Anachronism (5/16)

[kibatsu]

Sunday, 16 May, 7:00 AM

After Severus had bathed, shaved and dressed, he felt more like his old self than he ever had before. His hair was longer and had to be tied back at the nape of his neck, but the man who greeted him in the mirror was a man he had known all his life. Although he had changed considerably over the past six years, he was still Severus Snape.

He half-expected Potter to bother him, but he must've had another set of toiletries, because no one else had stepped into the room since Severus had entered it the night before. He returned to the library, his gait now a swift step instead of a hobble. Now that he had more freedom to move around, perhaps he would visit his bank accounts and see if he had any artefacts contained within his Gringotts vault and Muggle deposit box.

Kreacher popped over as soon as Severus reached the ground floor. "Master Harry says Master Snape is to have whatever he desires for breakfast."

"Where is Potter?"

"Visiting Master Charlie," said Kreacher, his eyes narrowed.

So, the brat had ran straight to the arms of his ex-boyfriend after the fight! He'd better not be fucking him, the whore.

“Bring whatever I typically eat on a Sunday morning to the library." Severus turned on his heel and strode away, marching into the library.

Paracelsus could not be seen anywhere in the room, while Phineas was reading a book two frames over from where he'd resided the night before.

"If you are looking for the boy," he said without looking up from his book, "he won't be back for another few hours."

"He does this often?" asked Severus, his heart sinking down to his stomach.

"Regularly enough." Phineas turned the page of his book.

He would put a stop to it this instant. Even though he wanted nothing to do with the boy, there was still the principle of the matter. Severus Snape would not be cheated on. Not by anyone, much less Potter. Even worse, the slut wasn't bothering to hide his infidelity, he was flaunting it. Everyone knew how little he cared about Severus. No one had ever treated him with such open disrespect and disdain. No one would again once he was finished dealing with Potter. He would break off the relationship and force a division of assets. Then, and only then, could Potter sleep with whomever he desired.

If Potter would disrespect him, then there was no reason he should respect Potter. "Is there a Floo on the premises?"

"Yes, in the front entry hall."

He normally went to Diagon Alley in disguise. Even without threats to his life, he liked to blend in with the crowds and observe people who would act differently should they know he was in their company. However, he had no Polyjuice prepared and he would not take anything from his laboratory without confirming that the potion had been made perfectly. One could never be too careful when Potter was involved in the brewing. There was also the matter that the best way to learn about himself was to observe how other people reacted to him.

It took him an hour to gather the necessary items: papers, Gringotts keys and bank statements, and weapons. Soon, however, he was striding down Diagon Alley.

He didn't know what reaction he had expected, but it wasn't this. No one cared. He was Severus Snape, former Death Eater, murderer of Albus Dumbledore, the Dark Lord's right hand man and no one gave a damn. A few familiar faces, former students perhaps, gave him a friendly nod as he passed by, but that was it. Was buggering the Boy Who Lived enough to earn absolution in the mind of the wizarding world? Surely that was not why he'd done it?

The goblins greeted him at Gringotts with a deference he had never received before, and when he saw that his vault had been moved to the area reserved for those with a considerable amount of income, he understood why. However, nothing could have prepared him for the shock of what he saw when the door opened.

A small pile of galleons sat near the door, and that was the extent of his wealth. For a moment, he thought the goblin had made a mistake. He'd had more than this six years before! He scanned every corner of the vault, then he spotted, in the far corner, the books in which he'd recorded his laboratory notes. Scooping them up, he rifled through the pages. Ingredient after ingredient met his eye, the list growing more complex as the pages progressed.

As he stared at the last pages he'd written, he understood. Where once he'd been wealthy, he had spent all his money on the cure for his mysterious illness. Tucking the books in his robes, he left the galleons untouched. The second vault he had access to was a joint account with Potter.

"Mr. Potter's signature is required for withdrawals over one thousand galleons," said the goblin as he unlocked the vault.

Considering the expense of their massive house and the laboratory, Severus expected a considerable amount of money in the vault, but it was not as full as expected, although he estimated it contained at least twice the amount of savings he had accumulated while working at Hogwarts. No wonder Potter worked. Business must have suffered once Severus was taken ill. Nodding to the goblin, Severus strode out of Gringotts.

