Within a Forest Dark

Five

4 July 1989

The woman is impossible, Snape thinks as he and Minerva face off, his arms folded protectively against his chest, her hands on her hips in a pose reminiscent of a mother coaxing a recalcitrant child into eating its greens.

Here they are, in the wrong place, and she wants to stay and have dinner.

"We have to eat, Severus."

Her mild, sensible tone makes him want to hex her with painful boils.

"We should figure out how to get back," he says.

"Until we know where we are, there isn't much point. We have no idea if we can Apparate home from here. Where are you going?"

He has turned and stalked off down the street, his black trench coat billowing out behind him like a cloud of ill will.

"I'm going to find out where this useless piece of shite has landed us," he says when she catches him up. He's holding up the Portkey—a Muggle torch—and shaking it, wishing he were throttling the misbegotten Ministry functionary who charmed the damn thing.

"Somewhere in America, I believe," she says, and he stops and turns to face her.

"How do you know that?"

"The automobiles. They're driving on the right-hand side of the road. And we aren't in Europe, Asia, or South America, because the signs are all in English."

He looks around. She's right. The road is less than busy in this side street, but the cars that have passed have been on the wrong side of the road for Britain. And the triangular sign at the junction of two roads reads "Yield" rather than "Give Way". The sign warning of a detour at N Washington St could only be American.

"Bloody hell," he says.

If they are in America, they're stuck until they can arrange another Portkey, as they can't Apparate back across the Atlantic Ocean.

She says, "Let's go into that restaurant, find out where we are, and we can have something to eat while we figure out the best way to get back."

Somehow, he finds himself sitting across from her over a table covered in a checked plastic cloth. A waiter with a nearly impenetrable accent puts a pair of enormous menus into their hands.

"Can I get youse anything to drink?" he asks before they've even had a chance to open them.

"A bottle of your house red would be fine," Minerva says, and the waiter scurries off to the no-doubt rat-infested kitchen.

"If you drink too much, you won't be able to Apparate anywhere, and I have no intention of letting you vomit on me after a Side-Along," Severus says.

"I can hold my liquor better than you can, lad. Besides, we won't be Apparating anywhere tonight. We are in Rome, New York, and in Rome, New York, we stay until we can get to a city with a MACUSA office that can arrange a new Portkey."

"You know this how?"

"I picked this up at the front door." She holds up a small, rectangular card bearing the legend:

Mangiare!
Authentic Italian Kitchen

426 N. Washington St.
Rome, NY 13440.

Dine In or Take Out

Free Deliviry over $25

(310) 555-5436

"What imbecile of a low-level Ministry halfwit charms a Portkey to go to Rome, New York, rather than Rome, Italy?" Severus says through clenched teeth.

"One with a somewhat tenuous grasp of geography, I should think."