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For nearly a fortnight, they'd pushed from one location to the next without pause, searching for any sign of a possible hideout. Once, they had detected traces of magic near a ruined village—powerful magic traces. Anthony and Sirius spent two days studying the local terrain, looking for evidence Voldemort had been there (and clues to his next location), only to conclude it was the residue from dragon dung, courtesy of a creature that had wandered out of a reserve.
Sirius grew more agitated by the day. He woke earlier, packed faster, ate in hurried bites swallowed almost whole, and resisted stopping at night. Sometimes, a sudden fit of anxiety would seize him. He'd be certain he'd seen a trace just before leaving or heard something in the dark. Anthony would then accompany him back to the previous day's search site. When Sirius realized the detour had only wasted more time, he'd become unnervingly polite and energetic, eagerly sharing food, inviting Anthony to his tent, laughing too loudly when Anthony tried to reassure him.
Only when Harry spoke to him through the two-way mirror would Sirius truly pause. He'd smile, searching for light, amusing topics. But Hogwarts exams were approaching. Harry's conversations grew shorter, less frequent.
"I just hope we haven't missed anything," Sirius would say from time to time. Or: "I wish I knew what I was looking for."
On this particular morning, perhaps because of the night's torrential rain, the tent's self-packing charm failed. Sirius incanted the spell several times. The tent just shivered uselessly. Anthony had already rolled up his sleeping bag and sat on a damp rock nearby, using salt, oil, tinfoil, and magic to roast potatoes.
It was six in the morning. The sky was still murky. The air held a heavy, oppressive dampness. The roar of the nearby river seemed louder than the night before, nearly drowning out the morning birdsong. A hedgehog climbed cautiously from the lower ground, rustling through fallen leaves beside a bush, searching for something.
Sirius suddenly swore loudly, kicking the tent's sturdy pole. The tent shuddered. A string of water droplets rolled off the canopy and splattered onto Anthony's backpack, startling the ginger cat trying to bite open the zipper. It arched its back, hissing at Sirius, who ignored it completely, glaring darkly at the tent.
"Don't rush, Sirius," Anthony said, peeling back the tinfoil for a look. "Come eat first."
Sirius drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, and finally gave in. He walked over, dropped down beside Anthony, and took the potato.
"Thanks."
"Careful, it might be hot."
Anthony said it too late. Sirius's fingertips were already red, but he still held the potato as if he couldn't feel the heat.
"I wonder if Dumbledore has any idea what we're doing," Sirius said abruptly, head bowed, staring straight at his breakfast as if Dumbledore might pop out of the tinfoil. "Henry, do you know what you're doing? Or are you like me, just told to search—search for that damn Voldemort, tossed into this damn forest, and then damn well search and search and search… Did you offend him at some point too?"
He didn't specify who 'he' was, but from his tone, Anthony sensed Sirius wasn't talking about Voldemort.
"I offended the Ministry," Anthony said.
"Funny. They offended me," Sirius said gloomily, unwrapping the tinfoil and taking a large bite. "We've been searching—who cares how many days—and found nothing! I wish Voldemort would just jump out. Right here, in these woods. Curse me or something, the bastard! I wish we had at least a clue—I wish there was actually something here, and not Dumbled—"
He cut himself off, lowered his head, and ate in silence. Anthony fought off an inappropriate joke (At least you've found a lot of hopes) and said, "There are still a few locations left on the list."
"Yeah, the place with the giant frog sighting," Sirius said without enthusiasm. "Sounds like Voldemort's practicing Engorgement Charms, hmm?"
"The crying in the woods—"
"I wholeheartedly believe Voldemort weeps for his failures at midnight."
"And the place supposedly haunted by a monster—"
"A monster defeated by fairies." Sirius finished the potato in a few more bites, Vanished the trash, and stood up. "Fine. I'll deal with the tent first, then we'll go find that frog."
…
By ten o'clock, Sirius had not conquered his tent. In the interim, he'd designed three deaths and twelve bankruptcy scenarios for the owner of Dervish and Banges. The rain seemed to have soured his mood completely. Not even a full Chocolate Frog helped much (neither did the Dumbledore card). Anthony held the cat, studying the Luck Compass all morning. In the end, they decided to temporarily abandon the tent, take only their wands, and search the nearby woods while the weather cleared.
Anthony was soon glad they'd left their gear behind. The rain-soaked ground was treacherously slippery. His and Sirius's shoes were caked in mud. On some paths, they had to scramble on all fours, clutching at slanting tree trunks to keep from sliding down the slopes. Throughout, Anthony tried to sense for Necromancy—if Quirrell was still alive, he probably still had cat scratches.