He left Diagon Alley and examined his Muggle bank accounts, but they were equally disappointing. His safe deposit box had piles of cash in various currencies, but his rudimentary calculations estimated the amount in the box to be no more than three thousand galleons at the most. Enough to start a new life, but nothing more beyond that. Along with the cash, the Muggle safe contained an extra wand, various passports and false identities, and a picture of Potter. He picked it up.

It was a Muggle picture, Potter frozen in time with a stupid grin on his face. He stood in front of a field or blurry forest, dressed in scruffy jeans and a loose black t-shirt. On the back, Severus had written 'Harry 5.6.01'. His relationship with Potter had not begun until late 2002. Why had he kept a picture from before they'd started their relationship?

Tossing the picture back amongst the money, he left the bank and found a pay phone on the street. He called the number he had memorised from the business card he had found in Potter's trunk.

"Hullo?" asked a man.

"Jason Andreros, please."

"This is he." His voice was warm, rich like fine wine.

If only there were spells to trace a person through a phone. Unfortunately, any use of a spell would damage the phone. "An associate of mine gave me your business card. He recommended your work."

"Ah… you are seeking a companion?"

A companion? "He highly recommended you."

"I am very exclusive about whom I choose as my companions. To be clear, you are simply hiring a companion for the evening. Intimacy is not guaranteed and should not be expected."

He was an escort! Severus should have guessed straight away at the name 'Andreros'. Andr- was Greek for 'man', eros, 'love'. Potter had the business card of an escort locked in his trunk!

The man continued, "If you could e-mail me pictures of yourself, I would greatly appreciate it. After I have received the photos, I'll contact you with more details."

When Severus found his voice, he murmured, "Of course. I shall 'e-mail' you photographs of myself. Thank you for your time." He hung up. Bile hung thick in his throat, impossible to swallow. No wonder Potter had reacted so strongly to accusations of infidelity. The whore knew he was guilty.

He had always sworn he wouldn't turn into his father, but as he stormed back to his new home, muscles tight and jaw clenched until it hurt, he could think of nothing but how he wanted to punish Potter. Magic wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as the Muggle way. His hands ached to pound into Potter's face and chest. He would choke him until he heard apologies. He would beat him until he begged for forgiveness.

As soon as he stepped out of the Floo, he shouted, "Kreacher!"

The house-elf appeared with a glare.

"Where is Potter?"

"Master Harry is in the library."

Severus marched forward. He shoved open the doors, slamming them against the walls and earning a "My word!" from Paracelsus.

Potter, seated in a chair beside the windows, rose to stand. In a voice thick with accusation, he asked, "Where have you been?"

Severus forced his hands to remain at his side. He would not kill the boy. He would not harm him, even though he deserved it. He would get his things and leave. No. He would force that slag to leave. This was his home just as much as Potter's. He wasn't the one who had been fucking around behind his sick boyfriend's back.

"That is none of your concern," he said in a cold voice as he strode over to his desk, unable to look at Potter without hurting him.

Potter spoke from the window. "I thought you had fallen sick somewhere and had no one to help you. I thought you had left me. I thought-"

"I have."

There was a pause. "Have what?"

"I have left you. I want nothing to do with you. I want our assets divorced. I want half of the value of this house."

"Severus...." Potter's footsteps approached. "Please. Give-"

"Shut up!" Severus clenched his wand, hidden in his robes. "There is nothing you can say that will make me change my mind." He turned to sneer at the whore. "I know what you are."

"I don't…." Potter blinked at him behind round glasses. His brow furrowed. "I don't know what you mean."

"I know what you did today."

The line between Potter's eyes grew darker. "What d'you mean?"

The slut was playing innocent. Pretending he didn't know. He thought he could get away with it, that no one would ever suspect Harry Sodding Potter of cheating. Severus's grip tightened on his wand. "I know you went to see Charlie Weasley."

"Yeah," said Potter as if it were nothing.

He didn't care! The whore was fucking another man, and all his proclamations of devotion were a lie. Potter didn't care about him at all. It was as if a hand had reached into his stomach and yanked out his intestines. The library was deathly quiet, Severus too gutted to say anything, Potter staring.

