A/N - As promised, chapter 8. Again, quite a long one. I hope that's a good thing. :-) The longest chapter yet, by far. After this chapter, the action is going to really start picking up.
Once again, warm thank yous to all my readers, especially the reviewers. You're so encouraging!
Chapter 8 - A-Potioning We Will Go
If James noticed the sudden change in Harry's attitude, he didn't say anything about it, for which Harry was grateful. He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep silent if his father asked. He retreated to his room where he laid back on the plum comforter and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to fend off any more tears. He could hear voices downstairs, and at last the sound of the floo being activated, and he knew they were gone. He wondered if he would see them again before that night, when it happened. He couldn't bring himself to actually name the event. It didn't bear thinking about unless he was actually working on it, which he wasn't at the moment.
It was remarkable really, he thought, how well his parents were taking everything. They hadn't cried, or yelled, or gone into denial, at least not in his hearing. They had taken him at his word and jumped into the project. It made sense, he supposed. On the one hand, they were guaranteed to die in only a few days time. On the other hand, there was a real, if small, chance that they could survive. And time was ticking. No mistakes, no pauses, no breaks except for eating and sleeping. Harry knew this better than they did, although he was sure they'd figured it out on their own. The one thing he hadn't said, that this potion had never been tested in a real life situation. The spell had never been liquefied before, and its stability was next to zero. That several years in an enchanted sleep even with a large dose of a long-lasting nutrition potion would still probably result in starvation or suffocation, even though neither of the Potters would be awake to feel it. These things had remained unsaid, but remained present in the house, dense, gloomy, and jabbing at them all with doubt and depression. It weighed heavily on Harry especially, as he sat wondering if all he was doing was guaranteeing that his parents would die in fear and frustration, without the good memories they'd had before, with him. It was a question he couldn't answer, and as with all questions he couldn't answer, he solved it only by pushing it away and fixing his mind on what had to be done.
James came up a few minutes later to fetch his son. Lily was putting Prongslet to bed, and then they were going to plan the next day. The living room was the best place for that discussion, and Harry relaxed on one of the deep sofas, and began to read Orin Catches the Snitch, laughing wistfully at the little boy in the story. He was so happy, and lucky, and his parents were so proud of him. Harry could feel tears in his eyes as he read about the miraculous game-saving catch the little boy made after the team's seeker had been injured. He tried to picture his mother reading it to him, and a sad smile crept across his face. For a moment he wanted to become that baby that was sleeping upstairs. He wanted that life, with everything that came with it, good and bad.
He didn't notice his parents coming into the room or feel their eyes as they watched him reading and wishing. Lily came up behind him and asked softly, "Do you miss being read to?" She didn't know why she asked that. She had been intending to ask him if he remembered that book, but the words had changed between her mind and her mouth.
"I can't remember ever being read to," came the reply. Harry looked up at her sadly. "I can't remember ever owning a book like this."
Lily was shocked. "How is that possible? I know I wasn't there, but surely the family you grew up with –" she stopped at the dark look on her son's face.
"They were never my family," he spat, and then looked mortified at himself. "Forget I said that," he said.
But this time Lily was not to be swayed. "Who did you live with?" she pressed.
Harry looked at her imploringly. "Please don't ask me that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't think I'd be able to refuse again, and I just can't tell you."
Lily regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then her eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no," she said, "oh no no no, they promised me. They said they'd never send you there. I told them what she was like, what they were like!" She grasped Harry's shoulders and turned him to face her. "They sent you to my sister, didn't they? Her and that horrible excuse for a human being that she married?"
Harry pulled away and looked back at the brightly colored pages in front of him. Lily lifted his chin and forced him to look into her eyes. "You will tell me," she said with conviction. "You will one day. It may not be this week, but one day you will tell me, Harry James, and I will find out why you've never been read to, why you flinch if we move too quickly, why you savor every bite you eat like it will be the last, why you avoid talking about your kitchen skills, and everything else that you're hiding from us." Harry looked shocked, and Lily narrowed her eyes. "You got your observant streak from somewhere, didn't you? I noticed, Harry, and although I can give you credit for being devious, I am your mother, and you will never be able to fool me completely."
Harry wasn't sure what to do about that. It was somehow comforting and thrilling that she could read him so well already, but it made hiding things much more difficult. He had to admit, though, it was much better having his mother trying to get information out of him than it was having his friends doing the same thing. He nodded. "You have a right to know. Once this is all over and we're together in the future, I'll answer your questions, but I can't now."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Lily held his chin for a moment more, and when he did not pull away, she seemed satisfied, and let the matter drop. She and James, who had carefully stayed back during the tense exchange, settled on couches and the conference began.
It was decided that the three Unforgivables would be cast in two day's time and the potion making would commence early the following morning. Lily set up the Thinking room as a second lab, and she and Harry moved all their ingredients in. When they returned, James had been reading over his notes with a frown, and had them all sit down again with a somber look on his face.
