The students filed one after another into the Transfiguration classroom.
Severus Snape chose a seat by the window in the back row and habitually swept his gaze around the room. His brows drew together at once, on the other side of the classroom, four conspicuously empty seats stood out, the very ones habitually occupied by the Marauders.
"How strange..." he thought silently.
At this time of day, James and Sirius and the others should have already swaggered in as usual, but even by the time Madam Maxime entered the classroom, their seats remained empty.
"Silence," Madam Maxime tapped her wand lightly against the podium. The classroom immediately fell quiet.
Her sharp gaze swept across the room before finally settling on those four vacant seats.
"Does anyone know where Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Pettigrew have gone?" she asked with a deep frown.
The classroom was silent. The Gryffindor students glanced at one another, but no one spoke.
"Very well," Madam Maxime said coldly. "Gryffindor loses forty points. Now, please turn your textbooks to page one hundred and thirty-seven. Today we will be studying skeletal transfiguration in human transformations."
Snape flipped open A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration with feigned indifference. His quick-quill pen scrawled rapidly over the parchment, recording every point of Madam Maxime's lecture, though in truth, he wasn't listening at all.
All four of them skipping the Head of Gryffindor's class? That was far too unusual. They never dared to defy Madam Maxime so lightly. Unless... unless something had come up that they had to deal with personally. But now wasn't the time to concern himself with their affairs.
When the bell rang, Snape swiftly packed his books and prepared to leave.
He had already been stripped of the right to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts, and aside from that, he had no more classes for the rest of the day.
This free period was perfect for leaving the castle to purchase the materials he needed. In addition to Muggle laboratory equipment, he had learned from Dumbledore yesterday that Hogwarts's storerooms lacked Occamy eggs and blood from the Australian Opaleye, so he planned to buy those ingredients in Diagon Alley.
In the corridors, students hurried toward their next class. Amidst the envious looks of his peers, Snape walked against the stream of traffic, heading toward the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor. He intended to brew a bottle of Aging Potion there to prepare for his off-campus excursion.
"I need a quiet place to brew potions," Snape thought silently. This term, they hadn't yet gotten around to claiming this magical room for themselves.
He walked past the blank stretch of wall three times. A smooth door appeared before him, and he pushed it open.
In the center of the room stood a bronze cauldron and a set of scales. Snape rolled up his sleeves and gave his wand a small flick to light the fire, then began his work with methodical precision.
The Aging Potion was child's play for him.
"Powdered moonstone... three drops of leech juice... a pinch of powdered ginger root..." he murmured under his breath as he added each ingredient in turn.
The liquid in the cauldron gradually turned a pale violet color, emitting a faint scent of mint as he stirred.
In less than half an hour, a nearly perfect bottle of Aging Potion was complete. Snape carefully decanted it into a crystal vial and sealed it with a cork. A glance at his pocket watch told him it was eleven twenty, plenty of time to leave the castle before the other students were dismissed.
Leaving the Room of Requirement, Snape strode quickly down the corridor and arrived before the great gates of Hogwarts.
The gates stood closed, heavy chains coiled tightly around them.
He tapped the lock gently with his wand, and the chain slithered away like a snake. The great doors creaked open.
After stepping outside, he turned to close the gate again and tapped the chain twice with his wand. With a clinking metallic sound, the chain sprang back into place, coiling around the gate once more.
Snape didn't leave immediately. Instead, he pulled out the vial of Aging Potion from his pocket.
"This should make me about forty-something," he muttered, uncorking the vial and drinking it in one gulp.
A warm current spread from his stomach through his whole body. His bones gave faint cracking sounds, his skin stretched and shifted.
Snape felt himself grow about an inch taller, his shoulders broader, his facial contours sharper. Most noticeably, his hair, previously cut short, lengthened again until it brushed his shoulders, hanging on either side of his face like dark curtains.
He picked up a small stone from the ground and transfigured it into a mirror.
The man reflected within looked to be in his forties, his expression stern, his eyes sharp, a fully mature and intimidating wizard.
