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Sirius repeated carefully, "Your mother's basement."
"Technically, it's mine now, though I'd rather not think about it." Sirius shrugged. "Regardless, this doesn't count as theft, so don't worry. Not that I'd feel much guilt over stealing from that old hag anyway."
"No, what I mean is, it sounds like it's been there for a decade."
"At least fifty years," Sirius corrected, swirling the bottle so the golden liquid moved slowly inside. "Maybe even a century. The box it was in was practically falling apart."
Anthony grew more concerned. "Do potions have a shelf life?"
"What?"
"Like… like how milk spoils and corpses decay," Anthony explained. "Does an old potion change in some way?"
Sirius tilted his head, thinking. "I don't think there would be any noticeable change."
"Based on?"
"Amortentia gets stronger the longer it sits," Sirius said. "I'd assume Felix Felicis is the same."
For a moment, Anthony wasn't sure whether to be surprised by Sirius's intimate knowledge of love potions, point out the flawed logic, or question Hogwarts's Potions education. He looked at Sirius's fervent expression and knew he couldn't talk him out of drinking an expired potion.
"Alright," he finally said. "In that case, I go first."
Sirius finally shifted his gaze from the Felix Felicis to Anthony's face. "And your reason is?"
Because a Basilisk didn't poison me, so I'm probably not too afraid of toxins — fantastic, Anthony, another logical fallacy.
"Because I'm particularly curious?" Anthony offered. "Also, if I pass out, you can at least drag me back to Italy."
Sirius grinned and handed him the bottle. "Fine. Deal. A small sip should be enough."
Anthony pulled out the cork and cautiously sniffed it. No sourness. No foul smell. No particular odor at all. He brought the bottle to his lips, tipped in a tiny amount, and swallowed.
Sirius stared at him. "Well?"
Anthony blinked. "Not bad." A warm feeling bloomed in his stomach, spreading slowly throughout his body… His mind felt clearer than ever. Suddenly, the broken branch, the faint magical traces, the swollen stream, the nearby unicorn, and all the other clues they'd gathered along the way seemed to shimmer with half-seen connections. Anthony still didn't know the exact location of the hidden place, but he believed—no, he knew—they would find something today. He handed the bottle to Sirius, feeling fantastic.
Sirius didn't hesitate. He raised the bottle and took a small sip. After a moment, his face lit up, his eyes shining with confident energy.
"Brilliant, isn't it?" Anthony asked with a smile.
"Brilliant!" Sirius replied. He recorked the bottle, returned it to the closet shelf, then stepped over the motorcycle lying across the hallway and grabbed his pack. "Let's go, Henry."
Anthony followed him out of the tent. The sky was pale. Birds chirped overhead. Sirius strode toward the woods, not bothering to take down the tent.
The ginger cat emerged from the bushes, looked at Sirius suspiciously, then turned to Anthony. Anthony smiled at it and headed into the woods too. He knew, with the same bone-deep certainty Sirius must have felt, that leaving the tent here was better. He didn't know why. He was just absolutely sure it was the best choice.
Their steps were light, bypassing areas they no longer needed to scrutinize. The Felix Felicis guided them back to the stream. The water still ran fast, but several large rocks jutted above the surface. Anthony and Sirius hopped across easily. They walked deeper into the darker woods to the west.
"We're close," Sirius whispered. It was the first thing he'd said since they left. His face was hidden in shadow, but Anthony could see his bright, gleaming eyes. He didn't seem nervous. Just excited.
Anthony moved beside him, scanning their surroundings. "Yes."
"Right?" Sirius asked, smiling.
"Obviously," Anthony said, falling in behind Sirius. For some reason, he suddenly felt it was an excellent time to use Necromancy. So he did.
He swiftly passed over the eager dead squirrels and birds, focusing only on seeking a sign, a signal… He passed the Wraith Mouse in his pack… passed the Wraith Chicken perched on a branch and the cat climbing a tree… Suddenly, his magic touched something unusually powerful. In his perception, it burned like a ball of fire, so bright it dimmed every other corpse around it.
