Into the Woods

James came awake to a dry mouth, a pounding headache, an aching neck and the sound of voices. Somewhere close by, a fire was crackling.

He moaned, levering his eyes open. He found himself staring at his shoes, half-buried in leaves. He was upright, he realized, bound to a tree by ropes. No wonder his neck hurt: his head was hanging loose and, from the feel of it, had been for some hours.

James raised his head, slowly and creakily, and looked out over the scene.

He was tied to a tree at the edge of a hollow in the Forest, late at night. Firelight leapt, making the shadows of the pitch-black Forest dance back. The bonfire blazed in the middle of the hollow, an iron roasting and spitting rack standing over it. And around the hearth, witches and wizards moved.

All of them wore black robes. Some of them sported silver masks, while others were barefaced. One barefaced woman with wild black hair stood across the hollow, beside a stump magically fashioned into a sort of throne. James’s stomach contracted when he realized he recognized the woman’s face from the Daily Prophet and Ministry wanted posters. Bellatrix Lestrange. And on the throne…

The wizard sitting on the throne lifted a goblet to his lips. He was tall, with glossy black hair, but his face was waxen-white, almost melted-looking, and his eyes had a permanently bloody look. A shower of ice fell over James as he realized, with slow horror, exactly who this must be.

Voldemort looked up and grinned like a skull at James. “Ah,” he said in dry, whispering tones, “one of our young guests is awake.”

The Death Eaters in the hollow all looked around at James. A slow, mocking laugh rose. Bellatrix Lestrange threw back her head and let out a wild cackle.

James bucked against his bonds, feet scrambling uselessly among the loam. “Let us go!” he yelled, voice squawking and pathetic in his own ears. “Where’s Severus?”

“Have no fear, young Potter.” Voldemort gestured. “He is safe and well.”

Severus rose from his seat behind the fire. He was whole and unbound, James saw with a swoop of relief, but his face was pale, unreadable as the Death Eaters’ masks. “Severus!” James called, but Severus gave no response. Instead, he turned and knelt on one knee before Voldemort.

“My lord,” he said, voice barely audible above the snapping of the fire.

James gaped at him, betrayal and incredulity opening a chasm in his stomach. He could not find the words to speak, to hurl at Severus. After all they’d been through, Severus was kneeling before the Dark Lord…?

Of course he is, said a nasty little voice within. You think a few days are going to erase four years of torment? He was never really your friend.

Voldemort was speaking again. “You have shown great bravery and resilience, young Snape,” he said. Perhaps he meant his tone to sound warm and approving, but it just sounded hungry to James. Like Severus’s bravery and resilience were some kind of tasty treat Voldemort wanted to eat. “I commend you for that. And then delivering me the Potter heir…you have truly proven yourself.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Still Severus’s voice showed no emotion. “If I may ask a question?”

Voldemort made a magnanimous gesture with his goblet. “Certainly.”

“Why are you and your Death Eaters here in the Forbidden Forest, my lord? I’ve heard nothing of this.”

Another chuckle ran through the Death Eaters. Voldemort smiled. “Of course you haven’t. But, as I said, you’ve proven yourself, young Snape. You deserve to know.” He lounged back in his stump-throne. “We are building a prison-barrier around Hogwarts Castle. With runes written in the blood of unicorns, we will cut off the castle from the outside world, from all help and aid. Then we shall kill Albus Dumbledore and his minions.”

An eager sort of snarl ran through the Death Eaters. James kicked harder than ever. “You’ll never defeat Dumbledore!” he shouted across the hollow. “He’ll destroy you—”

“Someone gag the Potter brat,” Voldemort commanded in bored tones, and a nearby burly Death Eater strode up to shove a rope into James’s mouth, so hard his gums bled. James choked as the Death Eater tied the rope behind his head.

“Genius, my lord, truly.” Still James couldn’t read Severus’s tone. “What of the students, though?”