The silence grew heavier and heavier, but then Potter pleaded, "Severus...."

No. He wanted to march over and put his fist through Potter's face. He wanted to squeeze his neck until it broke. He wanted to stomp his head into the marble of the floor again and again and again. "Did you fuck him?" he growled.

Potter did not move. "What?"

The slag enjoyed driving him mad. The relationship had been a lie. A game designed to drive him mad. He had committed suicide because he could not stand the thought of spending a second longer in Potter's company. Through clenched teeth, Severus asked with a deadly chill, "Did. You. Fuck. Him?"

"What?"

"CHARLIE WEASLEY! DID YOU FUCK CHARLIE WEASLEY?"

"YES! BUT-"

He had fucked Charlie Weasley! He had fucked Charlie Weasley that very day while Severus had been trying to put together pieces of a missing life.

The floor trembled and Paracelsus barely had time to utter an "Oh my!" when the windows exploded, hurling blades of glass throughout the room and forcing Potter to duck. Severus snatched a heavy book off the desk and flung it at Potter, striking him in the head. Off balance, the boy collapsed, glass crunching under his weight.

Paracelsus was yelling, Phineas's softer, darker voice mixed in with his. Severus couldn't hear the individual words; his heart pounded in his head, drowning out the other sounds. It'd been years since he'd used uncontrolled wandless magic. Decades. It'd happened all the time when he was younger, but it hadn't occurred since he'd come to Hogwarts. Not even on the night Lily had died.

A crack like lightning announced the arrival of Kreacher and all the glass vanished. Blood flowed down the left side of Potter's face and dripped from his fingers. Kneeling in a growing pool of red, Potter stared at his bleeding hand as if he had never seen his own blood before. He lifted his head, his face white, his blood crimson, his eyes unblinking.

Kreacher faced Severus, his eyes fierce, and raised his hand.

"Kreacher, no!" cried Potter, reaching out to the house-elf with blood-stained fingers. "Don't hurt him!"

"Master Harry," the house-elf whinged, whirling to face Potter. "He attacked you! The bat attacked you!"

"Why?" asked Potter, blood dripping from his outstretched hand, his eyes still wide. "Because of Charlie? That was before you."

"You visited him today," said Severus, barely controlling his rage.

"So?" Blood flew from Potter's lips and landed in the puddle. "Why the fuck does it matter?"

"You-!"

"You visit my mother's grave! Why can't I visit Charlie's? Why?"

Dead.

Charlie Weasley was dead. He had attacked Potter over a dead man. Charlie was dead and Potter was bleeding on the floor. How was he supposed to know Charlie had died? His mind was a wreck, deprived of six years of memories. He couldn't have memorised that long list he had glanced at only once. He had a million things to learn and memorise.

He stared at the blood dripping down Potter's face. He'd hurt him. He'd never made the boy bleed before. He had wanted to see blood and now the sight of it made his stomach churn. He had become his father.

Kreacher muttered to himself as he waved his hand over Potter's injuries. The blood vanished, leaving only flawless skin. Once Potter was healed, all trace of the attack removed, the house-elf set to work repairing the windows.

Potter's eyes, Lily's eyes, had never left Severus's. He climbed to his feet and stood there, a silent accusation written on his face

"Well?" he asked, his voice piercing the silence. "What's wrong with me visiting Charlie?"

Severus's hands hung limp at his sides like corpses. When he spoke, his mouth was dry, the words hard to force past his lips. "How was I supposed to know that he'd died?"

"You...." Potter started, his face twisting. "You didn't know?"

"Do you think I memorised that list? Do you think the name Weasley was worthy of my attention and recognition while the others weren't? I've had hundreds of students! My primary concern when examining the list was to see which Death Eaters had survived, which were imprisoned, and which could prove problematic to me. I have absolutely no reason to concern myself with the death of one child from an overpopulated family!"

Potter said nothing.

"Boys," said Phineas, "sit, eat. Kreacher, why don't you bring dinner?"

