter said, "I know nothing about using these things in casting spells, but I was able to find a witch in San Jose, California, who was very helpful. Unfortunately, there are so many associations, I didn't know where to begin. I wrote down all the major ones as well as the minor ones." Potter slid the scroll over to Severus. "Anyway, the only thing I found that was illuminating was that bloodstone, emerald, and rose quartz are gemstones associated with Beltane. As you already know, Beltane happens to be May Day or the morning of Walpurgis Night, the day before Nagini bit you. It's the day this year when you passed into unconsciousness, six years almost precisely to the date of Nagini's bite."2
The Death Eaters had originally been named the Knights of Walpurgis. That day was one of the most powerful days of the year for spell-craft and potion-making. He had fallen unconscious on a very magically auspicious day. He had been a spy too long to believe in coincidence. If he had intended to cast a powerful spell, that would be one of the days to do it. Summer solstice wouldn't occur until the twenty-first of June. Only the twentieth of March, the vernal equinox, was the other close date of magical importance. However, it was nowhere near as important as Walpurgis Night.
If he'd or someone else had cast a spell to save his life, then why all the secrecy? Why keep Potter in the dark if the boy was so determined to aid him? He knew nothing about gemstones; they always seemed weak and rather useless except when ground up and used in potions. Perhaps that was what he had done with the rest of them.
"I have all this information in the scrolls I gave you earlier," Potter said as he placed the scroll back in his robes. "Greater details there, too. It'll take you weeks to read through them all and explore everything. Have you been to the library yet?"
The trip to the house had taken most of his day. "Not yet."
"It's seven PM" Potter sat up straighter. "Time for dinner, the time I'd like to meet you each evening while we work this stuff out. Two hours is all I ask, and I'll leave you completely alone. You can call me to you if you'd like, but I'll not try to approach or write to you outside those two hours."
Two hours in a twenty-four hour day were a lot to devote to a man he'd rather not spend any time with at all, but, as much as he hated to admit it, he needed Potter's help to solve this mystery. Two hours during which he could ignore the twit whenever he desired. He only promised to spend two hours in his company, not two hours speaking to Potter. If he agreed to those two hours, he would have his peace outside of them. "Very well," he sighed, not trying to hide his displeasure at the inconvenience.
Potter's grin widened. The same grin he'd worn in the photograph when Charlie kissed him. "I'll tell Kreacher to serve us dinner in the library. I don't know what he's prepared for dinner, but do you want me to request anything special?"
"No."
With a nod, Potter got up and left.
When he wasn't at Hogwarts, dinner had always come from tins. Purchasing, preparing and cooking fresh food took far too much of his time for him to bother with, and he never spent long at Spinner's End anyway. This life of luxury was not what he had envisioned. After Lily's death, his own death was the only sort of future he'd seen for himself. Spies and traitors never lived very long. If it wasn't for his relationship with Potter, he would have thought he was in some sort of delirious dream state, his dying mind attempting to create the perfect fantasy before he passed away.
Potter would never be part of a perfect fantasy.
With all the rest Severus had had while sitting at his desk in his laboratory, it did not take him long to plod to the library. Compared to the rest of the house, the library was not nearly as ostentatious as he expected it to be. About one-third the size of the one at Hogwarts, it was a cramped, over-stuffed room with fat armchairs and tiny reading tables scattered amongst floor to ceiling bookshelves. The bookshelves were arranged in a half-circle around an open space in front of massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A desk sat in the middle, the one Severus presumed to be his own.
"Welcome back!" called a voice Severus didn't recognise. A few more steps and Severus realised why he couldn't see the man in the library. He was in one of the paintings that dotted the wall. Two portraits hung on the wall nearest to the desk. Phineas Nigellus Black smiled at Severus from one, and another man Severus had never seen before waved from the second. Balding with a bush of grey hair perched on the back of his head, he had walked to the edge of his portrait and stood up against the canvas as if he were about to take one bounding step and leave the frame.
"You did it!" he said.
