An Opus Alchymicum Volume 4:
The Dæmon's Crucible
Third Year dawns, and as Voldemort and his Magisterium move to take total control of Dust, Dæmons and Magic, a mass-murderer from Neville's past is sent to kill Lyra. As dangers rise at Hogwarts, a great flood separates James and Lily from Harry's sister. Harry and Hermione must race to rescue her, but the Dark Materials following them are never far behind.
At a flat in Central London, in the only room whose window faced out across the ever-flowing waters of the Thames, a young boy was staring, fixated, at the clock on his bedside table. The face and dials were in the traditional shape of the standard roundels of the London Underground, but instead of a red circle and blue line - to represent the Tube and Thames respectively - the whole thing was resplendent in gold and silver, recalling the colours of the unique Merlin Line, the very secretive route of the world's oldest subterranean transit system.
This detail was significant, as this particular Tube line only served the hidden Magical communities of London and outlying areas... and the boy in question was, himself, a wizard.
And Harry Potter was an impatient young wizard at that. The clock hands seemed to be stuck on 11.59 ... and Harry was quite sure it at been 11.59 for at least twelve minutes now. And the reasons for his impatience were taunting him from the shadows just behind his clock, and currently held under close guard by his beautiful snowy owl, Hedwig.
"Can I open them now?" Harry asked again, nodding towards the stack of birthday presents neatly wrapped in purple paper with gold bows on them, that Hedwig was merrily using as a makeshift perch.
Hedwig barked the negative. Harry just frowned at her.
"You only have to wait one more minute," Marici, Harry's golden lioness dæmon, told him. "Be patient, or open the gift from Hagrid if you really cant wait that long."
"I wonder what it is," Harry mused, picking up the heavy square gift that Hagrid had wrapped in thick brown parchment. "It weighs a ton."
Harry idly pulled back the wrapping to reveal the title of a rather bizarre book. It had an unusual cover, one that was made of thick felt or fur, and at the top of the spine of the book was an insignia of sorts, which looked curiously like a beady little eye.
"The Monster Book of Monsters," Harry read. "It's a thoughtful gift, Hagrid, but why would you ... oh wait, there's a note."
Harry picked it up and read.
"Happy birthday, Harry. I hope you like your prezzie. It will come in handy next year. Cant say no more just now, but it's gonna be a fun one.
Have a great day,
Hagrid
P. s. just tickle the spine to calm it down.
Harry scrunched his brow in confusion. "What do you think that means, Chi ... to calm it down? To calm what down?"
"I don't know, Harry," Marici replied in her rolling, purr-like voice. "He can't mean the book, can he?"
"I doubt it," Harry shrugged, lazily flicking open the heavy clasp on the cover ...
... and immediately unleashing mayhem on his bedroom.
The Monster book literally became a monster. Its page edges sharpened to nippy little teeth, which snapped furiously at Harry's fingers where he tried to turn them. Then the book snarled angrily at Harry, before flipping onto its side and scuttling away like a giant furry insect. It knocked over Harry's clock, trampled on the full-scale, matchstick model of Hogwarts that he had been working on all Summer, and ate one of his smelly socks, where Harry's aim for the linen basket had been wayward that morning.
It quickly regurgitated that disgusting bit of prey before it made it sick.
It was only when the book made for Hermione's unopened presents, which were still being presided over by Hedwig, that Marici sprang to life, leaping from up on the bed and trapping the book under her powerful paws. It was useful that she was such a big animal, herself, for the Monster book was proving to be quite the violent adversary.
"What the hell is that thing!" Harry shrieked, darting to Marici to help in her struggles. "Why would Hagrid send me something like that!?"
"He probably thinks you'd find it funny," Marici puffed out sharply, struggling to keep the Monster book restrained. "He has a penchant for things that bite and snarl and breathe fire ... this is probably his idea of fun!"
"Well it isn't mine!" Harry scowled, crossly. "What are we going to do with it?"
"Grab one of your belts, tie it around the jaws," Marici advised.
"Good idea," Harry agreed.
