The Ashes and the Flame

The Ashes and the Flame

Part IV. The Widening Gyre

Professor Snape is waiting up for me when I return to Angelina's, well past midnight. He looks haggard; dark rings circle his eyes. He looks as if he's been pacing around the living room all evening.

"Miss Granger!" he exclaims, his relief unmistakable.

Then he notices my glowing face. His eyes narrow, and a perceptible chill settles in his voice. "Unless I'm mistaken, I do believe you would've preferred to remain at Falconsrest tonight. Shall I note the irony of you breaking the rules that you yourself have set? Or do you abide by them only when it's convenient for you?"

"You may believe whatever you wish, Professor," I say coolly. He's right, though. Theo had asked me to stay with him, and I was very much tempted. "But I am here, am I not?"

"I might wonder why you are so late," he sneers, "but after two decades of teaching hormonal youths at Hogwarts, I can guess well enough."

I feel my cheeks burning, but I'm quite capable of matching his level of nastiness. I've had nearly six years of practice, after all.

"I'm not interested in the inventions of your sordid little mind, Professor Snape," I retort. "I am far more interested in getting some sleep. If this is how you're going to be, I'll tell you about the latest attempts with the spell, and Draco Malfoy's little visit to Falconsrest, in the morning."

"Don't change the subject!" He looks furious now. "I know very well that a visit from young Mr. Malfoy would not make you light up with happiness."

"Your insinuations are growing wearisome," I say firmly, walking up the stairs. "Good night."

When I reach the top I glance back. Professor Snape is still standing in the middle of the living room, his shoulders hunched. He looks forlorn, like he's lost the most precious thing in the world. Pieces of a puzzle suddenly start to fall together. There's a reason why Snape is so nasty to Angelina when I'm out, why he was particularly unpleasant just now, why Theo so easily believed Draco's scandalous suggestions. But my mind skitters away from contemplating the conclusion that is probably obvious to everyone but me.

Oh dear, I think. I'll deal with it in the morning.

But in the morning, of course, Professor Snape is gone. An impersonal note on my bedroom door informs me he'll be spending the day in Theodore Nott's labs. Blast him! The devious man has prevented me from going there myself, when he knows very well that I want to. I grind my teeth together in frustration and fling myself onto the sofa. One of his abandoned books jabs me in the back. I seize the heavy thing with a muffled oath and drag it into my lap. Magick: The Journal of the International Confederation of Wizards stares back at me.

"Doing his dirty work, are you?" I snarl at it, well aware that if Angelina were to come downstairs, she'd think me mad for talking to an inanimate object.

Still, it's reading (and the most respected research publication in the wizarding world at that), so I can't resist it for long. By the time suppertime rolls around, I've learned about the behavior of the elusive Peruvian Vipertooth dragons in their natural environment, the relative merits of Abyssinian shrivelfig versus its Arabian cousin, methods for extending the half-life of certain classes of charms, and the importance of intent in potions brewing. With some amusement, I remember my first flying lesson, and how Neville's broom seemed to know that heights terrify him. Was his fear of Professor Snape responsible for his abysmal performance in Potions, too? Then it hits me.

"Hermione, you fool," I say aloud, scrambling upstairs to find my translated copy of the Homunculus spell.

And there it is, on the second page, right after the ingredients and the incantation. I read it aloud: "The spell itself is simple, but the intent is the most important element. Those who wish to cast Adam Emet must be clear of mind and purpose."

My thoughts jumble together. Clear of mind and purpose. I'd only considered it important for the spell itself, but what if it's important to the entire process? Perhaps Professor Snape's hatred of Harry has been tainting his brewing. Perhaps it outweighs his loathing of Voldemort. Perhaps it's not even a question of who he resents more: perhaps any hint of negativity corrupts the potion. And if that's the case, how do I tell him I need to brew to potion without offending him? I make a mental note to ask Theo to take another look at the original text. Did he truly mean to write clear? Or is the more appropriate word pure? I have a strong inkling it's the latter.

Now it is my turn to pace the living room. The irony of the situation is not lost on me. I wonder briefly if Professor Snape had read the same article last night, and had been waiting to discuss it with me. I growl, "Come on, Professor, where are you?"