The house-elf disappeared. Severus transfigured a table for them and dropped into his chair. Potter did not budge from his spot. Even with the matter of the escort still unresolved, Severus had made a grave mistake. With anyone else, he would have taken his time, obtained irrefutable proof before he began his accusations. He'd been so determined to prove Potter untrustworthy, he'd let his emotions get in the way of the facts. It was unforgivable. It was sloppy and stupid and exactly the sort of thing he'd always hated Potter doing. He would reserve judgement until he confirmed that Potter had never slept with the escort.

"Sit," he said with a wave of his hand.

Potter glanced at the table as if it would bite him, but he sat at the opposite end.

"Why don't you tell him about Charlie?" suggested Paracelsus. "Severus might not have known how strongly you and Charlie felt about each other until you told him."

Potter glanced over at Paracelsus and nodded. He lowered his gaze to the table and took a breath. "Charlie and I got together during what would've been my seventh year. We started owling each other during my sixth year when Ginny figured out I was gay. He was with me until the end." His eyes hidden by his hair, he quietly added, "He was killed by Voldemort. He died in front of me, protecting me."

Severus had assumed the boy had stayed with Ginevra. It was the first time he had heard the elder Weasley had accompanied Potter during that final year. But then, he had never concerned himself with the most intimate details of Potter's life, and how would word of such a relationship have reach his ears while he'd been busy with his work as headmaster?

No wonder his earlier jabs had sunk so deep; Potter blamed himself for Charlie's death. Severus had lived too long with guilt to not recognise the signs, now that he'd stopped and paid attention. The boy's pilgrimage to the grave (how many times a year?) occurred for the same reason he visited Lily's. Not to mourn the dead, but to seek forgiveness. The need for absolution had never ebbed, even after all these years.

Kreacher returned with dinner, glaring at Severus as he set all the food on Potter's side of the table before vanishing. Potter floated the dishes to the centre of the table and neither spoke while they ate. Severus sipped the tea that was brewed to his personal level of perfection, cut into the roast beef cooked to his favoured temperature, and ate the potatoes that he could not have asked to be spiced or roasted better. Not even at Hogwarts had he eaten such an ideal Sunday roast. This house, this lab, this garden, this meal, even this library had been made for him and by him. He had never planned on living beyond the Dark Lord; it would have been nothing but foolish hope. Of course, he'd made the basic preparations-hidden bank accounts, potions tucked up his sleeves, found points to which he could Apparate and disappear-but he'd never expected to be able to utilise those arrangements. Settling down in a home with Potter had never once occurred to him, and even if he had dreamt of such a thing, this life would not be what he would have picked for himself.

Yet, he'd made this life. This was what he'd chosen, eventually. He may have travelled the world, but he had returned to England. He'd poured his money into his lab and business. For some unknown reason, he'd decided to be with Potter even though the boy drove him mad. This had been what he'd wanted, at least at one point in his life. Even if at some later point he had decided to leave it, he could not have hated every moment of it. He was too practical a man to remain in a painful situation when he could escape at any time.

After Kreacher had served pudding, Potter broke the silence with, "I put in a leave of absence from work. Tomorrow I intend to re-visit the crime scene where the poisoner died. I purchased the plot of land after you took ill, and magically sealed it. The investigation was already finished, the poisoner declared dead. It's possible that he faked his death. If he did, I doubt he'll return to his property, but we may find clues as to where he's gone. He has only one relative, his mother, and I've had her watched since we declared him our prime suspect. He's never shown up there as far as we can establish."

Potter laid his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair and stood. His eyes searched Severus's face, then he said, "I'd like you to come along if you feel up to it. You might find some clues that we missed the last time. I'll be leaving at nine."

"Go with him, Severus," said Paracelsus. "It would do you well to get more fresh air. You've always been wound too tight."

"I agree," intoned Phineas. "Who knows what you might discover?"

Severus suspected he meant more than just missing memories, but he saw no reason to refuse. His practised eye would notice things Potter would not. "Very well, I'll meet you in the foyer at nine o'clock."

Monday, 17 May, 9:15 AM

The poisoner, Corey Endell, lived in Stockport on Worrall Street, which looked much like Spinner's End. As Potter removed the wards enough to allow the two of them to slip in, Severus examined the rows of houses, most of which were boarded up. He knew, just by looking at the outside, that Endell's two-up-and-two-down house had the same arrangement as his own. His, while old and worn down, had been well kept. Misshapen wooden planks of a variety of sizes and colours covered Endell's windows, a few stretching over the door, as well.