"I've finished looking over all the potions and thinking over the spells and such, and it's going to be harder than I originally thought. The spells I've been working with have been so simple compared to what we're getting into, and isolating amoxylla is a time-consuming and very difficult task," he said. "That means we have to plan this all very carefully. At the rate we're going, I don't know how well this is all going to work, but we won't have time for any mistakes, and we really won't have time for three separate projects."
Harry looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," James said softly, "that we need to decide which is most important: saving us from Voldemort, rescuing Sirius, or protecting the Longbottoms."
Harry's stomach dropped. He'd been afraid of this, of course, but he hadn't planned for it. "I can't… I don't know how to make that decision." He hated the way his voice shook, but he couldn't stop it. This was why he had aimed for two weeks before Halloween, so he could do more. The loss of time had never seemed so fatal as it did right now. "How do I decide this? How do I decide between lives?"
His father shook his head sympathetically. "I don't know Harry, but you'll have to. We can't do it all. If we had more time, maybe we could figure it out, but even though you planned out as much as you did, I just don't see how we can accomplish it all in five days. The potions will take time and care, and we'll need to be constantly watching the heat. The curse needs to be isolated, which will also take time, and we'll all need rest if we don't want to make any stupid mistakes." He sighed. "You did a good job, but you overlooked how exhausting this is all going to be, and that lost week..." he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely.
"Can't we use potions to keep us awake?" Harry asked desperately.
"Awake, yes. Alert and productive, no. It would be a painful wakefulness after a while, and our bodies would still be overworked, and the backlash of too many pepper-ups would be horrible. Also, we can't risk inhaling something and having the fumes mix inside us. Who knows what that would do? We can't be on any kind of potion as long as we're working."
"But, I can't choose. I can't just pick you and let Sirius die, or the other way around. And I want Neville to have the chance to know his parents, and not just spend his life watching them in that hospital. We'd need to do something to them now to keep that from happening! And now only one can happen, and it's my decision? I can't do that! I can't let Sirius die again!" Harry buried his head in his hands, gripping his hair until it hurt. "I just can't."
Lily placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You really love him, don't you?"
Harry thought about it for a minute. He had never considered that. In his life, love was a distant idea. He had never really been told he was loved, and he had never told anyone he loved them. But now, faced with the question, he realized that he did. He did love Sirius, very much. And he loved his parents. But he couldn't say he loved one more than the other. He nodded slightly.
"We need to know tonight." After a cautious pause, James continued. "As much as I want to live, Sirius had more time with you than either of us, and I realize you may need him more. If having Sirius back is what's best for you, than we'll help you get him out. It's your decision."
Harry felt Lily's arms wrap around him in a warm and comforting embrace, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. It was too much. It had occurred to him that he might have to choose, and he'd even considered in his mind what that choice would be, but being faced with it was much different. It was the most difficult thing he had ever been asked to do, and he just didn't know if he could do it. He also knew that not deciding meant that nothing would happen, and that was the worst thought of all.
The Longbottoms were out, much as it hurt him to say that. He had a niggling fear that he was being selfish, but he pushed it away as he had done with so many other thoughts that night. That left Sirius and his parents. For a moment he wondered if he could save Sirius later, but he remembered what he had learned about time travel lag, and knew that taking two separate trips of two years or more would be very bad for his health, and possibly damage his mind. By the time it was safe for him to make another trip, he would be in his thirties and Sirius would have had to keep himself in hiding for fifteen years. That would not happen. There was no way Sirius would be able to keep away. He had to choose. And he knew who, but he was afraid to say it, as if the words would seal a contract that he would never be able to break.
He steeled himself and looked up, tears brimming in his eyes. He was pale, but his voice was steady. "I choose you," he said, and then he dropped his head into his hands and was silent.
James looked relieved and proud, and placed a hand on his son's head. "Very well, Harry. Then we'll continue all this tomorrow. Lily and I usually go to bed between 9:00 and 9:30 so we can get up with the Prongslet at 5:30. It's past 9:00 now, so I suggest we all go up to bed."
Lily agreed and pulled Harry to his feet. Within half an hour the house was dark and silent, and the only person still awake was staring at the ceiling of his room, apologizing over and over to the godfather he would not be able to save.
The next day passed far too quickly for Harry's liking. Time was slipping away out of his grip and he could feel the thirty-first creeping up on him like a venomous tentacula. On more than one occasion his hands had been shaking too badly for him to add or chop a potion ingredient. Lily, both a skilled potions maker and an observant mother, had him leave the room each time his anxiety manifested itself, giving him trivial errands to run, like making sure the upstairs windows were closed. Harry knew they were a ruse, but he appreciated the tiny interludes and did not complain. He felt useless, though, as he watched his parents speedily accomplishing task after task while he fetched tea or shook out a rug. He had gotten through more terrors in his twenty years than either of his parents had faced, and yet he was the one falling apart while they were both so calm.