"Why am I a bat again?" Snape shook his head at the mirror and tossed it aside casually, muttering with a hint of sarcasm, "Gryffindor loses a thousand points."
After adjusting his clothing size with Transfiguration, he gave a faint pop and vanished on the spot, reappearing at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.
The old tavern still reeked faintly of alcohol and tobacco. A few wizards sat murmuring in the corners.
Snape didn't stop. He walked straight through the bar and into the backyard, stopping before the brick wall.
"Three up... two across..." he murmured, tapping the bricks with his wand. The wall split open instantly, revealing the passageway to Diagon Alley.
Sunlight spilled over the cobbled street, the signs of the shops swaying gently in the breeze.
Then Snape's stomach gave a low rumble, he realized he hadn't eaten lunch yet.
Looking up, he saw a café not far away, colorful umbrellas shading several outdoor tables.
"One steak and kidney pie and a cup of tea," he said to the waiter as he walked up.
While waiting for his food, his gaze drifted to the neighboring shop, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Mr. Fortescue was behind the counter making ice cream for a young boy, deftly mixing the ingredients with practiced ease.
The food arrived quickly. Snape ate slowly and methodically, then rose and headed for the ice cream shop.
"One chocolate with raspberry and chopped nuts, please," he said to Mr. Fortescue.
"Coming right up!" Fortescue said cheerfully, his hands already moving. He looked to be in his fifties, with a broad smile that made his eyes nearly disappear into cheerful slits.
Snape studied him for a moment, realizing that the friendly shopkeeper looked oddly familiar.
"I think I've seen a portrait of someone who looks a lot like you in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts," he said, testing the thought aloud.
"Oh, really?" Mr. Fortescue's hands paused briefly before his smile widened. "Then you must have seen the portrait of my great-great-great-grandfather, Dexter Fortescue. He was once Headmaster at Hogwarts."
"Was he the old wizard with a hearing trumpet?" Snape recalled, picturing the portrait that snored softly on the office wall.
"That's the one," Mr. Fortescue said, delighted. "There's a copy of that portrait in my own home too, he sometimes even drops by for a chat." He handed over the finished ice cream. "This one's on me."
Snape accepted the cone but suddenly remembered that, in the distant future, this kindly ice cream shop owner would be kidnapped and killed by Voldemort, apparently to extract information about the Deathly Hallows, particularly the Elder Wand.
"Thank you," he said quietly, setting several silver Sickles on the counter, "but that's unnecessary."
Mr. Fortescue insisted on refusing payment. After a brief exchange, Snape gave up arguing.
He ate the ice cream slowly as he walked toward Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, his thoughts wandering to whether the eldest of the Three Brothers might still have living descendants.
A bundle of herbs hung over the apothecary door. When he pushed it open, a wave of stench, rotten eggs, boiled cabbage, and strange medicinal odors, washed over him.
The floor was lined with barrels of sticky substances, and along the walls stood shelves of jars containing herbs, roots, and brightly colored powders. From the ceiling hung bunches of feathers, fangs, claws, and even a unicorn horn priced at twenty-one Galleons.
"May I help you, sir?" A tall, thin clerk approached him.
"I need Occamy eggs and blood from the Australian Opaleye," Snape said curtly.
"Out of stock at the moment, sir," the clerk said apologetically. "Occamy eggs, Australian Opaleye blood..." He lowered his voice. "Are you brewing Wolfsbane Potion? There's been high demand lately, we ran out last week."
"How long will it take to restock?" Snape asked.
"At least three months," the clerk replied, hesitating before giving Snape's long hair and deliberately grim expression a cautious look. "However... if you're in urgent need..." he leaned closer, "you could try Borgin and Burkes. They sometimes have... special sources."
Snape narrowed his eyes and watched him for a moment.
"Thank you for the suggestion," he said coolly, then turned to leave the shop.
The sunlight over Diagon Alley was still bright, but when he turned down the narrow street beside the gleaming white Gringotts building, the light dimmed at once. The winding path led into Knockturn Alley, the darkest corner of wizarding London.