"There we go," said Potter and he walked through the boards covering the door.

Severus cast a protection and decontamination spell on himself before following Potter inside.

He'd never considered his home cheery, but even the hovel at Spinner's End had been bright compared to the dank, barely lit room in which he found himself. Potter conjured candles and cast lighting spells, but the extra light only pierced the room with jagged shadows and illuminated the thick cloud of dust hanging in the air. Cobwebs covered every corner, dead spiders still perched in their webs. The sitting room held a moth-eaten chair, and the splintered wood of a small table, nothing more.

"He died here," said Potter, pointing at the broken remains of the table. "They burst through the door. The first two died-it was booby trapped. The second two cast at him. One hit."

Potter led him to the kitchen next. One plate, one bowl, one fork, one spoon, one knife, and one cup were dumped in a rusting sink. A few tins of soup sat on the table next to the single chair.

"He mostly ate soups. Occasionally he would nick meals from various Muggle restaurants. Nothing in his cupboards." Potter opened the doors of the cabinets, showing Severus the empty shelves.

Potter continued speaking as he led Severus to the back door, "He never worked, as far as we can tell. That's one of the reasons it was so hard to catch him. He had a birth certificate, he was registered as a wizard, and that was it. Never went to school. Never had a job. Never married, had any children, or drove a car. Never even got sick as far as we can tell."

The view from the door was exactly the same as from Spinner's End, down to the same wooden fence. Still talking, Potter led him to the stairs. "His father, a pureblood, died when he was four and his mum, a half-blood, raised him. I think the father was a Death Eater, but I can't say for sure. If he was, he was not one of the major ones. He died in '74, in the midst of a huge wand fight at the Ministry. It was a real mess; they never sorted out who were Death Eaters, who were defending, and who were innocent bystanders. His mum-"

Severus held up a hand for silence, and Potter shut his mouth. Even though others had been through the lab to clean it of Dark Magic, including himself, one could never be too careful when walking into the lab of a Dark Potions Master.

Motioning for Potter to stay behind him, Severus moved forward.

Keeping potion labs dark helped to prevent contamination of the ingredients and disturbance of brewing process, but there was no need for the stale darkness that seemed almost a wall of ink, as if they had stepped into an overpowered Nox. Traces of Dark Magic still clung to the walls and hovered around the edges.

Potter pushed past him and busied himself battling the darkness with more lighting spells and candles. Severus stood in the doorway, watching as bursts of light revealed the lab: bookcases overflowing with books; two long, rickety workbenches scattered with equipment, a pair of cauldrons between them; and piles upon piles of boxes and crates. There was no room for brewing, the books unreachable due to the stacks of boxes, and the narrow space between the work benches was only four feet wide, not nearly enough to properly brew without worry of contamination.

Once a suitable amount of light penetrated the darkness, Potter turned back to Severus and spoke. "The Ministry went though the boxes, but they repacked them after they were finished. They confiscated the most dangerous of the artefacts and ingredients. The ones you didn't nick, of course. They called us here after the battle, but we arrived before they removed his body. You confirmed his death through the use of spells, I never saw you touch the body. I've marked the boxes." He swished his wand and a few of the boxes glowed a faint red as if lit from the inside. "These are the ones that contain ingredients that were never identified." He stood, waiting, ready for Severus to proceed.

Murderer though Endell may have been, his life squalid, his lab a wretched hovel, Severus recognised the mark of a Potions Master, a true genius. This was where Endell had created poisons that had gone undetected for years. This was where he'd made his last stand. They were treading on sacred ground. "This place has been decontaminated, purified, checked for poisons, hidden artefacts, and booby traps?" asked Severus, taking another look around the room.

"Yes."

He turned back to Potter. "By whom?"

"The Ministry, me, and you, when you first arrived. You barred everyone else from entry-including me-and examined the lab on your own. I never saw you take the items you stole, I only know you did because there were new objects in your lab afterwards that weren't there before, and when I confronted you about it, you admitted you'd stolen them." There was enough light for Severus to see the disapproving look on Potter's face again.

