Unspoken

Incident at Uijeongbu

Summary: His assignment was to create a short-lived time traveling potion, but young Snape gets more than he bargained for when he finds himself lost and injured in the midst of the Korean War (Yes, you read that correctly: Korean War). Will he ever find his way back to Hogwarts?

Incident at Uijeongbu

"Incendio Eradicus!" 

The blast from his wand sent the scrap of parchment flying across the room but watching it streak over the desks like a miniature, orange comet did nothing to lift young Severus' spirits that Saturday afternoon. They remained as bleak as the late November sky, and every bit as cold and heavy as the unrelenting shrouds of sleet that fell from it. Every icy ping against the potion classroom's arched windows reverberated through him like a stinging taunt, a testimony to his complete and utter failure. After numerous attempts, the potion still wasn't working, he didn't know how to make it work, and since he was someone who prided himself on mastery of all things academic, the not knowing about this particular thing was driving him mad.

Slumping over his workspace, Snape tucked his wand back into his robe and sighed. He had to create a potion that could briefly alter time--and with no reference materials, save those on the written list he'd just incinerated--by Monday morning. Monday! And this potion was no mere homework assignment but an entrance exam. Having demonstrated some truly outstanding abilities in spell-casting and potion-making  during his short tenure at Hogwarts, fifteen year-old Severus was determined to be the youngest wizard in the school's history to enter Eclectic Elixirs. The  class, usually reserved for a handful of seventh year students, featured private lessons from Professor Dumbledore, himself! Now, thanks to a fit of pique, he'd just destroyed his only copy of the potion's recipe, which also meant he'd probably just forfeited any hope of entering the class next term. 

Recipe or no, failure was not an option.  He glared at his cauldron as he ran through the list of required ingredients in his mind. There were only five necessary for this potion, a simple mixture, really, as potions went,  and everything he needed -- or thought he needed -- was here -- right here in front of him! Professor Dumbledore had practically handed it to him on a platter! Snape pushed a stray lock of greasy black hair out of his eyes and rolled up his sleeves. Grabbing a fresh cauldron, a fellow classmate's from a nearby desk, he started from scratch yet again, hoping that his seventh time would be the charm. Carefully, just as he'd done so many times that morning, he measured his ingredients. Reverently, like a monk at vespers, he intoned the name of each before dropping it into the cauldron's belly of silence: "Belladonna tincture, extract of bedlam seed, equal parts finely powdered ruethorn, triphillium, and dreamweed...mix thoroughly, then simmer until reduced to a golden, viscid elixir. That's it. That's everything." 

He wiped his hands on his faded black robe. Opting to bow to a little wizarding superstition this time around--just in case there was some truth in that old saying that a watched cauldron never bubbled-- he shuffled to the shelves of ingredients at the back of the classroom. He'd left them in a sorry state. As he began stoppering bottles and returning them to their rightful places, he cast his thoughts back to Friday afternoon, when he'd been summoned from study hall to the professor's office.  

He'd always had what Muggles called a "photographic" memory, and as Snape retraced his steps from study hall to the professor's private quarters, he could hear his footsteps echoing down the long, silent corridor and feel his stomach flip-flop as he rode the rumble of spiral stairs to Dumbledore's office. As he stepped inside the office's lower level, the smell of fizzy lemon drops made his mouth water. An enormous bowl of them sat atop a table, just inside the door.  Mouth puckering, he winced as the small, sugar-coated candy didn't so much fizz as exploded into a sour froth in his mouth. Shaking this unpleasant memory away, he fast-recollected to his meeting, desperate to recall any clues Professor Dumbledore might have disclosed when he gave him the assignment.