It was a good thing that Sirius had once again agreed to take Prongslet for the day, as he would otherwise have been completely on his own upstairs. James left the Dark room on only a handful of occasions, Lily never left the Thinking room, and Harry wouldn't have left if there had been a chance of him running into himself. At noon it was Harry who brought some simple fare downstairs for a mid-day meal, Harry who washed up the dishes afterwards, and Harry who periodically announced the passage of time. It was nearly four o'clock before there was any interaction between the three adults.
James popped into the Thinking room with a tiny vial of clear liquid and held it up to the light streaming watching the prismatic effect through half-closed eyes. "Interesting," he mumbled, and turned to leave, but Lily stopped him.
"You're not just going to come in, say interesting, and walk out again, James. I've been standing here keeping four cauldrons at four different very finicky temperatures for about five and a half hours, and I would love a moment away from it. What did you find?" She brushed a strand of greasy hair away from her eyes and waited expectantly. Harry looked up from where he'd been carefully measuring a stream of diluted Indian Violet nectar into the smallest cauldron. Very carefully, as Lily had repeatedly reminded him that it was an endangered species, so the nectar was very difficult to come by. Thankfully, if kept correctly, it could last for years without losing more than a fraction of its potency.
James held up the vial. "This," he announced, "is what's left over after a whole bunch of spells have been liquefied in the spell-space. This is the residue collected from about two months of experiments in there. It hadn't been think enough to cause any damage until today, when it started interfering with the process. So I melted it off the walls and collected it. It's bizarre."
"Can I see it?" Harry said, holding out a linen-wrapped hand.
"What happened to you?" asked James.
"The third solution of Siberian Ginseng is made with an infusion of ashwinder eggs. It's unstable and burns easily," Harry explained without meeting James' eyes. "I touched it." He examined the vial closely, then held it up against the light as his father had done. "It's empty," he said in surprise. "It's just clear, nothing floating around in it, no amoxylla."
"Not visible ones. There's definitely some in there, just completely undirected. There's no particular quality assigned to them, so they're transparent. This is what's called base magic. It's not very strong, and will just dissipate if it's released, but it can be added to a spell or a potion to boost it if it's been sitting dormant for a while. Like adrenaline when you're tired." James took the vial back and showed it to Lily. "It's not useful to anything we're doing, as far as I know, but I'm going to hang on to it just in case. It could help with the Killing Curse, maybe, though I don't know how."
"Well, there's certainly room on the shelves for it," Lily said brightly. "We've used up more than a third of my stores, and I won't be needing the space again." She stopped and looked up, shocked. "I meant, because of the new cabinet we were going to build. I didn't mean–" Her mouth snapped shut and she turned back to the cauldrons, stirring with a little more force than necessary.
James walked over and gripped her hand. "Don't overdo it," he said softly. "These are volatile, remember?"
Lily froze, trembling a little. "I ordered the wood and varnish for the cabinet," she said. "I didn't remember until now, but I did it. They were going to have it for us on the fourth." She dropped the glass rod she'd been using to stir, and Harry jumped forward to catch it. "I know you were going to do it, but you were so busy with everything, what with the Order, and the spy, and everything. I was going to surprise you. I have to cancel it, or they'll have it ready and it'll go to waste…"
She started to push around James to head for the door, but he caught her arm and pulled her to him. "They can use it for something else, Lils. It doesn't matter."
"It'll come to an empty house, James. I have to cancel it." She pushed against his chest, trying to break free. "We won't be here to get it James! I have to cancel it, I have to!"
But James was immovable, and just held her until she stopped struggling and began to weep into his shirt. James stroked her hair and murmured into it, soothing and comforting even though his own eyes were haunted. Harry awkwardly kept stirring, wanting to leave them alone, but not willing to risk the potions by doing so.
James finally pulled her from the room and took her on a brief walk around the garden. When they returned, both had red-rimmed eyes, but the moment had passed, and they resumed their work with hardly another word. Lily had successfully finished two of the four necessary potions by that evening. They needed only to be chilled until a few hours before use, when a few last-minute ingredients would be added.
Another day passed. It was 29 October. There were only two more days, and Harry did not feel like he was making progress. When Sirius had dropped by that morning to take Prongslet again for a few hours, Harry had rushed to the nearest bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, tears of anger and frustration wetting his pale cheeks. Guilt washed over him in a hot flood, and he was weighed down and drenched to the core with it. He couldn't save Sirius. He couldn't save his godfather; after all his planning and wishing and optimism, he had failed Sirius again.