His future self undoubtedly had known more than his current self, but he dared not step foot in the lab without first employing his customary precautions. He cast the spells of detection and revelation, entering the room only after he was certain nothing awaited him in each area. Potter watched silently and without question, moving out of the way when Severus approached. If Potter was offended, he never showed it.

Traces of magic hung heavy in the room, but it was all old magic, so heavily faded as to make it impossible to distinguish individual spells. Potter's magic stood out more than Endell's. Endell's magic felt old, dry, as if he had been taught by a long line of wizards who had never bothered to use new spells. Potter's young, intense magic overpowered it, suppressed it.

Once Severus was sure no lingering spells remained as traps, he ordered, "Move the boxes with identified ingredients to the sitting room by hand as much as possible. Where are the ingredients that were used to make the poison?"

"Scattered around," said Potter. "Most of them are typical ingredients, the rare ones are in that trunk." He pointed to a glowing red trunk under a workbench. After pointing out the trunk, Potter then set about removing the boxes from the room.

As the cauldrons were contaminated by spells cast to determine the contents and the most recently brewed potions, Severus would have to rely on the Ministry's records to see what Endell had been working on before he died. Hopefully, the list had been supplied by himself. "You have a list of the most recently brewed potions?" he asked, once Potter returned to grab another box.

"Yes." Potter rummaged in his robes and produced a small scroll that he tossed to Severus. "He made the poison earlier and administered it from vials kept in a trunk that is now locked up in the Ministry. I can take you into the Ministry, but you can't remove anything."

"Have you a list of the books he has that we don't?"

"Yes, that's- Uh...." Potter pulled out piles and piles of scrolls from his robes. "I must not've marked it right," he said with a frown, reading the label of each scroll. Severus considered himself quite meticulous about his research, but Potter had beaten the pants off of him when it came to this investigation. Shifting through nearly identical scrolls, Potter grabbed one and held it up. "Here it is!" he said with a triumphant grin. He marched over and unfurled it on the workbench before Severus.

Potter pointed his wand along the scroll, describing each list. "All the books in the library in order first, then alphabetical order. Next, I have a list of the ones we don't already own. The ones with the checks by them are the ones I was able to purchase or acquire; the ones without are the ones I can't find anywhere else." He swished his wand and several of the books glowed red. "His mother is from a very old family and we think he got the books from her. Some of them were written hundreds of years ago and many of them are in Gaeilge, Irish Gaelic.

"He never wrote in the books, although he took notes in Gaeilge. He was a huge fan of Irish mythology, has a lot of copies of books on the subject and a spell book supposedly by Medb, although you translated it and said it was rubbish, just basic spells." Potter unfurled the scroll further and bent forward, the edge of his robes brushing against Severus's leg. A distracting scent filled Severus's nostrils. He leant forward, trying to determine its source, and it seemed to be coming from Potter. The boy smelt intoxicating, a unique blend of spice and earth, like fresh herbs plucked from a well-tended garden. Clean and rich, warm like summer rain. Gone was the familiar boyhood stench of sweat and dirt, any trace of it evaporated. Severus bent even farther toward Potter, trying to drink in more of the elusive aroma.

"Let me see," Potter was saying, his finger running down the list. "I thought I remembered the name ... I think it was...."

He was smelling the boy as if he were a new potion ingredient! But what the hell was the brat wearing? Some sort of pheromone? Severus wanted to grab him by the robes, drag him forward, sink his nose into the cloth, and just breathe. It was sick. He turned away, marching to the other side of the room.

Oblivious, Potter stabbed his finger at the scroll. "There!" He spun around on his heels and pushed aside boxes to pull a book off the shelf. "You said that you thought it was from the fourteenth century and probably-"

"Set it over there." Severus crooked a finger to the workbench. The farther Potter stayed away from him, the better. "I'll examine it later."

Setting the book down carefully, Potter returned to his task of moving the boxes without being prompted. Severus turned to face the opposite direction and tried to compose himself. If he'd had a relationship with Potter, his body would have been conditioned to respond to stimuli with attraction and arousal. The facts were indisputable; yet they provided no comfort. It was only through sheer force of will that he did not return to the other side of the room to try to catch a scent of Potter, even when he knew it was impossible for the boy to catch him in the act.