"Now did he?" asked Phineas, watching Severus with a cautious eye. "You're looking haggard, Severus. Has the boy been taking proper care of you?"
"Oh, lay off," said the other man. "He's been entirely bedridden for over a month and now he's walking! Harry's done a beautiful job."
Severus sank into his chair. The prickly feeling in his legs had subsided considerably, and he only needed a few swigs of his potions to feel right again.
"What are you doing here?" asked the unknown man. "I'd have thought you'd still be celebrating with Harry! A young stallion like that can be ridden for days without tiring!"
Everyone had gone mad. Severus just stared at him, aghast.
"You can see what I've had to deal with here without you," said Phineas, glaring in the direction of his companion's portrait. "Next time you nearly die, pray take me with you. We portraits do not have the luxury of committing suicide."
"Oh..." The other man waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. "He's just upset because Harry never visits the library as much as you and hasn't stepped foot in here for weeks except to update us on your condition. No matter though! You've returned," he said with a cheerful grin.
Severus said, "I have no memory of the past six years."
"Oh," said the man.
After a pause, Phineas said, "I see."
Phineas was an intelligent man, a true Slytherin who had helped Severus out during his stint as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Addressing him, Severus said, "The last thing I remember is Nagini's attack. I woke in that bed with no memory beyond the 2nd of May, 1998."
"I suppose," said the man, "that the cure didn't work. Or it worked too well."
"Potter believes that I was poisoned."
"No." Phineas shook his head. "You were experimenting."
"On what?"
Phineas's thin lips twisted into a smile. "You told me not to tell you."
So, if Phineas was telling the truth, Severus had known he would lose his memories and had deliberately hid information from himself. Bizarre. "And you'll honour the wishes of my other self when I ask you this question here and now?" asked Severus, directing a hard stare at Phineas.
Phineas shrugged, still smiling. "I must have ways to make my life entertaining."
"You never told me anything," said the other man.
Dryly, Phineas said, "I can't imagine why."
The door to the library opened, and Potter marched through, a tray of food floating behind him.
"I see you met Paracelsus," said Potter.
"Philip," corrected Phineas.
"Philippus Theophrastus Aureolus Bombastus von Hohenheim," said Paracelsus with a theatrical bow. "But call me Paracelsus."
"He was christened Philip," Phineas told them.
Potter sent a reading table galloping towards them and transfigured it into a table suitable for a meal. One of the armchairs joined him and he busied himself preparing tea. "This is where you spent most of your time when you weren't in your laboratory."
"It's your favourite room in the house," said Paracelsus, "apart from the bedroom."
Potter shot a warning glance at Paracelsus. "Paracelsus, please." He pushed Severus's teacup to his edge of the table and prepared his own. "How do your legs feel?" he asked Severus. "I massaged restorative potions into the muscles every day so that you'd be able to walk on your own once you felt better, but potions stopped working after you took ill."
"I can walk. It is enough." It was hard to judge how effectively he had recovered without knowing what had afflicted him. He was not a mediwizard and did not know how long it took for muscles to atrophy when not in use. Even what little knowledge he had was of no use without understanding the nature of his illness. To have one's magic turn against the body was not a condition of which he had ever heard.
He took a sip of his tea. Perfect. It was as if he had brewed and prepared the cup himself.
Severus watched Potter through half-hooded eyes. It was difficult to bear that this near-stranger knew so much about him. Unaware of the scrutiny, Potter tucked into his meal, cutting into his steak with gusto. At Hogwarts, he had always been rather sloppy in his table habits, eating as though he thought the food would disappear unless he stuffed it in his mouth. He still took quick, furtive bites, but they were no longer disgustingly large, and he sat with his back straight, his fork and knife held perfectly. The tousled dark hair lifted, the intense green eyes meeting his own.
Potter swallowed. "Everything all right with the food?"
It was too perfect. It was too him. This entire house, even with its flaws, had been built for him, for a man whom he didn't even know. A doppelgänger who was him yet not. A future self he wasn't ready to become and didn't know if he wanted to be.