He didn't think anyone had heard him get sick, but Lily had been walking by the door with Prongslet's diaper bag, and she had to master her own emotions before making it the rest of the way downstairs, wiping at her eyes and complaining of dust in the bedroom. After that she had watched him carefully and noticed more clearly his shaking hands and difficulty managing the smallest tasks. She wondered if the "burn" he'd complained of the day before had been what he said it was. However, she was at a loss as to a course of action. It was easy to tell that the Harry that stood before her and the baby she had rocked to sleep last night were two very different people. She hadn't expected him to stay the same, but the fact that he was so closed off and so resistant to telling anyone he was troubled was so opposite the son she knew. Prongslet always went directly to her if he found something interesting, was tired, sad, or hungry, merely wanted to be picked up, or had some deep thought he wanted to share in his garbled baby speak. This Harry, after his few stories during the first two days had become much more guarded, and after the previous days' conversation he had become silent and unmoving, like a lump of cold, hard, untouchable steel.
Harry's distance went unnoticed by his father, who was so engrossed in the project that he hadn't even realized when he poured salt on his grapefruit instead of sugar. Lily knew that James loved Harry very much, but did not have the spare mental space to split between such delicate tasks in the lab and worrying about his son's behavior. He had to compartmentalize. He always had. But Lily wasn't doing such mentally consuming jobs, and so while her potion was bubbling contentedly away, she excused her son from the room and sat down to have a really good think.
It wasn't hard to tell what was bothering Harry. He was grieving his godfather's death all over again while simultaneously stressing over the project at hand. And he was bottling it all up inside, keeping it away from her. She wondered if he didn't trust her. The thought was painful, but not unreasonable. He hardly knew her, after all, and they hadn't had much time to just get to know one another. She had thought she knew him, but the more she pondered this the more she realized how little she did know. He was hiding dark secrets that were weighing him down, and as much as she wanted to lift some of the pain away, there was nothing she could do unless he opened up to her. And that, she knew, was not likely.
Harry had originally told both his parents stories about himself and his friends, but they were all so happy and carefree, and he was not. He was concealing the darkness, and it was eating away at him. Lily knew something had to be done. She didn't have much time left, and if this didn't work then this could be her only opportunity to try and make things right for him. She pursed her lips and curled her fists under her chin. Minutes passed as the potion gurgled and the sounds of James' spellwork ricocheted off the walls of the Dark room where he was strengthening the walls of the spell-space in preparation for isolating the Avada Kedavra. Lily stood and gave three quick, clockwise stirs to the cauldron to make sure the Re'em blood did not all settle to the bottom. The potion was turning a deep chocolate brown, and when the little specks of purple began to rise to the top she quickly doused the fire and poured the potion into an icy cold vial to shock the ingredients into stasis. This potion was to be buried with them and swallowed after they were woken up from their coffins, to provide them with a quick nutrition supplement and the strength to reach whatever safe point Harry had found. She was grateful Harry had had the foresight to choose bayberry to add as the blood detoxifier, because otherwise the smell of the glutinous substance that was hissing reproachfully at her would be quite unbearable.
Lily added the vial to the shelf by several more small bottles containing the various potions needed for this operation. They were not all complete – one she had barely started – but her job was almost done in this venture. She would step back when the theoretical arithmantical parts began. She was going to spend more time with Prongslet then, although she wasn't sure what she would do while he was napping…
Lily suddenly gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. She knew the answer to that. She knew precisely what she could do while the baby was asleep and the others were busy. She would need the Dark room, but she was sure she could sneak in there while James and Harry were working with the liquefied spells. She rushed from the room and nearly collided with James.
"Whoa, Lils. Careful, you almost spilled this!" he cautioned, showing her a glass bottle filled with a murky gray substance.
"What is that?" she asked.
"This is the leg-locker jinx combined with a light stunner," he answered. "Very simple to cast and liquefy. I was testing the new barrier." He shook the little vial and tiny black specks swirled around inside. "I wasn't going to try to break down the entire spell, because really you only need to alter one of these to deactivate a spell. If even the smallest piece doesn't work, the rest of it falls apart."
"Those are amoxylla?" Lily breathed, leaning closer to get a better look.
"Yes they are. Bigger than you expected them to be?"
Lily nodded. "And every spell is made up of these?"
"Every single one. And every witch, wizard, and magical creature has them in his blood. To cast a spell you have to be able to manipulate your own amoxylla subconsciously to control the loose ones in the air. The wand is like a siphon, pulling in little bursts of magic and fusing them together with a little bit of the caster's personal magic, and then spitting them all out on the other end. Fascinating, isn't it?" James was grinning madly.
"Then how come some people are able to do wandless magic?"
"People like Albus have become so in tune with their personal magic from decades of use that they don't need the wand to fuse and direct it any more. It's all about self-control and self-awareness. People who are the best at controlling their emotions and thoughts are the best with wandless magic, and those who let their emotions take control are consumed by it. That's why kids do accidental magic. Their minds are too undeveloped to have that kind of control, so the amoxylla just kind of spit out of them without direction."