A boy, that was what he was. A child. A youth young enough to be his son! A former student, who returned to the lab and picked up a huge box as if it were nothing.

"No magic," Severus reminded him.

"I'm not," promised Potter as he hauled the box down the stairs.

Those boxes were not light, yet Potter, dressed in heavy robes in a stuffy room, had not broken a sweat. Severus turned away, swallowing hard. He was not prepared for this world. Cunning and planning could always overcome brute force, but Potter was no longer the dunce he remembered. The boy would be on his guard, now that he knew he was suspected of infidelity. How would they fare in a wand battle, now that he had regained his full strength?

Severus shook his head. First things first. He removed each book not already in their possession and placed in a tidy pile on the workbench. Endell had mixed potion and spell books with Irish mythologies and texts. History had never been Severus's strong suit, and although he knew some of the myths were based on historical witches and wizards, he hadn't the ability to tell which were worth keeping and which were rubbish. Endell had thought them all worth keeping, and that was enough for him for now.

As he pulled a book on Irish mythology off the shelf, he found one hidden behind the others. Solid black and as heavy as the books made of cloth and parchment, it displayed no title or author. Severus tried every single revelation spell of which he could think, but the unnamed book remained frozen in stasis.

Potter approached the table as Severus was feeling around for signs of a magical lock.

"Here, let me show you."

His only consolation for not knowing something that Potter did was that he'd probably taught Potter the trick in the first place. Unwilling to let the boy come closer, he slid the book across the table. Potter laid a hand on the book and closed his eyes. Black melted to silver, and the book flattened, the edges of it curling up and up. White light burst forth, and when it faded, a silver bowl remained, with golden birds carved into the side and garnets around the rim.

A grin played on Potter's lips. "A replica of Étaín's bowl," he said. "She was an Irish witch princess of great beauty. Drinking from her vessel was said to convey good looks upon the drinker. You said this was fake because the style is too late for the time and area it supposedly came from." Shaking his head, his eyes bright, Potter pushed the bowl across the table to Severus. "Before that, you had me convinced it was real and took a swig of water from it. I was certain you'd turn into a girl. Thank Merlin it's just a harmless drinking bowl. If you want to turn it back, just put your hand on it and think about hiding it. It appears when you think about how much you want to see it."

Simple, old magic. It had to be a few centuries old at least, even if it wasn't from the age of Étaín. Severus placed his hand on the bowl and wished for it to be hidden. A flash of light, and his hand now rested upon the black book.

"You stole that," said Potter as he leant forward against the table. "Took you a week before you found the way for it to reveal itself. You nearly went mad trying to work it out. You believed it was a book full of dark spells, and were using all these really complicated methods to break through the enchantment. Just when you were ready to give up, you figured it out. I think the person who made it was forging lots of items and he'd charm them to look like books so they could be smuggled out and resold in their transformed states."

"What other artefacts are there?"

"That's the only one like that." Potter nodded toward the book. "Everything else unusual is potions ingredients or books. He never had money. His mother lives off his father's life insurance. We think he stole most of what little money he had from Muggles, although he may have sold potions too."

"Including the poison?" asked Severus, quirking his eyebrow.

Potter gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe, but I doubt it. It required a lot of time. In the beginning, he needed to go to a hospital, select a patient, get a blood sample, tailor his poison to the patient, and deliver it. His victims were random, no connection between them, and he went after people who were sick and dying. He'd pick a place, kill until the statistics became worrying to the officials, and then move on to a new location. Later, just about when we'd stepped in, he started killing people at random. He'd figured out how to mass-produce his poison by then. We can find no evidence that he'd ever had any contact with the wizarding world beyond his mum. None." Potter shook his head in disbelief. "He didn't even have a wand."

"No wand?" asked Severus, his eyebrow pricking. Brewing required little wand work, but he had never heard of a wizard without a wand.

"His mum said he never wanted one, so she never took him to Ollivander's. All of his books were written by wizards who're now dead, and he collected his potions ingredients by hand. He never used a single wizarding ingredient. Most of what we found in the vials were potions developed by him. He had potions books, so he knew how most wizards brew, but he preferred to brew without interacting with the wizarding world at all."

