The Ashes and the Flame

The Ashes and the Flame

Part V. The Burning of the Sun

To Theo's disappointment, I again insist on going back to Angelina's that night. Aloud, I tell him I want to be there on the off chance that Professor Snape shows up. In my heart, though I've become quite fond of him, I suppose I'm a little irritated with him for distracting me so thoroughly when the Potions Master is still missing.

Since Angelina had the usual late shift at the Three Broomsticks, she's still asleep when the Daily Prophet arrives in the morning. I feed the delivery owl a treat and take the paper to the kitchen, where I settle with my morning tea. I nearly choke. There, on the front page, is a photograph of Severus Snape, looking battered and extremely shifty. The headline above his face reads:

INFAMOUS MURDERER CAPTURED

A Daily Prophet Exclusive!

Two days ago, Albert Jorkins was in his garden, tending to his Fanged Geraniums, when he happened to look up. There, on the ordinarily quiet streets of Hogsmeade, stood Severus Snape, one of Britain's most wanted criminals.

"I didn't even stop to think," says Jorkins, an unassuming middle-aged wizard. "All I knew was, this man's a killer, and I wasn't about to let him have a go at me. So I whipped out my wand and tossed a Stunner at him when he wasn't paying attention. Usually I'm not so good with 'em, but boy! That one got him good!"

Jorkins then called in authorities, who sent thirteen MLE officers to deal with the situation. Snape, who was wanted for questioning over last year's murder of prominent philanthropist Lucius Malfoy, is being held in a high-security cell at Azkaban. The dead man's wand was discovered in his possession when he was apprehended.

"All of wizard-kind owes Mr. Jorkins a debt of gratitude," said a tearful Draco Malfoy, the murdered man's only son. "Because of his courage, one more dangerous criminal is off the streets."

Walden MacNair, the Minister of Magic, also praised him. "Mr. Jorkins deserves nothing less than an Order of Merlin, Third Class, for his quick thinking and action that day."

My brain freezes; it's as if my world has come to an end. To a certain extent, it has. Professor Snape knows everything about us. If he's forced to tell even a fraction of what he could, we're all lost. I can only hope that he has defenses against Veritaserum that the rest of us never learned. In my mind I berate him: how could you let yourself be caught so easily? Then that nagging doubt returns: were you trying to be captured?

But right now, such remonstrance does no good, and I have little basis for my qualms. Our man is in enemy hands, and we must free him. But first things first: we need a plan, and for that, we need a leader. I run up the stairs to wake Angelina.

A few hours later, Neville and Eloise are sitting in the living room, summoned via Protean Charm. Theo sends his a drab hired owl with a message: he can't leave work, but he's doing everything he can to help.

Cradling her second mug of tea, Angelina scowls at the paper. "What can he do, for Merlin's sake? He's in the Department of Mysteries, not the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Professor Snape's photo scowls back at her in agreement.

"Alright," she says, sticking her tongue out at him. "Hold your hippogriffs, you great bat! We're coming to get you. Hermione, how's the Homo-whatsit spell coming along? Any hope we can use that?"

"Homunculus Transfiguration," I correct her automatically. "And yes, I think I can get it to work. We're very close. But I need to go to Theo's to brew the potion."

"Go then." She looks at the others. As I Disapparate away, I hear her say, "Eloise, you're going to help me with logistics and a backup plan. Neville, you're to remain here if at all possible. The Secret-Keeper has to stay safe. We simply can't let our headquarters be compromised."

I emerge on a high, windswept bluff that crumbles straight into the sea, hundreds of feet below. A clean salt smell assails my nostrils; I inhale deeply. The air is extraordinarily clear today, and looking out over the water, I can see the tip of the peninsula awash in foamy white waves. Peregrines circle up overhead before diving with short, shrill screams for the seagulls. The white birds scatter frantically, but the plummeting falcons are difficult to evade. Tumbling over the ends of the earth together, they remind me of the Wronski feints that Harry used to pull during Quidditch matches. I shiver a bit: it was a game for us, but it's life and death for these birds.

With such dreary thoughts in my head, I pass through the gates of Falconsrest and climb toward the craggy house crowning the cliffs. Perhaps it's my mood, but I decide that daylight does little to improve the place. It still intimidates me with its ominous bulk and dizzying approach, and I'm glad to enter the house, if for no other reason than I don't have to look at it any longer. Inside, it's eerily silent, but I'm used to it. I hurry to the dark and chilly cellar. Quickly, I set up the brewing apparatus and prepare the ingredients. I have one final chance to get the potion right, and I'm determined not to fail. If I must be pure in mind and purpose, so I shall be.

Purity of purpose, I remind myself as I chop the Mandrake roots into perfect matchsticks. I envision pitiful Professor Snape, alone with his most miserable thoughts on the rocky isle of Azkaban. I think tenderly about Theo, whose family was stolen from him by the war. I remember my love for Harry and Ron and Luna and Tonks and all the others who have died for the cause. I'm creating this golem to avenge them, to protect them, and to defend all the oppressed Muggle-born and half-blood witches and wizards in our world.

Purity of purpose, I think as I watch the silvery mandrake-fluxweed concoction simmer, remembering the times when Harry, Ron and I brewed potions in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Suddenly inspired by the memory, I grab Boomslang skin from the shelf, shred it, and add it to the cauldron. Lacewing flies and a single Jobberknoll feather follow. The ingredients dissolve, the mixture bubbles gently, and suddenly the liquid in the cauldron turns a beautiful, shimmering crimson. I give it one last stir, my hands shaking with excitement.