“Worried for your classmates, Snape?” Voldemort said with cruel gentleness. “Fear not. We will separate out my Death Eaters’ children and take the rest prisoner. As long as their parents fall into line, they will not be harmed.”

Blackness rose in James’s vision at this dreadful notion, and he struggled harder than ever. But no one paid him any mind, not even Severus, who still faced the Dark Lord.

“You’re taking the whole school hostage?” Severus said at last.

“Once the wizarding community realizes I have their children in my power, they will obey me,” Voldemort said. “And this will be an excellent opportunity to wipe out all those miserable Muggle-born students.”

The Death Eaters all cheered. James felt dizzy with horror. Voldemort taking over the school! Killing Dumbledore and the teachers, taking the students hostage! And…wiping out Muggle-borns. Evans…!

“I see.” James wondered if Voldemort could hear the faint sliver of ice in Severus’s toneless voice. “And what of halfbloods, my lord?”

“Worried for your own future, Snape?” sneered Voldemort. “Fear not: halfbloods such as yourself will always have a place. I understand you’ve quite a talent for potion making and spell invention. When everything is settled, we’ll get you set up in a laboratory somewhere private. You can put your talents to use in my service.”

“Brewing you potions and making you spells.” Severus still sounded utterly flat. “For the rest of my life.”

“Of course.” Voldemort waved his goblet. “What better use for your talents than serving me?”

“Look at this!” A Death Eater lifted The Norton Shakespeare from Severus’s satchel. His blank silver mask looked down at the title. “A Magical Historiography…?”

“Give it here.” Voldemort waved his wand, and the disguised book floated over to land in his hands. He flipped it open, and James wondered if he was the only one who noticed Severus’s twitch. “This is no magical historiography,” Voldemort said at last, slowly. “This is a Shakespeare anthology. A Muggle writer!”

On cue, the Death Eaters all recoiled. Bellatrix shrank back as if the book might be contaminating, looking crazier than ever. “A Muggle book!” she squawked.

James bit back a half-hysterical giggle. He knew it was madness, but the Death Eaters looked so…silly. A group of such powerful witches and wizards, getting into a tizzy over a book of plays, bought secondhand at a library surplus sale! How could anyone be so foolish? How could the wizarding community be running so scared of a bunch of—of neurotic obsessives? Makes you wonder about the wizarding community, doesn’t it? said that nasty little voice. James couldn’t argue.

“Enough,” said Voldemort, and stillness spread across the hollow. “Snape,” the Dark Lord said, his voice suddenly icy, “why is such a book within your possession?”

All eyes turned on Severus, who raised his thin shoulders in a shrug. “It’s just a book. I like looking through it now and then.”

“I see.” Voldemort’s eyes were slits on Severus. “A book written by a Muggle is unworthy of you, Snape,” he decreed. He stood, holding out the anthology. “Throw it on the fire.”

For a moment, Severus knelt frozen. James jerked against his bonds, stomach twisting. Severus loved that book. It was his dearest possession, his chief source of delight. Surely not even Voldemort would be so cruel…?

But still Voldemort held out the Shakespeare anthology, the moment lengthening into something dark and menacing. Then Severus stood.

He took the anthology in both hands. Holding it gently, like the treasure it was, he turned slowly to the fire. For a long moment, he stood still, face livid in the firelight.

Then, with a clumsy jerk, Severus threw his copy of The Norton Shakespeare into the flames.

James jerked again as the book fell into the fire. For a lunatic moment, he hoped it wouldn’t burn—maybe Severus would have warded it against fire—but then the onionskin pages caught fire, flames licking the paper, and the whole thing flared up, the fire devouring the book Severus loved best in the world.

Severus stood over the flames, head bent. James hoped no one else could see the pain written in his features, the way he blinked back tears.