The shop windows along Knockturn Alley displayed disturbing items: shrunken heads, bottles filled with suspicious fluids, cages containing shrieking creatures.
A few ragged wizards crouched in the shadows, watching every passerby with wary eyes. When Snape's cold gaze swept over them, they shrank back instantly.
The sign of Borgin and Burkes was faded, its window crammed with equally macabre objects.
Snape pushed the door open. The bell above it jingled sharply.
Inside was even gloomier than it looked from outside. Display cases were filled with skulls and ancient bottles. Grotesque masks hung from the walls, and from the ceiling dangled all manner of sinister metal contraptions. A glass jar on the counter held several preserved human fingers.
Snape had no intention of touching anything. After glancing over the items, he crossed the shop floor to the counter and rang the small brass bell.
The sound echoed through the empty shop. After a moment, a short, hunched man with slicked-back hair emerged from the back room.
"Welcome, sir," said Mr. Borgin in an oily voice, running a hand through his hair. "I don't believe you've visited our establishment before? May I ask your name?"
"Neville Longbottom," Snape said without hesitation, the first name that came to mind.
Mr. Borgin's gaze lingered on Snape's dark hair for a second, clearly realizing the name was false.
A knowing smile crept across his lips. "Of course, Mr. Longbottom. What can I do for you?"
"The clerk at Slug & Jiggers said you might have Occamy eggs and blood from the Australian Opaleye," Snape said. "Is that true?"
"We do have a small stock of Australian Opaleye blood," Mr. Borgin replied, his grin widening, "but the Occamy eggs, unfortunately, we're out at the moment. Would you be interested in dragon's blood instead?"
"Yes," Snape nodded. "How much per ounce? I need twelve ounces."
"Ten Galleons and fifteen Sickles per ounce," Mr. Borgin said, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. He looked upward, calculating. "That's a total of one hundred and thirty Galleons and ten Sickles. However..." he waved generously, "I'll make it one hundred and thirty even."
"Are the bottles made of Galleons, or the corks?" Snape said coldly. "Market price is only five Galleons an ounce, if I recall correctly."
"Ah, but where else in Britain can you still buy Australian Opaleye blood now, sir?" Mr. Borgin protested, a touch of false indignation in his tone. "These all come from the fire dragons raised at the New Zealand breeding farms. You think it's expensive, I think it's expensive! The purchase price alone is sky-high."
"Fine," Snape said after staring at him for two seconds. "Show me."
Mr. Borgin bent down and took four crystal bottles from beneath the counter, setting them carefully on top. The liquid inside glowed dark red, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Snape eyed the bottles suspiciously, picked one up, and held it toward the light to examine the viscous liquid within.
He was about to uncork it when Mr. Borgin hastily stopped him. "No opening before purchase, sir!"
"How can I verify quality without inspection?" Snape countered. "Is your dragon's blood guaranteed to be genuine?"
"My shop's right here, isn't it?" Mr. Borgin said, patting his chest. "Would I ever sell inferior goods to you?"
Snape gave a quiet, derisive snort and slowly pulled out his money pouch, counting out one hundred and thirty Galleons onto the counter.
Mr. Borgin's eyes gleamed at the sight of so much gold.
"Anything else you require, Mr. Longbottom?" he asked as he swept the coins into a drawer.
Snape's gaze drifted over the shop again and came to rest on a shriveled human hand inside a glass display case.
"Ah! The Hand of Glory!" Mr. Borgin immediately caught his look. "Place a candle in it, and only the holder sees the light! A thief's and burglar's best friend! You have an excellent eye, Mr. Longbottom."
"Do I look like a thief or a burglar to you, Mr. Borgin?" Snape said coldly.
Mr. Borgin's smile froze. He waved his hands frantically.
"O-of course not, Mr. Longbottom, none whatsoever-I meant no offense-"
"All right," Snape cut him off. "Do you sell wands here?"
He had suddenly remembered, after giving that spare wand to Lyka, he now possessed only one. For minor spells, it would be unwise to use his own.
"Well..." Mr. Borgin's expression turned wary, his voice hesitant.