Severus wanted to smash the table, throw the food in Potter's face and tear down the house and the lab. He would obliterate every single trace of this life and have one entirely of his own making. His own choices. He had always despised the idea of destiny, of fate. He had found himself in this future, but that did not mean that he had to accept it.
In a controlled voice he announced, "Tomorrow I will purchase a flat of my own."
"No."
"No?" hissed Severus, narrowing his eyes to slits. How dare this child order him around.
Potter stared with his jaw set stubbornly, and his eyes narrowed. "You're sick. You're in danger. I won't lose you again."
Severus shook his head and returned Potter's sharp gaze, his fist tightening over his fork. "You've already lost him, you stupid brat. When will that get through that thick skull of yours?"
Potter's lips pressed thin and his face took on an even more mulish quality. "You're here. That's enough."
"You still don't get it, do you? I hate you!"
Potter shrugged. "You did before."
Severus threw down his fork. "I was forced to suffer through your company for six years. I'll not spend an unnecessary moment in it for even a minute longer!" He bit back the 'get out' he wanted to yell. This was Potter's home as much as his, and he did not want to shout commands he was not certain he could enforce.
"Right," said Potter. "Then let's talk about this mystery."
"The one only you seem to see." Severus crossed his arms. "Everyone else I have spoken to says that I became injured through an experiment gone wrong."
With lifted eyebrows, Potter asked, "Do you really think you messed up an experiment?"
He did not.
"And if you did," said Potter quietly, "then why all the mystery? Why not just tell me that you made a mistake? Where did your memories go? Even if the poisoner had nothing to do with this, don't you want to know what happened to those memories? Don't you want to know what went so horribly wrong? How you cured your illness? I've been researching this for months. I want answers. I've hired all the experts I could and none of them could tell me anything. You're the only one who can solve this mystery."
"You assume that I'll give you the answers once I find them," said Severus, drawing himself up taller in his chair.
Lifting his cup of tea, Potter gave a tiny nod of agreement. "I figure that, if nothing else, you'll want to boast about how you were able to solve the mystery while I was too stupid to figure it out. You can't prove that you've solved it unless you explain it."
It was uncanny. All the Occlumency in the world wouldn't protect him from a man who knew him just as well as he knew himself.
Potter took a sip of his tea and continued, "Whenever you solved a mystery in the lab, you had to rush to publish the results to prove that you had done it."
Severus stared at Potter. He would never have done that. Most of his work had remained his own, his creations kept close to his chest to prevent them from being turned against him. Ever since his spells had gotten into the hands of James Potter, inadvertently revealed through Lily and his own bragging, he had sworn to limit the amount of knowledge that passed to his enemies. Potter didn't know him as well as he thought he did.
Instead of trying to find out what Potter knew, he should try to find out what Potter thought he knew. He needed to understand this doppelgänger who'd not trusted himself or Potter. Perhaps the reason he'd hid the information from himself was to prevent Potter from finding it. He could not trust him.
He stared at the mix of boy and man across from him. The newly clean-shaven jaw, thicker though it was, emphasised the other youthful features of his face, such as plump lips and smooth skin without a hint of a wrinkle.
"I think it would be best," Potter was saying, "if you stayed in our old bedroom. After all, the more you separate yourself from this life, the harder it'll be for you to uncover the past."
"No."
"I'll stay in a guest room-"
"I'm not staying here."
Potter dropped his utensils, crossed his arms, and leant back in his chair. "I'm not letting you leave the grounds. Not until you've regained your health and can prove to me that you can defend yourself on the street."
"How dare you! Who do you think you are?" Severus reached up his sleeve and whipped out his wand. "I'd like to see you try to stop me."
Potter yanked out his own, training it on Severus's chest. "Try me. If you can get past me, I'll let you leave the grounds."
Paracelsus sighed, "Here we go again."
Phineas said, "Don't forget to set up spells to protect the artefacts."
With a practised arm, his vivid eyes never leaving Severus's, Potter cast protection spells, leaving the two of them isolated in a protected bubble.