Lily looked sharply at James. "So someone who can hide their emotions…"
"Not hide, control. There's a difference. Bottled emotions are dangerous. They make you lose control of your magic."
"I see," said Lily thoughtfully.
"I need to run this through a purifier, so I'll be using the study for a bit. Just don't go in the Dark room right now. I left the door open a little to air it out, but there's some pretty unstable magic in there still. I was trying to cast the Imperius today, but it's not liquefied yet, too temperamental. It'll be fine if nobody touches anything."
"You cast it? Successfully?"
"Wasn't too hard, actually. That one worked just fine. I haven't tried the other too, but if I can get this one liquefied, then I'll feel a whole lot better about the whole thing."
Lily nodded dumbly, but as James walked past her she suddenly called out again. "James!"
James turned and looked at her quizzically. "Yes, m'dear?"
"James, I'm almost through with the potions, and I've been thinking. If this doesn't work and we… die, I don't want to have spent my last few days with my baby at someone else's house. I want him here."
James turned back carefully. "But Lily, it's dangerous…"
"I'll be watching him, James. I won't be distracted by all this anymore. I want my baby home with me."
James nodded. "I've actually been thinking about that too. It'll just be hard having both of them in the house."
"We'll just have to let Harry know that he has to knock before entering a room and we'll have to make sure we know where Prongslet is at all times. We can do that. I can do that." Lily took a mental deep breath. "And while he's napping, I can keep checking on the potions."
"And work on other, more secret projects?" said James with a smirk.
"What? How did you –?"
"Lily, I know you too well. You never look me in the eye when you're trying to hide something." James laughed at her stunned expression. "I'm not going to ask what you're planning. Just be safe." He smiled at her and walked away towards the stairs. "Oh," he called back over his shoulder, "I spoke to Sirius this morning, and he already knows he's not taking the little one tomorrow."
Lily just stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. James never changed. He always knew what she needed and took care of it before she asked, and somehow she never stopped being surprised by it. But she wouldn't have it any other way.
Harry was sitting morosely on the back stoop. He knew he was brooding, but he just couldn't help it. It was in his nature to blame himself for every little thing, and Ron and Hermione weren't here to try and snap him out of it this time.
He sighed deeply and stared out towards the forest where Hedwig was hunting. It was nearly 4:30, and Sirius would be bringing Prongslet back in half an hour, as he had already made plans for that afternoon with Remus. They were going to visit Peter. They wanted to see if he was all right. Peter didn't deserve such friends.
Harry didn't think he would be able to stand hearing his godfather's voice again without running towards him and ruining everything, and he really didn't want to repeat his stomach's acrobatic performance of that morning, so he decided to stay out of the way until Sirius had come and gone. He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the door open and close behind him.
Lily looked at her son for a few moments before sitting down by him. "Hey," she said, and noted how he jumped and paled when she spoke. He was very easily startled today, like a rabbit.
"Hey," he said back.
"You didn't eat much at lunch," Lily said conversationally. "Is something bothering you?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm just stressed, I suppose."
"I understand that," Lily said with a small smile. "This is a big project."
Harry nodded silently. "Yeah, it is."
"We've mostly finished the potions. Come and see them all. They're really pretty lined up next to each other in their vials." Harry nodded again, and Lily took his hand and led him into the house. She pretended not to notice the look of surprise and gratitude that flashed across Harry's face at the touch.
Harry was very interested in the potions, especially since he had so instrumental in thinking them up. Years ago he had drilled Neville for everything his friend knew about Muggle herbs from his seventh year independent study, and then Neville had given him several books on the subject for his birthday. Harry had been almost as thrilled to receive the gift as Hermione was that somebody else had given him a book. Ron had rolled his eyes and muttered something, but the look on Neville's face when he saw his gift was appreciated made any of Ron's remarks well worth it.
The line of potions really was quite attractive, Harry thought as he walked along the shelves reading the neatly lettered labels. The first potion was a protection potion to be applied topically over the neck and lower back. It was intended to ward off insects, rot, mold, decay, and any unwanted attention. That meant his own attention as well, which was, he surmised, why he had never before visited their graves. The main ingredients were mugwort, wormwood, and passionflower for bugs and mold, the dark magic repellent lovage, and bruised holly bark as a multipurpose protection against the elements and anything else. The fact that the coffins would also be made of Holly would reinforce the potion.
"It's a good thing all these herbs are magically similar, so I didn't need to worry about specific heating, and timing, and all that.," Lily commented. "You chose very well. Just plop them in the cauldron with the armadillo bile and flobberworm mucus to thicken it up, and then it's done." Harry grimaced. "Yes I know, it's gross, but it works," laughed Lily.
"Which one is that?" Harry asked, pointing to the largest vial that was glowing an iridescent bluish color and giving off a strange, musty odor. "I don't remember seeing one this color."
"That's the maintenance potion."
