He was hunched over a cauldron, a thick scarf tied around his face. The front and back door to the small house were open, the windows pushed outward as far as they could. The steam that escaped the building was black, and the thick gloves that he wore clearly indicated that this was not a potion to be messed with. He kept on routinely patting his pocket, checking to make sure that the vile object was still there while he worked. The Draught of Living Death had proved useless, but this might have stood a better chance. He wasn’t entirely sure which was stronger, and he wished that he could have had Severus Snape and his potions expertise, but that wasn’t an option for him any more.
A wracking cough started, and he found himself quickly heading outside, away from the building itself to pull the scarf from his face. He could only hope that he got over whatever illness this was quickly, though he couldn’t really hold up much hope for this. The cough came with him from the cave and he didn’t think it was going to leave. He had to figure this whole horcrux issue out, and that had to come before anything, even before the nagging voice in his mind telling him that he was a failure, and that he would never succeed.
He took in as much fresh air as he could before going back inside, back to the horrible potion that he was brewing. He could only hope that if he put the locket inside it would be destroyed - this was what MACUSA had used to serve their death sentences at one point in time - surely it would be up to the task. Footsteps alerted him to another presence in the house, and he assumed it to be either Sirius or James. They were typically the only visitors he saw. “Cover your mouth and nose. You don’t want to breathe this in,” he instructed through the thick scarf. “Death Potion. I’ve got to try.”