“Very good.” Voldemort sounded pleased, and James felt a rush of hot disgust. Voldemort had just hurt Severus grievously, and he knew it. All for what? To underline his own contempt for Muggles? To bully a fifteen-year-old boy? Was the Dark Lord really that—that petty?

Then James thought of what he and his friends had done to Severus on the train. Going through his things, sneering at and tormenting him, torturing him—all for what? A moment’s vicious triumph? To grind Severus down and build themselves up on his misery? How was that any better than what Voldemort was doing to Severus now? How was that any less petty, less stupid?

James and the Marauders had been on the same level as Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

At last, Severus turned away from the fire. “My lord.” His voice was emotionless again, and James hoped his expression was as well. “If I am to be your potion maker, I should start tonight.”

“Tonight?” Voldemort cocked his head. “What are you thinking?”

“If we are to take Hogwarts School hostage,” Severus said, “wouldn’t it be better if the student body was unable to fight back? Best of all, if they were unconscious?”

“True,” the Dark Lord said. “Enlighten me further.

“I have in my satchel,” said Severus, “a sample of blue dream fungus, at least six grams of it. If I were to brew it into the correct potion, we could use it to drug all the Hogwarts students. They would be much easier to manage if they were all asleep.”

An interested murmur rose from the Death Eaters. Voldemort gave a slow, feral smile. “You’re thinking like a Slytherin, Snape,” he said in approval.

“What about our own children?” a masked Death Eater demanded. James wasn’t sure, but he thought it might be Abraxas Malfoy. No doubt Lord Malfoy was worried about his own son, Lucius.

“We can revive them later,” said Voldemort with an impatient wave of his hand. “We must plan how to administer the potion. Perhaps in their food…”

“Or simply spray it onto them,” said Severus. “There’s a spell I’ve been working on to transform liquid potions into vapor, to spread out their effects over multiple users. We could use that. But first…” Severus turned to look at James. “I’ll need a test subject. Someone to try out the potion and the vapor spell on. May I use Potter?”

Voldemort stared at Severus a moment before throwing back his head and letting out a peal of strange, high-pitched laughter. His Death Eaters laughed along. “Good thinking, Snape!” cackled the Dark Lord. “Very good indeed. But do try not to kill the Potter heir. He is a pureblood, after all.”

Again, James wondered if he was the only one who noticed Severus’s eyes narrowing at this. “Very well, my lord. Shall we untie him?”

James held still as a Death Eater waved his wand, undoing the knots in his bonds. As soon as he was free, James tried to leap away, tried to run, but there came a cry of, “Locomotor Mortis!” and he fell to the ground hard, legs and even arms locked together.

The Death Eaters hooted with jeering laughter. James looked up to see Severus pointing his wand at him, a faint smile on his face.

“Bring him over here, please,” Severus said, and two Death Eaters yanked James up and carted him around the fire, throwing him to the ground at Severus’s feet.

James tried to catch his breath through the awful gag. Severus stood over him, looking down. His face was unreadable, but James thought he saw a gleam of faint satisfaction in the other boy’s face, to see James misused as James had so often misused him.

“Get started on that potion,” Voldemort commanded. “The magic of the Forest should accelerate the brewing process. I want it ready by morning.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Severus. “I believe I can institute some brewing shortcuts as well. If I might have a cauldron…?”

A Death Eater brought over a cauldron, setting it on the ground beside Severus. “Thank you,” said Severus, and began drawing out plastic bags of potions ingredients, laying them out on a flat stone.

James lay on the ground and watched as Severus worked: pulverizing this and chopping up that, muttering quick little incantations, sweeping dried ingredients into the cauldron. For a while, the Death Eaters watched too, but after a while they grew bored and began talking among themselves, discussing plans for how they were going to spray the blue dream potion onto the helpless population of Hogwarts and what they’d do once everyone was asleep. James tried not to listen too closely to that part.

Severus bent over James, poking at the fire. “James,” he murmured, almost too soft for anyone else to hear, “do you remember the acromantula silk?”