He brushed his magic over the remains, feeling the faint magic within the bones tremble in response. The skeleton was smooth, pale, hard, brilliant—a beautiful frame, perfect in every way… The flesh was another story entirely, burning with shock, fury, resentment, and regret, having nearly exhausted all its useful Necromantic potential… Anthony opened his eyes.
It was a unicorn skeleton. A unicorn had died a violent death here.
The Felix Felicis urged him in that direction. Anthony adjusted his pack and stepped toward the source of his perception.
Suddenly, Sirius grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"
Anthony turned back, surprised. The moment their eyes met, they understood simultaneously. The Felix Felicis was guiding them to different places.
"How can that be?" Anthony asked.
"No idea, but I need to go this way," Sirius said with utter certainty, pointing into the trees to their right. "I know I'll find something there."
Anthony pointed left. "I need to go this way."
"Huh. Okay. See you back at camp." Sirius released his arm and took a step back.
Anthony hesitated. He didn't want to separate from Sirius in the forest, especially with Voldemort likely nearby. But at the same time, a powerful, gut-deep feeling insisted the left path was correct. If he didn't follow that intuition today, he'd never get another chance this good.
"I'll come with you," Anthony said. "Maybe the potion really is expired."
"Don't," Sirius said. "I know it's not."
"Come on." Anthony started toward the right. The potion still pulled toward the other side of the forest. Every step felt wrong, like a knot tightening in his stomach as the distance grew.
Sirius grabbed him, his expression serious. "No, Henry, this won't work. If Felix says you should go that way, you'd better listen."
"Maybe I'm allergic to Felix Felicis," Anthony said. "It's fine, Sirius. Let's go, or Voldemort might slip away again."
"He won't," Sirius said with certainty, then frowned slightly. "Alright, seriously, Henry. The potion keeps telling me to stay away from you. Maybe—maybe if you come with me, you'll get seriously hurt, or worse! Maybe that's why our potions point different ways."
Anthony immediately thought of another possibility.
"Alright," he said, conceding. "I'll go the other way. Be careful, Sirius."
Sirius seemed relieved. "Don't worry about me. I'm very lucky right now."
"I guess I'm deserting. Feels terrible."
Sirius grinned. "See you later. Tell me what you find."
…
Anthony trudged through the woods alone. He'd sent the cat after Sirius (promising it copious amounts of high-quality botrytised sweet wine as payment) but kept the Wraith Chicken and Wraith Mouse with him. He had them scout the area, ordering them to slip into the gap between life and death the instant they found anyone who might be Voldemort.
No birds sang here. No insects chirped. Not even a whisper of wind. Only when the Wraith Mouse scrambled onto his arm did Anthony realize what the chicken and mouse meant by "many living things nearby"—snakes. Snakes rested in the grass, hid in the bushes, draped from the branches. These cold-blooded creatures occupied the forest in utter silence, sliding slowly between the trees.
Anthony wasn't worried, though. Partly because the potion whispered there was no danger here. Partly because he figured snakes probably had little appetite for someone who'd been dead for ages. He slipped a hand into his pocket and scratched the Wraith Mouse's head.
Suddenly, the mouse vanished from under his fingers. In his mind, warnings from both the Wraith Chicken and Wraith Mouse shrieked simultaneously. The answer is ahead.
Anthony quieted his steps. In his Necromantic senses, the unicorn's corpse blazed like a beacon. He rounded a rocky outcrop and saw a small clearing. The dead unicorn lay there, its coat dull and gray, all luster gone. Its horn had been snapped off and driven into its own neck. The wound was a mess of matted fur and congealed silver blood. A figure in a black cloak sat on the ground, leaning against the unicorn's body, its actions unclear.
Anthony held his breath and reached out with Necromancy. The soul had no discernible scent. He focused, barely connecting it to expired chicken salad (no dressing). Compared to their last encounter, Voldemort's state had clearly improved. Frankly, it still wasn't appetizing. Remembering the oyster meat he couldn't pry loose last time, Anthony gave the soul a gentle push.
The figure shuddered, head snapping up, eyes darting around in panic. A hoarse, whispery voice asked, "Professor Anthony? Professor Dumbledore?"
"Professor Quirrell?"
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