Severus's magic was weak; he had not fully recovered. Could he beat Potter? He had been duelling before Potter was born, but apparently this had been common practice between them, and he couldn't imagine himself bothering to duel Potter again and again unless Potter could hold his own at least reasonably well. Then again, Potter was as stubborn as a Hippogriff. He might have been trounced again and again, only to keep coming back for more. The last duel between them had been nothing; the boy's spells had been easier to flick off than battling a pixie.
If he fought and lost he could never regain his honour. If he were at full strength, he would not hesitate to attack, but even transfiguring his walking stick left him weak. He would not enter into a duel unless he was certain he would win or at least draw to a stalemate. His best chance of winning was to draw Potter off his guard. Thankfully, he had other ways to attack besides using his wand.
In his deepest, darkest voice, he said, "For a boy who is supposedly my lover, you are quick to attack me."
Potter's wand never wavered. "This was how we started our relationship. You would constantly attack me. I learnt how to fight back. You trained me to challenge you."
Why on earth would he ever do such a thing? It was an act of suicide. Potter, of all people, would be the last person he would ever bother to attempt to train. That must have taken all six years. "So tell me, boy, do you do the same with your other partners?"
Eyes growing comically wide behind round glasses, Potter gripped his wand tighter. "What d'you mean?"
Standing would allow him more room to dodge and aim, but his legs were still weak. Sitting would allow him to maintain what little strength he had and he could use the table and the dishes for cover. Now to knock Potter further off-balance. Potter would expect higher attacks; time to hit low. "Are Ginevra and Charlie your only conquests, or did you work your way through the whole Weasley family?"
Potter's brow furrowed. "Gin fancied me. Long ago. But you know-" He paused and swallowed. "There was nothing between us."
Severus had scored a hit, although he wasn't sure how deep the wound went. Time to twist the knife. With his eyes on Potter's face rather than his wand, he said, "Why the attraction to older men, Potter? Do you have a need to find a father figure? Trying to cover up for your responsibility in Black's death? Or-"
"Or maybe Sirius molested me and that's why I'm obsessed with older men," said Potter as he gave a slight roll of his eyes. "I've heard it before, Severus, try again. Besides," he added, showing an unnecessary amount of teeth, "you're the one who fucked a former student. You're old enough to be my father."
Forget his promise to Lily, he would kill the little snot as soon as he could. He saw a weakness in Potter's armour, if only he could work through the cracks. The comment with which he had accused Potter of being a slag had hit a mark, and the boy had never denied being with Charlie. "Have you always been a whore? How young were you when you first spread your legs for Charlie?"
"Seventeen," Potter shot back. "He had such a huge dick. Hung like a Hippogriff and strong as one too. He would pick me up and fuck me-"
"No wonder he's gone," snarled Severus, unwilling to hear about Potter's other conquests. There was a quiver, ever so slight, at the tip of Potter's wand, and it was enough for Severus to zero in. There was pain here, buried beneath the surface. "He was glad to leave you." Potter's face went white. "I wanted to leave you. You always drive away those you love, don't you, Potter?" Potter's eyes were glassy; Severus was almost ready for the attack. Just a bit more and Potter would be wounded enough to be defenceless. "No one ever stays with you because you are a worthless, stupid little child who-"
Potter dropped his wand and bowed his head, his face hidden in a mass of black hair. Severus clutched his wand, gave a smirk and sat back in triumph. He could still defeat Potter without casting a single spell.
"I can't do this," whispered Potter. "Finite Incantatem." The wards dropped.
"What happened?" asked Paracelsus. "Did anyone get hurt?"
Phineas snapped, "Quiet." In the same haughty tone, he asked, "Have you boys finished brawling, or will we be subjected to more testosterone-fuelled displays?"
Only Potter could drive him so mad. He had worked for the Dark Lord for years and spied on him for decades, and he'd never once lost his temper in the Dark Lord's presence-not even when it would've helped his cover. What was it about Potter that could turn him into a schoolboy?
Potter slouched in his chair. "I'm finished." His hand shook as he reached for his tea. Was he about to cry? How pathetic.
Severus slipped his wand back into his sleeve and returned to his meal as if nothing had happened.