Harry snorted. "This was one I walked out on then. You were about to mix in the ginger, I think. That must be what changed the color."
"14 drachms of ginger doesn't sound like much under the circumstances, and it's not exactly what you said to use, but I didn't want us to come back and still be twenty-one. I thought this was better. We need to age; it's just natural that we do. I just don't want us to age so much that our bodies go into shock when we wake up. I'm guessing now that we'll be equivalent to early thirties and still look like mid twenties."
"And then we'll gradually age you correctly after that," said Harry, nodding. "So, essence of rue, comfrey, Suma and Siberian Ginseng for oxygen flow and immune system, hyssop, lady's mantle and cat's claw for general upkeep of body systems, gingko bilboa and horsetail for nutrition… and all that simmers down to this tiny bottle?" He picked up the glass, which was slightly warm, and looked at it incredulously.
"Amazing, isn't it?" said Lily. "There's so much water in all of these that a lot of it steams out, and I skimmed off the top layer and the liquid was inside. I added in some other things as well, to preserve our magic. Later we'll add the correct amount of raw amoxylla from each of our magical cores, just before we have to drink this."
"These have all really changed color and texture since this morning." Harry ran a finger over one of the labels of the remaining bottles. It read "POISONOUS! 24.5 drachms Aconite to 25 drachms Phoenix blood – acidity level required 3.6. Current level:" and then there was a number that kept fluctuating next to the colon. It was around 8, but seemed to be coming down. "How long will the neutralization take, do you think?" asked Harry nervously. "We only have two more days after this, you know."
"It should have reached 3.6 by tomorrow morning, and then it will stabilize. Once it's done then we can start brewing."
The two stood in silence for a little while as Harry read over the other labels.
Tincture: 15d Gr. Mullein to 2d residue - Occamy shell
Scullcap #1 – last minute addition – 12d, stir slowly, 1 rotation/1min
Scullcap #2 – Additive AS NEEDED to tincture, w/ holly root and Pearled wasp wings
Sib. Gins. #1, filler, 6.3d to 1d water NEEDS BASE
Sib. Gins. #2, filler, + oak sap at 12min dilution – add stage 3
Sib. Gins. #3, non-filler, ashwinder eggs – UNSTABLE! Coolant applied – remove at 34min
Burn healant – apply IMMEDIATELY if contact w/ Sib. Gins. #3
12d Indian Violet var. 33, endangered USE SPARINGLY
There were a few more bottles of measured ingredients that had not yet been mixed with anything, but Harry wasn't looking at them anymore. This last potion was more complicated than its predecessors. It relied heavily on precise timing and exact measurements. It was the sort of thing Professor Snape would probably assign as practice for the NEWTs. He was glad his mother was there, as he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do this on his own, even with all the Professor's careful, quiet tutelage. He smirked slightly to himself. All potions masters are not created equal, he thought.
Lily's voice broke him out of his musings. "You can handle this, you know. It's tough, I'll give you that, but quite honestly, I believe you're more than capable of it. You're really quite intelligent, and you have the instincts for it." She looked at him pointedly. "You just don't trust yourself, do you?"
Harry winced. She had hit the nail on the head with that one. He opened his mouth, but Lily continued on as if she hadn't noticed, although he suspected she had.
"I'm really impressed, you know? By what you've done here; what you've planned out and how much time you've put into it. You've got an incredible amount of dedication. Somewhere inside your insecurities, you know you can do this, otherwise you wouldn't be here in the first place."
"I didn't say I couldn't do it," Harry muttered, but Lily shushed him.
"It was in your face Harry. I may not have been present for most of your life, and at the moment we may be the same age, but I can still tell when my baby is hurting." Harry flushed as he realized she was no longer talking about the potion. She was persistent. "But that's beside the point right now. Right now, we're talking about combining all these little bottles, and how well you're going to do it."
"You'll be here working with me though, won't you?"
"I might pop in now and then, but I have some other things I really need to attend to."
"I'm not really that skilled with potions. I had a lot of help planning all of this. I could mess up." Harry said.
"I'm just as likely to do that as you at this point, and besides, I'm bringing the baby home tomorrow and I won't be available to watch the cauldron, and you'll need something to do to keep you out of his sight," said Lily.
Harry looked startled. "You're bringing him back?"
"If these do turn out to be my last days, I want to spend them with him here instead of gallivanting with that overgrown mop you call a godfather. Yes, I'm bringing him back." Lily turned to leave the room. "Oh, and Harry? Sirius wouldn't be angry about your decision. You know that, don't you? He'd be very proud of you."