The storm had swollen the river. The previous evening, they could easily cross the stream by stepping on stones. Now the river was thirty to forty feet wide, the current swift. Anthony and Sirius took off their shoes and socks, rolled up their trousers, and waded across. Despite it being June, the water was bitingly cold.
After crossing, they headed east to the forest's edge, then turned north, seeking any trace of Voldemort. Mushrooms pushed up through the grass, but neither Anthony nor Sirius was skilled in Herbology or Potions. Neither could confirm if they were poisonous. They found several abandoned bunkers and a few occupied houses nearby. No obvious magic traces. A few locals lived in the houses. After observing for a while, both Anthony and Sirius agreed the people didn't seem to be under the Imperius Curse.
Just as they prepared to leave, Sirius frowned.
"That little girl…" he said, thoughtfully watching the faint blue shimmer at the tip of his wand. "Is she a witch?"
Anthony looked where he pointed. A girl of about five or six, hands and knees dirty, was shrieking with laughter as she chased and was chased by a friend, scrambling over a low stone wall. Whenever Sirius's wand pointed at her, the blue light indicating magical residue brightened slightly—a change so subtle it was easy to miss.
"Where do Albanian wizards usually go to school?" Anthony asked.
"No idea," Sirius said. "If I did, I'd ask if they have any good tent-making magic here. Hogwarts-trained alchemists clearly aren't up to the job."
Just then, the children's parents called them for lunch. Anthony and Sirius, hidden under Disillusionment Charms in the tree line, debated whether to pose as lost travelers.
"Or just one," Sirius said. "You're better with Muggles, Henry. I'll give myself away the moment I speak."
"I don't speak Albanian either," Anthony pointed out as he was nudged out of the trees. "Whether British wizard or British Muggle, we're just weird foreigners to them."
"Good luck," Sirius said, as if he hadn't heard. "If that little girl turns out to be Voldemort, I'll definitely rush out to help."
…
Anthony deliberately scuffed his shoes in the mud and ruffled his hair further before dropping the Disillusionment Charm. He stowed his wand and walked toward the house. The sound of a radio or TV came from the window. The people inside seemed to be listening to the news while eating.
Just as Anthony raised his hand to knock, the door suddenly opened a crack in front of him. He startled, stepping back. The person opening the door seemed just as startled, slamming it shut again. An adult's voice called out a question. Then a child's voice, right behind the door. The news continued.
A moment later, the door opened again. A man stood there, frowning at Anthony. The little girl stood beside him, eyes wide.
Anthony smiled at them. He gestured toward the forest, made a walking motion with two fingers, then mimed carrying a heavy pack on his back. Seeing the man seemed to understand, Anthony then mimed the pack and spread his hands empty: Gone.
The man's face fell. He spoke rapidly. Anthony quickly raised his right hand, tilted his head back, and mimed drinking. Then he clasped his hands together, looking at the man questioningly.
The man spoke again.
Anthony understood none of it. He pointed to himself: "Henry." Raised his hand, mimed drinking: "Water." Clasped hands: "Please?"
The man seemed to finally grasp the language barrier. He hesitated, pointed at Anthony, then also raised a hand, pretending to gulp water noisily. The girl giggled beside him. She glanced at the man, hopped out the door, and darted past Anthony.
…
In the end, Anthony drank two bowls of water. Under the man's wary but curious gaze, he managed, through elaborate gestures, to convey he was from Britain. He tried to ask if there were other British people nearby (at least he tried). The man shook his head—either no, or I don't understand. Anthony asked about monsters nearby (his impression of a lion seemed to amuse the man). The man mimed shooting a gun and shook his head again.
So Anthony returned the bowls with thanks. He stood before the closed door for a moment, then turned. The little girl stood behind him.
"Rawr," the girl said, pulling a face, imitating his lion roar.
Anthony laughed, crouching down to tease her. "Rawr." He pointed to the forest.
The girl laughed again. "Rawr."
Anthony mimicked the man's shooting motion. "Bang." Then pointed to the forest and shook his head. "No rawr."
"Bang!" the little girl cried with a laugh, then frowned, thinking very seriously.
"Rawr," she said, pointing to the forest and shaking her head. "Bang." Shook her head again. Then she stood on tiptoe, gesturing at something very tall, and nodded.
Anthony reached up, matching the height she indicated. She gestured for him to go higher. Higher. Higher still. Until the thing was taller than Anthony could reach with his arm fully extended. Then she clasped her hands together above her head, hunched over, and began running circles around Anthony. She ran two laps. Seeing Anthony still looked puzzled, she giggled happily again.
"What is it?" Anthony asked seriously, still crouched.
The girl ran two more circles, realized he still didn't understand, jumped up and down in frustration, and looked around for something to use. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. She plucked something from her dress hem and offered it to Anthony.
Even with Anthony's level of Potions knowledge, he recognized it.
A unicorn hair.
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