Hunched, Potter clutched his tea cup in both hands. After several minutes, without lifting his head, he spoke in a low, even voice, "I compiled a list of Potions Masters you’ve consulted with in the past. It’s very short, and most of them dislike you, because one of your favourite pastimes was responding to their published papers with letters to the editors, tearing their research apart." From his robes he produced a small bit of parchment and sent it across the table with a spell. "Only one of them says he has heard from you since you were taken ill, and he says that you asked him about ways to magically sustain the body as in a wizarding version of Muggle life-support. He’s sending me a copy of the data he compiled for you.
"I’ve written to everyone I could find who’s written anything on memory removal and I’ve ordered every book on the subject that we don’t already own. I haven’t had the chance to pull out the texts on that subject here, but it shouldn’t take you long to find them on your own. Phineas and Paracelsus know the library better than I do and should be able to help you." Potter set his tea cup back on its saucer.
"I’ve already asked Kreacher to set up quarters for me in one of the guest rooms. Take the master bedroom, it’s your house more than mine." Before Severus could say a word, Potter stood. "I know I asked for two hours tonight, but I have a lot of work to catch up on. I’ll see you tomorrow evening." With that, he turned and walked away, his dinner mostly untouched. Off to whinge and lick his wounds no doubt. Severus continued his meal.
"Why...!" cried Paracelsus. "You should be ashamed!"
Phineas gave a snort, although whether he was agreeing or disagreeing with Paracelsus was hard to say.
"I’ll go and speak to him," Paracelsus said, darting off. He jumped into the next frame over and Severus saw him leap from frame to frame until he vanished.
"Philip was once a great sorcerer," said Phineas. "Unfortunately, his portrait was stuffed in a crate for ages and then put on display in a classroom full of fifth years. His mind’s gone to rot, although he occasionally has excellent magical advice, particularly on old magic." Phineas drummed his spidery fingers against the armrest of his chair as he stared at Severus as if seeing him for the first time. "You have none of your memories since 1998?"
Although he and Phineas had never directly quarrelled, Severus had never got along with Blacks, with the sole exception of Narcissa, and that had only happened after she'd become a Malfoy. "If you intend to taunt me," said Severus with ice in his voice, "don't bother."
"I wouldn't dream of it," said Phineas with a slick smile. "Alas, as much as it pains me to admit it, there are mysteries to me in this situation. I do not know the exact nature of your disease or how you cured it. I do intend to find out though, and that is why you must work with the boy."
Severus scoffed, but Phineas continued on as if he'd not heard him. "Forget this nonsense about living in your own place; you need your laboratory, your books, your notes, and as much of your memories as you can scavenge. Sleep in your own room. Eat at your tables. Do everything you can to remember."
"You assume there is something to scavenge." Severus's lip lifted in a small sneer.
Phineas's fingers crept along the armrest. "You are very particular with your words, Severus. I distinctly remember you telling me 'If I can't remember....' and there would be no need for an 'if' if the loss of memory was inevitable. Of course...." He leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers together in front of his chest. "Whether the 'if' referred to your ability to keep your memories or your ability to recover them remains to be seen."
"Potter wishes to pursue this Potion Master he blames for my illness. If it was the result of an accident, then chasing him is a waste of my time. The boy is as stubborn as a Hippogriff and I have no desire to spend my days in fruitless searches."
Phineas shrugged. "It may not be fruitless depending on which aspects of the past you wish to focus on. It was in the poisoner's files that you obtained the recipe for the potion necessary for the spell you were casting. If there is a way to recover the lost memories, it'll most likely be found through that means. However-" He held up one long, crooked finger. "Seeking knowledge for knowledge's sake will only lead to destruction. There are some paths which are not meant to be followed. I know you, both your old and new self, too well to expect you to heed my advice, but, Severus.... There is a reason you did not want yourself to know that spell if you survived."
2. I found there was a lot of confusion as to the exact date of Severus's death. Harry mentions that it is now May the day before Severus dies, therefore, he had to die on the second, not the first.
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