James cast a quick look at their captors and nodded as minutely as possible.

“Be ready to grab it when I quote Shakespeare again,” Severus murmured, and continued working.

James stared at him, hope blossoming in his heart. Could Severus possibly have a plan to get them out of this…?

“And what of the Potter boy?” Abraxas Malfoy glanced over at James, eyes glittering through the slits in his mask.

“He will make a useful hostage,” said Voldemort. “His parents dote on him, you’ve told me. And he is the heir to the Potter fortune. Perhaps we can lock him up in your mansion, Abraxas. That would be suitable for his rank.” The Dark Lord angled a glance at Severus. “And set up a laboratory for Snape in your basement, too. If this potion succeeds, he will have proven himself valuable beyond all measure. Far too valuable to let him roam loose. We’ll make good use of his gifts. And keep him safe from any others who would use him.”

Hidden from any but James, Severus’s mouth tightened, and James knew he was imagining the same thing he was: both boys locked up in Malfoy Manor, leading lives of comfortable or not-so-comfortable captivity, forever. James felt a moment’s grim amusement: when Severus had imagined his rosy future under Voldemort’s regime, he probably never pictured being imprisoned alongside his school bully for the rest of his life. If Voldemort hadn’t lost Severus’s loyalty yet, he certainly had now.

Severus poured water over the dried ingredients and heaved the cauldron onto the iron rack over the flames. He stirred the mixture first one way, then another, his wand pointed at it, murmuring spells and incantations James had never heard before. When the cauldron was simmering away, he stepped back from it.

“Stand back,” he called. “I’m going to get the blue dream out now.” He pointed his wand at his satchel and jerked the tip up.

The plastic bag containing the blue dream shelf fungus floated up. Even Voldemort quieted, stepping back as Severus levitated the deadly fungus onto the rock. James writhed back, pushing against the earth, scraping his face on hidden rocks.

James expected Severus to use his silver knife to cut the fungus, but instead the Slytherin stood back, pointing his wand at the fungus. “Segmentus,” he said, and the fungus fell into multiple exactly even pieces.

The Death Eaters let out a surprised murmur. “Did you invent that spell yourself, Snape?” inquired Voldemort.

“Yes, my lord.” Severus began levitating pieces of fungus into the cauldron.

“Most impressive,” said Voldemort, that hungry note of avarice in his voice again. James swallowed nausea.

The potion started turning blue, light beaming off it. Severus crouched down as if to poke at the fire again. He pointed his wand at James. Though he spoke no incantation aloud, he must have cast a nonverbal spell, because James suddenly felt his arms and legs go free.

He made no move. He knew he mustn’t let their captors see. He lay still, arms to his sides, legs locked together, as though still under Severus’s spell. But he held himself ready, as Severus had said.

The potion was glowing a brighter and brighter blue. Then flares of light began emanating from it, and James felt a wash of sleepiness just from watching it.

“It’s ready,” Voldemort decreed. “Try it on the Potter boy.”

“One moment, my lord,” said Severus. “I need one more thing.”

“What?” demanded Voldemort impatiently.

Severus looked him right in the eye. “Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives!”

Well, if that wasn’t Shakespeare, nothing was.

James exploded into action, lunging over to Severus’s satchel and snatching out the handful of acromantula silk. At the same moment, he heard Severus shout out an unfamiliar incantation.

The blue dream potion—misted. One moment it was bubbling away on the fire, the next it was a cloud of blue vapor, blowing around the hollow. James held his breath instinctively, but Severus was already moving. He snatched the silk from James and threw it into the air with a further shouted spell.

Severus dived for the ground, pulling James with him, as the silk transformed, turning into a misty white dome, cutting them off from the rest of the hollow. The boys crouched inside the tent of white silk. James yanked the gag out of his mouth and gulped for air. Dimly, he could hear the Death Eaters crying out as the misted potion blew over them, but not a particle landed on him or Severus. Safe in their silken dome, they breathed in none of the sleeping potion.