His mother's parting words left Harry with a lot to think about. Would Sirius be happy with his choice? He had to admit, that sounded like Sirius. His godfather would most likely have been angry if Harry had chosen him. He would have turned red and said, "What were you thinking? You had an opportunity to save them, and you picked me? Are you out of your mind?" Maybe he was. He couldn't really tell anymore. He had been feeling less and less sure about his mental state ever since that day when the Death Eaters had ambushed…
He shook his head and pounded his fists against his temples. Stop it Harry! Stop it this instant his subconscious screamed at him. He couldn't think about that right now. He would fall apart and lose everything he had tried so hard to reconstruct in his life. The light side had lost so many people that day, and he had lost…
Enough!
He tore himself from the brutal images and swiped angrily at his eyes, which were brimming with tears. He refused to let himself be distracted. He would not, could not screw this up, allowing another mess he'd caused to result in someone else's death.
His mother was right, he did know he could do this; the Professor had told him as much. The Professor had been the one to teach him most everything about potions that he had used for this project. Even though he still had some things to work through with his magic, the Professor had been a constant encouragement to him, insisting that he continue to work and practice even if he blew something up. Harry closed his eyes and tried not to think about the Professor's kind face, but he couldn't help it. He missed him terribly. The Professor's voice was soft but sharp, and had a wide smile that could have enveloped Harry's whole body if he'd stood close enough. He was tall and somewhat stout, with a bounce in his step and an inclination to laugh at anything and everything, even if it wasn't truly funny. But when it came to the academic side of things, he was deadly serious.
The Professor never considered a lesson was over until Harry had mastered the skill and was able to perform it perfectly several times in a row. There was never any room for a careless mistake with the Professor. But the clincher was that Harry had to be absolutely sure within his very core that he could do it. The Professor hated only a very few things more than self-doubt in a competent person. He had pushed Harry beyond everything he had ever believed possible, and then once that had become second nature, he pushed farther. Gradually Harry's insecurities had been broken down and a new confidence had begun to grow. He progressed rapidly, and the Professor was never hesitant to give praise when praise was due. Harry took his NEWTs independently under the Professor's watchful eye since he had never attended his seventh year, and he passed every single one, emerging with solid Os in Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense. The Professor had been very proud of him.
Harry couldn't help smiling at the memory of the Professor's face as he looked over Harry's scores. His white hair had shimmered in the candlelight and his dark eyes had twinkled merrily as Harry showed him the parchment with the excitement of a toddler showing off a crayon drawing he had made in daycare. Excellent Harry, he had said warmly, very well done indeed. The Professor had always believed he could do it, and it was because of that support that Harry was able to achieve what had been placed before him.
So why had he allowed all of his insecurities to return now, when everything depended so much on his confidence and focus? Was it because the Professor wasn't there beside him anymore? Harry frowned, thinking hard as he walked aimlessly around the Thinking room. He hadn't felt so uncertain of his own abilities since before he took his NEWTs, and that had been several years ago. The need for haste was draining him, he realized, because he couldn't afford to make the tiniest mistake now. He understood finally what the Professor had meant when he told Harry to beware, not of failure, but of the fear of failure. Fear was debilitating, and Harry had let himself glide down into his own fears until logic was wiped out. His mother was right. Somewhere deep in his insecurities, he knew he was capable. And he knew he should know better.
With a new determination forming in the pit of his stomach, Harry squared his shoulders and walked out of the room to the stairs. He listened carefully at the kitchen door and heard voices and the unmistakable shriek of a baby on the other side. So Prongslet was back, then. He waited a little longer and once the voices died away he opened the door and passed quietly through the kitchen and up to his room. He opened his rucksack and pulled out a pair of glossy black gloves. He wore them when he was working with difficult potions because he always got so tense, and they steadied his hands. The Professor had suggested them, because he knew that Harry's anxiety was not related to a lack of self-confidence, but rather a deep-seated fear of failure that had become etched into his subconscious. The boy didn't need the gloves, but it was a mental exercise, and if it worked, then so be it.
Harry loved his gloves. They were so thin that they hardly made a difference to his finger thickness, which was convenient for cutting and measuring very small ingredients. They melded to his hands, and even though he knew they did nothing for his anxiety but trick his mind, he wore them. They also protected him from the inevitable spills and accidents that caused most potions masters to lose feeling in their fingertips.
He glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly 6:00 already. He hurried back down into the basement to close down the Thinking room for supper and make sure there was an alarm set to alert him when the Aconite and Phoenix blood mixture was ready. He heard the creak of stairs and knew somebody was probably heading up to put Prongslet's nappy bag where it belonged. He was about to go back upstairs when he noticed something odd. The door to the Dark room had been left open. He walked over to close it, but as he placed his hand on the knob to close it and looked up into the room for a second, his feet froze to the floor and his jaw dropped. His intention to shut the door fled from his mind and he instead pushed it wider and stepped through it.
The room was no longer dark, but shimmered with an ethereal glow that was emanating from behind the magical barrier. Harry watched the reflections of light dance on the walls as if he were underwater, before turning and looking at the barrier; or, more specifically, what lay beyond it.