My writing is abnormally spidery as I hastily make a few notations in the journal. The brewing took longer than I expected, and I know I'm doing a shoddy job with the notes. I promise myself I'll come back tomorrow and finish the entry properly, but the clean up I leave to the house-elves. They'll understand I've got no time, I hope.

Outside, in the early afternoon sun, I take another peek at the bottle in my hand. The potion pulses with an inner fire, a glowing ruby that's almost painful to look at, yet the shining glass vial one of the most exquisite things I've ever seen. If I could bottle all the love and beauty in the world, I think, this is what it would look like. Carefully, I tuck it into my coat pocket, Disillusion myself again, and Apparate back to the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

Instead of heading to Angelina's house, I turn towards Hogwarts, where Harry, Ron, and Professor Dumbledore are buried in crudely marked graves at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It's been months since I've seen the castle, but I haven't missed it. I carefully skirt its edges, avoiding the students lounging on the lawns, and head directly toward the makeshift graveyard at the back. Though the field is visible from the school, I suspect no one will notice my invisible hands digging amidst the long grass.

"I'm sorry, Harry," I whisper as I set to work. I feel vaguely guilty for desecrating his grave, but his work isn't done yet. "Once more into the fray, and then I promise we can both rest."

Only the wind responds.

Fortunately for me, the body lies close to the surface - I didn't have much to work with when I buried him, either. I quickly scrabble his bones into a canvas bag and duck into one of the Forbidden Forest's many clearings. There, I take a deep breath, grateful no one has yet surprised me. Then I kneel to lay out his skeleton, shaping the soil around it to form a humanoid figure.

Pulling out my wand, I take a moment to look at mud-Harry resting peacefully on the ground. My stomach flutters - what if this doesn't work? - but I resolutely pull the crimson liquid out of my pocket and sprinkle it over the creature. Purity of purpose, I remind myself once again as I circle the form, once, twice, thrice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the golem begin to glow: fiery red, then burnished gold, and finally as I finish the seventh turn, a pure, brilliant white.

"Adam Emet," I cry, pointing the wand at the heart of the light.

The radiance swells and increases in intensity until my eyelids feel like they've been burned through. Then, it simply vanishes. I rub my eyes, dazzled. When I can see again, the mud-figure is gone. In its place is a pale, naked boy with messy black hair and soulless green eyes. A faint trace of ancient runes has replaced the famous lightning bolt on his forehead. Otherwise, he looks exactly the way he was when he died. I fall to my knees beside him.

"Harry," I say, my voice cracking. "Harry. I've missed you so much."

He blinks at me, but says nothing. No one's ever heard a golem speak, I remember. (Though how many people have even seen one at all?) Exhausted, I sink to the ground, watching the sky overhead darken. The golem is very cold and quiet beside me. As the sun sets, I pull myself to my feet. "Harry, listen to me. Follow me to Angelina Johnson's house in Hogsmeade, OK? And try not to be seen."

His head bobs up and down; at least he understands me. I make sure my own Disillusionment spell is still firmly in place - I can't use it on Harry, because magic doesn't work on golems - and we make our way down to the village again. No one pays attention to a lone figure hurrying in the dark, even though he's wearing no clothes, and we make it back to headquarters without incident.

"Harry!" Angelina squeals when the door closes behind us. She rushes over to hug him, but when he doesn't respond to her affectionate greeting, she falls back in disappointment.

"He can't speak," I say wearily, coming back into view and collapsing on the sofa. I feel like I've run a marathon. "Anyway, he's not really Harry, you know. He's a golem, with some of Harry's memories and powers. I only hope it's enough."

"Er, can we find him some clothes?" This comes from Eloise, who's been looking anywhere but at the naked boy in the middle of the living room. Neville scrambles upstairs to take care of the problem.

"Where's Theo?" I ask into the sudden silence. I close my eyes. On the back of my eyelids, I can still see a faint afterglow from casting the Homunculus spell.

"We got an owl from him an hour ago. He's going to be stuck late at the Ministry tonight," Angelina says shortly. Clearly, she doesn't think much of someone who won't leave work when his help is needed elsewhere.

"Do you think he's in trouble?" I worry.

She harrumphs. "Would he be able to send an owl if he were?"

I'm not reassured. What if Professor Snape has already cracked? What if he deliberately informed on us? What if Theo's been dragged off the Azkaban too? A startling twinge pierces my chest, and I think, Theo, please be safe. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Soon, Harry is presentable. I ask Angelina, "Now what?"

She looks steadily at the golem. "I have to admit, I didn't think too much about the possibility you'd succeed, but I'm glad you did. So how much guidance does he need? Can you just ask him to go to Azkaban to rescue Professor Snape?"

"I don't know," I admit. Despite my earlier words, I still think of Harry as my friend, not a golem; I can't just abandon him. "I think I'd prefer to go with him, in case he gets into trouble."

"Then we'll all go," Neville says stoutly.

I give a small nod but glance at Angelina for confirmation. She bites her lip, her dark, troubled gaze still resting on Harry. At last she turns to look me in the eye and jerks her head sharply: yes. I don't need to be a Legilimens to read her thoughts. She knows this is our only chance to fight the Dark Lord on our terms. Certainly, it's a risk, but if we don't succeed tonight, it's only a matter of time before we're all eliminated, anyway.

Our long wait is over.