The fire cast a dim, leaping light over the silk. In the glow, James grinned at Severus. “Wow! Quick thinking!”

“Thanks. I thought the Shakespeare would confuse them and it did.” Severus crouched tense, wand at the ready. “Do you think they’re all asleep yet?”

James listened carefully. The cries had died down, replaced by a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire. “Maybe.” He groped under the dome, inching his fingers under the stiffened silk. “I’m going to take a look. Can you cast an Impervius charm on my face? And cast one for yourself, too. Just in case your potion is still floating around.”

Severus pointed his wand at James’s face, reciting the spell, and James’s ears popped as the charm took effect. He still couldn’t help holding his breath as he carefully levered up the silken dome and peered out.

There was absolute stillness in the hollow. Even the insects and nightbirds had fallen silent. Only the fire popped and grumbled. James thought he could make out some dim shapes lying on the ground, but couldn’t be certain.

Cautiously, he lifted the dome higher and straightened, scanning the hollow. The Death Eaters all lay sprawled on the ground, every one of them deeply asleep. Even Voldemort lay as if felled by a blow, wand a few inches from his fingers, mouth open, breath whistling. Severus had done it. He’d cast all the Death Eaters into a deep, magical sleep.

James jumped to his feet, casting off the dome and sending it tumbling backward. “You did it, Severus!” he cried, voice slightly hollowed by his Impervius mask. “They’re all out!”

“You’re…you’re right.” Severus sounded stunned. He stared at the hollow full of unconscious Death Eaters, face white behind his Impervius shield. “It worked!”

“You did it!” James snatched Severus to his feet and embraced him. “You beat them! That was amazing!”

“I…I…” Severus still seemed stunned, gaping at the scene. “What have I done?” he whispered.

“You’ve done what a hundred Aurors couldn’t, that’s what!” crowed James. “You’ve beaten the Dark Lord!”

“Not entirely.” Severus seemed to be getting ahold of himself again. He pushed away from James. “They’re only asleep, not dead. Come on. Let’s get their wands.”

The boys moved through the hollow, collecting the Death Eaters’ wands. James grinned when he finally found his own, tucked into Bellatrix Lestrange’s pocket. He pocketed his wand, sighing with relief, before moving on.

He had to overcome a moment’s squeamish fear before he could bring himself to pick up Voldemort’s wand, but he managed it. It lay cold in his hand, like a stick of ice among the other wands.

He turned to Severus, moving among the unconscious Death Eaters with his own fist clutching a handful of wands. “The Dark Lord’s wand,” James said, presenting the yew wand to Severus with a bow. “For the wizard who defeated him.”

Severus took it slowly, staring at it in astonishment. James wondered what amazed Severus most: that he’d had the audacity to poison Voldemort, or that it had actually worked. “We’ll have to tell Dumbledore when we get back,” Severus murmured, more to himself than James.

James sighed as the mundane hardship of their situation punctured his euphoria. “And we’re still two days away from the castle, aren’t we? Oh, boy.”

There came a stamping behind him. James and Severus both whirled around.

There stood a group of centaurs, just outside the Death Eaters’ wards, hooves stamping, tails swishing. But they seemed much friendlier than before. They were even smiling. James realized he knew some of them; they were the same centaurs who had saved him and Severus before.

“You have rid the Forest of the evil that infected it,” said Lomair warmly. “All the Forest owes you a debt. We will help you get home safely.”

James let out a sigh, feeling a great burden fall from his shoulders. “Thank you. Thank all of you.”

“Yes,” said Severus, and James knew he was feeling the same way. “Thank you.”

James turned to grin at the other boy. And, to his surprise, Severus grinned back.

Over the thick Forest canopy, teeming with growth and vitality, loud with birdsong, dawn was coming.