Severus could not believe it. He could not think of a single potion that could be brewed with Muggle items alone. "No wizarding ingredients at all? You are certain?"

"None. That's how we caught him." Potter pushed himself away from the table. "Once you figured out what was in the potion, which took forever to deconstruct because we thought we were dealing with a normal Potions Master, we knew we weren't dealing with a typical wizard. I thought perhaps we were up against a person who didn't know of the wizarding world. But when I checked the records for wizards who were registered but had never shown up at Hogwarts, I came across his name. Once I realised he'd never had any contact with the wizarding world at all, we made him our prime suspect."

"You said he's dead. I examined his body. Didn't I collapse months after he died?"

Nodding, Potter said, "Yes, but I have two theories. First, one of his artefacts that you stole was booby trapped and its effect time delayed. He had nasty traps all over the house. It took you forever to clear the lab and make it safe enough for the Ministry officials to come in and clear the rest of the traps. The only reason no one else died is because the Ministry treated every single inch of the house as dangerous.

"My other theory is that it was a fake body. What if he grew another body for himself? I know it sounds mad, but I never would've believed that a wizard could brew with only Muggle ingredients if I hadn't seen it myself." Potter shook his head.

Neither would Severus. What potions had Endell managed to brew? How had he learnt to experiment safely without a wand to cast protection spells?

Potter continued, "The body we have is still at the Ministry, and I've already had it tested for every form of disguise or any evidence that it was brewed. No luck. If it is a fake, it's a damned good one. I figured you'll be able to tell for sure. When you decide you want to go to the Ministry, let me know and I'll take you."

Yes, he would take Potter up on that invitation, but later, once he'd had time to conduct more research. He had never heard of a spell or potion to create a replica of a body either, but it was probably possible. There were few things that magic couldn't do if a wizard had enough time, resources, and creativity.

Once they had sorted through the items in the house, they transported everything back to their guest house. Potter refused to keep the items in the lab. He said he did not want another repeat of Severus's illness, and the tower was off limits as well, due to the fact it seemed to have protective powers. Severus preferred to examine the items in his lab, but he allowed them to be stored in the guest house in deference to Potter's paranoia. It was rare for him to come across an individual more paranoid than himself without being completely mental, and Potter had always exhibited a profound lack of paranoia before. To find their roles reversed amused him.

They took dinner in the library to the delight of Paracelsus.

"It's good to have you two back!" he said, coming to the very front of the portrait and waving. "Of all the places I've been, people I've lived with, you two are the most entertaining. Never a dull evening around here!" he said with a huge grin.

Kreacher glared at Severus while he served the food and muttered loudly about what a cruel man Severus was to his 'poor Master Harry who suffers so much'.

"Don't mind him," said Potter once he was gone. "He's been holding a grudge since you banned him from entering the laboratories, the indoor gardens, and your bedroom. He was banned from the tower as well. It didn't help that you refused to eat his cooking for the first few months we lived together."

"He is banned from the bedroom?" asked Severus. Someone had made the bed and set out fresh towels.

"Not our bedroom," corrected Potter. "When you first moved in here, we had separate bedrooms on opposite ends of the house since we couldn't stand each other. We started sharing a bedroom a year or so ago."

He enjoyed his personal space and could not imagine what would have prompted him to voluntarily give up his quarters to share one. Sex was the only motivator of which he could think, and that was one he did not want to associate with Potter.

"Do you," asked Potter after a bit, "want me to leave copies of all the scrolls I've compiled and haven't yet given you here or beside the items in the guest house?"

"Here." He had already brought the ones Potter had given him earlier to his desk in the library. He would bring everything from the tower after dinner. The tower did not feel like an extension of his life the way this house did. Although it had his furniture, books, robes, and other items, it was gaudy and unguarded with too many windows. His bedroom felt more like home, even with Potter's additions.

As if using Legilimency, Potter said, "If you intend to use the desk in your library as your primary one, we should move everything from the tower. I can ask Kreacher to put your belongings wherever you want."

"I'll move them myself," he said. Potter just nodded and didn't try to argue.

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