In Memoriam (Sequel To Hope For The Hopeless. Severus x Reader)

Portkeys

Late Saturday evening, when the castle was still, students and teachers alike, slumbering in their beds, you crept out of your quarters and ascended the dank dungeon stairs, a silencing charm doing away with any unwanted footsteps or echoes.

Upon escaping the confines of the castle, you swiftly made your way along the bumpy paths, to what had been coined, "The most haunted building in Britain." Fairly ridiculous but it kept people away, which is why it was the perfect location for a portkey. Portkey travel wasn't the first pick for many magical folk but you now preferred it over apparating.

With your wand lit to guide you, as the skies were blanketed in a thick black cloud, you walked around the rickety old building, past the aged tree that never seemed to bloom, towards the very back of the land. The grass had been left to grow wild there and it brushed against your legs as you stomped through it, looking for the portkey you had hidden.

Amongst the grass, lay a small green rubber duck, one that camouflaged  well with the hue of the unkempt lawn.

Found you.

Stuffing your cloak into your backpack, you replaced it with a more appropriate jacket for Muggle streets. You stared at the inanimate duck, a grimace beginning to seep out from your features.

Deep breath.

You steadied yourself, eventually took that deep breath and leaned down.

"Here we go."

Placing your hand on the duck, a sudden feeling of being lassoed around the waist squeezed at you, before being pulled at speed to your portkey's destination; the tallest, yet inconspicuous looking tower block roof you could find in London. With the time you had to do so, anyway. Anyone who stumbled across that portkey would be in for quite the surprise.

The wind immediately whipped against your skin, and sent your hair into a frenzy. It gave you little time to perfect your landing as it began to force your body in the same direction as it blew. Stumbling over your own heavy boots, you sat for a moment, gathering yourself for the next journey. Travelling by portkey was uncomfortable, to say the least; doing it multiple times in straight succession, wasn't advised...but not impossible. As you had found out.

Not fancying being thrown off a building, you shimmied your way over to the roof's concrete barriers and felt around for what you needed next. The glammered backpack you had stowed away and secured to some innocuous pipework was still there.

Hidden away inside the backpack, which was identical to the one you had on your back, were 3 boxes. Each one containing another portkey. Final destinations.

Hunched over the bag you picked the box you needed, then opened it to reveal it's small trinket; a shoelace. The wind battered the building again and you quickly shut the box, holding the bag to your chest. You had to brace yourself on the pipe as the gale seemed to enter through every gap in your clothes. The pipes groaned loudly in dissatisfaction but held firm under your grasp. You waited patiently, sort of, for it to subside again, then gently reopened the box, keeping it inside the bag so it didn't blow away. 

The direct route from London to the south coast of Kent, took mere seconds but quite a few harsh breaths to recover after another rocky landing.

"Only two more journeys," you sighed, readjusting your bag and slinking out from a derelict beach shack. When you happened upon it weeks ago, you imagined it in it's glory days; when middle class women were sent to the coast to catch the air and cure them of their sickness. Now it resembled a well used outhouse. Either way it was secure enough and had cost you little money.

The town, now out of it's summer peak time, was sleepy again. The winding dark paths you had memorised to stay undetected were empty, and lifeless. The lull of the sea, accompanied by the odd brave seagull drifting on top of black water, were your only companions. For a while.