But the hours drag on without any sign from him. Eventually even Angelina gets home from her late shift at the Three Broomsticks. While I don't tell her anything about the article in Magick, we chat for a while about our attempts with the golem spell. She nods occasionally to signify that she understands what I'm saying, but doesn't contribute much herself. Eventually she goes up to bed. I fall asleep on the sofa waiting for Professor Snape, but he doesn't show up that night. He's not there in the morning, either, or even the next evening.

By then, I'm worried. He doesn't seem like the type to disappear without a word. Has he blown himself up with one of his experiments? Has he gone and attacked Theo? Rules or not, I decide I need to investigate. After scrawling a quick note for Angelina, I carefully Disillusion myself and Apparate to Falconsrest.

The sun has long since set by the time I arrive at Theo's gates, and a strong wind is blowing in off the sea. I take a deep breath of the clean salt air, and start to pick my way up the treacherous, faintly lit cliff path. I can't see the house, but I can sense its presence, looming over my head like some massive bird of prey. I wonder if Sparky is even now announcing my arrival to his master.

I'm not surprised to find Theo in his study alone, reading. He gets up when I enter, and crosses the room to stand just within easy reach. A hesitant smile touches his lips. "Hermione! I was wondering if you were avoiding me..."

"No, of course not!" I exclaim, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around him. The familiar smell of leather and old books fills my nostrils. I murmur into his chest, "I would've come again yesterday, but Professor Snape, that prat, took the opportunity before I even woke up!"

"Ah," he says, and drops a kiss on top of my head. His hand tangles in my hair. "I didn't see him at all, but I suppose he could've left early."

"What do you mean?" I lean back and look up. "He hasn't been back to Angelina's yet, and I've been wanting to talk to him for the past two days. I thought he was hiding from me here."

Theo releases me, looking concerned. He says, "Look, why don't we check downstairs and see if he stopped in to do some experiments? I haven't read through the log at all, but Sparky told me no one was here when I got back."

A horrible thought occurs to me. Is it possible that Professor Snape, in a fit of jealousy, has returned to Lord Voldemort? He would never, I think, but doubt niggles in the back of my mind. Subdued, I follow Theo down to the cellar.

The laboratory looks like it hasn't been touched since I saw it last. Rows of glass bottles line the shelves, carefully sealed and labeled. A stack of cauldrons teeters in one corner. A black notebook sits on the immaculate countertop. I open it to the latest entry; it's mine, from two days ago.

Most promising attempt to date. Formed proto-homunculus from SS-317 (mandrake root, fluxweed picked at full moon, spring water) and clay. Walked around figurine seven times counterclockwise. From feet cast Adam Emet. Figure glowed white briefly and sat up before crumbling to dust.

Theo gently grasps my wrist; I jump.

"Did you find anything?" he asks, his breath warm on my ear.

I shake my head: no. "It's as if he never made it here at all."

We check the library next, but it doesn't show any signs of use, either. Temporarily defeated, we return to the study and settle down on the sofa. I lean back into the crook of Theo's arm and pinch the bridge of my nose, very much aware that it's a habit I picked up from the missing Potions Master.

"Where could he be? He's too full of Sturm und Drang to disappear like this," I say, scowling.

"I thought you didn't know German," Theo says, smiling a little.

"I don't. But - oh! Speaking of German, can you take another look at Paracelsus's original notes? There's a section that you translated as ''clear of mind and purpose,' but I was wondering if it might be 'pure' instead because I think that Professor Snape's dislike of Harry is impacting the potency of the potion, and that's why the spell hasn't been working. If..."

"Of course I can," Theo murmurs, placing his fingers over my lips to silence my babbling, "but it'll cost you."

His proximity is doing strange things to my mind. Am I in love? I hear myself ask mischievously, "What do you want in return?"

Smiling, he runs his hand lightly down the side of my body, sending little shivers of excitement crawling up my spine. I pull him down over me, and for a few moments both our mouths are too busy to speak. At last, he whispers into my ear: "I want this. This, and only this."

And he proceeds to show me exactly what he desires.