Title: He Belongs To Yesterday

Author: Meatball

Rating: PG

Summary: Set about fifteen years before The Birdie And The Rat, this prequel is about Lucie DeGrace and Simon Nigel-Nickerson's first case together. Features appearances by Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and a certain dark wizard whom we haven't heard much about yet.

Author's Note: This is totally a work of fiction (duh!). Original characters belong to me. Everything else belongs to JKR, and I do appreciate her letting us borrow her creations and taking all kinds of liberties with them! They are ever so fun to play with.

Author's Note II: Severus Snape is innocent until proven guilty!

One

Dragonwoode Manor

Hogsmeade Woods

Late August, 1890

"Damn it," whispered the slim man, his hazel eyes shining in the soft glow of the many candles that illuminated the old, dark-panelled room. On the table in front of him, an ancient text, faded and nearly indecipherable, rested. The man frowned and leaned closer, peering impatiently through the curtain of dark hair that had fallen across his brow.

"A problem, Master Lazerus?"

The man glanced up sharply, his steady gaze on his assistant. His even, handsome features were set in grim lines, and his soft, lightly-accented voice did not conceal his irritation. "You could say that, Fingal." Lazerus leaned back in his ornate, leather-padded old chair, and folded his arms, his expression brooding. "Those damned Egyptians and their damned heiroglyphics! Why couldn't they simply have written in good old plain English? I can barely make out some of these alchemic formulae, even with the help of magic."

Fingal the Fleet nodded, his clever Goblin features arranged in an almost-convincing expression of sympathy. "Perhaps, Master, I could decipher them for you --"

Lazerus smiled. It was a gentle enough smile, but there was more than a hint of irony in it. "I'm sure you could, Fingal. But -- forgive me, my old associate -- surely you know that when it comes to potential riches, I trust you not an inch more than as far as I can throw you. And that is not very far." His smile widened into a genuine smile. "Ah, but I see by your striking countenance that you are displeased. Here, Fingal." He held out his hand. "Come here. Take these," Lazerus handed the diminutive Goblin a stack of sealed files. The Goblin tottered slightly under the weight of them. "And begin sorting through them. The alchemic recipes marked with blue are to be filed in the top cabinet. The ones marked in green may be discarded into the fire -- they are useless, or redundant. The ones marked in red -- ah, my old comrade -- these are to be filed in the secret cabinets. You know the ones. And the yellow ones are as yet untested. They may be returned to my work table."

"Yes, Master Lazerus," Fingal wheezed. "Anything else, Master? More wine, perhaps?"

"Thank you, Fingal." He smiled at the Goblin again, kindly this time. "Yes. And when you have completed your work, you may rest. You've had a long day."

"Thank you, Master. You are kind."

Lazerus laughed, and said affectionately, "And you're a liar. Off with you now, Fingal. And goodnight."

"Goodnight, Master."

Fingal left the study, obscured behind the large stack of files that he carried. Within moments, a slightly-dusty bottle of wine -- Lazerus' favourite vintage elf-made -- and an elaborately-engraved silver goblet appeared on Lazerus' desk, along with a plate of meat and cheese. "Ah, bless you, Fingal," Lazerus said softly, choosing a morsel. A quick tap of his wand and a singsong incantation proved both the food and drink to be free of poison -- not that he had honestly expected there to be any. But it never hurt to be certain -- he would much prefer to be safe than sorry, or dead.

It had been hours since he had eaten, but as usual, he had been so engrossed in his research that he had forgotten the more mundane matters of food and drink. And Fingal, for all his ingrained treacherousness, looked after his master well. For his master was most kind to him, and generous with the fruits of his labours -- he could be counted on to reward his Goblin servant most profusely. They had worked together for many years now, and they made a good team, Lazerus and Fingal. Despite their myriad of differences, Lazerus was immensely fond of the still-youthful Goblin, and was pleased to call him 'friend', after a fashion.

Lazerus finished the plate of food -- he had been quite hungry, after all -- and took a deep drink of wine. With a satisfied sigh, he yawned and stretched, his somewhat-shaggy dark hair flopping over the hem of his loosely-flowing white blouse. Shrugging his hair back -- it wanted cutting, as usual -- he then prepared to resume the tedious, but fascinating, work of deciphering the alchemic secrets of the Egyptian ancients. What wizards they had been! The power. The secrets. The accomplishments! He was entranced by his work this evening, as he rarely had been any other time, of late.

By the age of forty-seven, Lazerus had become nationally-acclaimed as one of the foremost authorities on potions and alchemy throughout Europe. But he had become almost bored, as of late, with his studies and investigations. It seemed that there had been nothing new, and nothing exciting, to come his way for a very long time.

But here, in his very hands, he held an entirely new (to him) branch of alchemy. A branch of alchemy that he suspected would not be considered acceptable by the academic circles in which he moved.

He had discovered it, and other ancient tomes, on a recent speaking engagement in Egypt. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, he should not have...borrowed...these texts, but he was certain that they would never be missed, having been stored deep in one of the tombs that he had explored. The signs of magical concealment would have kept the precious tomes safe from prying muggle eyes, and as for other wizards? Well, he thought, with a swell of pride, he was considered by many to be one of the most powerful wizards of this age, and he sincerely doubted that many other magic-users could have spotted the cleverly-disguised books. He had barely done so, himself.

Perhaps his old friend Albus Dumbledore...perhaps. Perhaps not. Dumbledore was a good wizard -- nay, a very, very good wizard, and someday his talent and accomplishments might come close to equalling Lazerus' -- but, he felt sure, that day was a long way off. Besides, Albus needed to focus, as he, Lazerus, had told him many times already. It was all very well and good to have steady employment as Transfiguration Professor at Hogwart's, but really, how far could one go, in a teaching career? The sooner Albus quit that position and began to work on furthering his abilities, the better off he would be. Several times, Lazerus had offered Albus the chance to become his assistant, and several times, Albus had demurred.

His loss, thought Lazerus, not for the first time. His right, and his choice. Yet, he couldn't help but feel that Albus was wasting a great potential.

With a tingle of excitement, Lazerus leaned forward and once again attempted to make sense of the battered, ancient work, whose title loosely translated to "Most Secret And Strange Hexes and Charms." If he was deciphering these heiroglyphics correctly, then there were some astounding discoveries in the ancient text, be they light or dark.

He continued to read, late into the night, as the candles burned low around him.