It was light; strands of greenish-yellow light pulsing and quivering and battling with the walls as if trying to escape. Harry was reminded of the electricity show that had once visited his primary school from a nearby museum. Was this a spell? Was this what they looked like, really? It was no longer a single stream of light heading in a specified direction. This was a creature all its own, bucking and twisting in its prison, every now and then sending out a tendril that would caress the wall searching for a weakness and then snap and explode, showering the floor with tiny sparks that glowed for a second before being sucked back into the center of the enclosure.
Like solar flares, Harry thought absently to himself as he walked slowly forward, listening to the hissing of angry magic beyond the wall. He had never seen anything like this. It was so startling and frightening, and yet so incredibly beautiful. It seemed to be alive. In fact, as he neared his goal, the spell flared higher, bouncing from the ceiling to the floor and spitting long tentacles of compressed light directly towards him. The beams collided with the barrier with a ringing sound, and shattered. The fragments glittered in the air like so many green dewdrops before succumbing to the force of the whole and whizzing back into the spell once again.
Harry lifted a hand and held it parallel to the wall, watching as the tendrils of magic pushed up against their restraints to meet his fingers. Tiny strings traced his hand on the other side of the barrier, and on an impulse he could not explain, he moved his hand until it connected with the invisible screen.
It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was warmth and softness, reassurance and wisdom; it was eons of memories and yet only seconds of existence. It was wonder and fear, gentleness and sharp edges. It was purity and ruthlessness; it was completion and togetherness, harmony in dissonance, and peace in disarray. Harry closed his eyes and just let the feelings wash over him. He didn't know why he was doing this. A part of his mind was screaming at him to pull away because he had no idea if this would hurt him, but he ignored the voice. For the first time in many years he felt calm and collected, as if he could relive every trial he'd faced and yet never hurt for them. This moment in time was free of trouble, and he embraced it, reaching up and placing his other hand against the barrier, where new bits of magic eagerly sped to greet him. He could feel the pull of the magic in his body, as if it were trying to merge with him. Perhaps it was. Perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if it did.
As his second hand connected he breathed out in ecstasy and felt a new connection forming. Now it was a circuit, the magic pulsing in one hand, through his body, and out the other hand. The wall was closer to him now than he remembered it being, but he couldn't recall moving his feet. He felt them beginning to prickle in his trainers and kicked the shoes across the room, bringing his toes up against the welcoming warmth that was hovering only inches away from them.
The hissing and popping stopped. All that could be heard was a gentle humming noise that was gradually matching his heartbeat. He felt as if he was on the verge of something wonderful and forbidden; as if any moment something would be complete in him. A light sweat broke out on his brow as the pulsing became stronger, consuming him, surrounding and absorbing him, and he felt himself sinking further in, his breath slowing down and his body relaxing. For a moment, he felt a twinge of magic in his head, and instinctively threw up his Occlumency shields, pushed back against it, feeling it out, stretching his senses to taste it, touch it, smell it, and listen to its unearthly music. He almost felt as if he could actually see it in his mind's eye, and with the curiosity of a small child reaching a finger to an electrical socket, he pulled down his shields and let the magic in.
It was as if time had stopped. The world had ceased its turning and every bead of condensation on every leaf of every tree in every part of the world was frozen and unmoving. Harry's body felt light and warm, and comfortable, while his hands tingled incessantly and almost painfully. A bright light had wrapped itself tightly to his eyes the moment he had let the magic in, and was beginning to squeeze him. For the first time he began to feel afraid, but he pushed back at it, denying it. His body shook as the magic pressed against him and he returned the force, push for push, touch for touch, and a fierce battle began.
He tried to replace his shields, but they were no longer responding to him. They formed half-heartedly before collapsing back with an indolent sigh. He tried again and again to raise them, each time with more stinging pain in his temples, but they no longer so much as twitched in response. He felt as though he had been straining for an hour, or more, but for the feeling of timelessness that still surrounded him. He struggled against the invader with such passion that he began to gasp for air, and the painful beats of his heart and the magic in tandem started to vibrate in the nerves around his eyes.
He held his breath for a last willful push, and the earth began to spin again and time continued its never-ending journey. And then as his mind began to tire, he felt the magic give, and bend to his instruction, and the music increased until it was almost deafening and began to sap the strength from his limbs.
Behind him, he heard a gasp and a cry of "Harry!" then footsteps approaching and the murmur of voices, but he hardly registered them. He allowed himself to keep sinking into the pillow of magic, noticing briefly that he was now kneeling on the cold floor without feeling it or knowing how he'd gotten there. It was nearing the end. A rush of heat and a deep tingling sensation near his throat and heart caused him to gasp and cry out, and for a moment he was floating somewhere full of strange music like the one he had heard in the room, and he felt a burst of joy and wonder at this new world, before darkness began to creep around his eyes, and with a jolt of pain, the world fell silent once more.