He jumped up from the fight and grabbed the belt from his jeans, quickly fastening the leather strap around the book with immense difficulty. It snapped and squirmed to get free, but seemed to lose the will to resist once it was secured. Harry sat back, out of breath from the struggle, and simply entered into an angry staring contest with the eye on the spine of the book.
"Remind me to tell Hagrid not to buy me any more birthday presents!" Harry fumed, breathlessly.
Then there was a little ping from on his bedside table.
Harry reached up for his mobile phone and opened the message. It was from Hermione ... Harry hadn't expected her to be up this late ... but her message turned him cold.
"Harry! Help me! I'm in danger and I don't know what to do!"
Harry's heart went into overdrive. He typed back quickly. "What is it? What's happening?"
"I'm under attack!"
"By who?" Harry typed, frantically. "Who's attacking you?"
"A book! One that Hagrid sent me. I opened it an hour ago ... and it's been trying to EAT ME ever since! Please, you have to do something!"
Harry did do something ... he laughed his head off for fully thirty seconds as he tried to compose himself enough to reply.
"Where are you?"
"I'm on top of my wardrobe! It's the only place it cant get me! Pap just came in from a night-time wander and managed to get my phone to me. Harry, I'm frightened. Please help!"
"I've been a bit busy myself," Harry typed. "Look!"
He then took a photo of his own, subdued Monster book and sent it to Hermione.
"So you got one too? That's strange. How did you beat it?"
"Marici stomped on it and then I shut it up tight with my belt!"
"Well that's just typical. My Pap is a coward. He's up here trembling with me on the wardrobe, so I need a new plan. Any suggestions?"
"Can't Lyra help?"
"Um ... she and Sirius are 'busy'. They always 'get busy' once they think I'm asleep. That's why I opened the book ... I wanted something to distract me until they shut up! Lyra squeals a lot, God knows why, but can you imagine trying to talk to her about THAT! I think I'd die, wouldn't you? I wouldn't be able to look her in the face for a whole year! But I might die on this wardrobe if we can't think of something to get me down. Come on, Harry, I need you to be my hero now!"
Harry thought for a moment, then he spotted Hagrid's note ... tickle the spine ... hmmm, could it be that easy?
Harry scooted over to his own copy of the book and stroked a finger along the length of the furry spine. The book fell instantly still, but Harry didn't feel brave enough to unbuckle his belt from around the cover. He picked his phone up again.
"Hagrid said that all you need to do is stroke the spine and it goes docile," he wrote. "I just tried it with mine and it worked. You or Pap are just going to have to show a bit of courage if you want to get down from the wardrobe tonight!"
"I'm not sure I have that sort of courage, Harry!"
"Of course you do. Are you a Gryffindor witch or not?"
" Yes, you're quite right ... I AM . Right, here goes. If you don't hear back from me in three minutes, you know the book has managed to eat me. In that case, it was nice knowing you, Harry Potter! Wish me luck!"
Harry chuckled as he read the message, then his eyes fell on his clock, which had come to an askewed sort of rest against the skirting board beneath the window. He looked at it in surprised understanding ... for it now read 12.07 am. He'd been a teenager for seven whole minutes and he hadn't even known it!
"Well, I don't feel any different," Harry pondered aloud, as he poked his arms and face to see if anything had changed yet. "Do I look different, Hedwig?"
The owl turned her large amber eyes on him inscrutably, before hopping onto his shoulder to nip affectionately at his ear. Then she soared off out of the open window to go and hunt for some vermin on the banks of the Thames.
"Happy birthday to you, too!" Harry chuckled as he watched her fly away.
"I suppose that means you can finally open Hermione's presents though," Marici pointed out to him.
"Oh yeah!" Harry chirped, excitedly. "Let's just hope they aren't as mental as Hagrid's gift! I doubt it, Hermione's too thoughtful for all that. I wonder how she's getting on with the Monster book? I wonder if it's torn her leg off yet. I hope not, I quite like her legs ..."
Harry stopped in mid-sentence and blushed in the darkness of his bedroom. He had been rather shy about having that thought, at the time it had first occurred to him, when he went to visit Hermione in Oxford last week, and the worrying sensation hadn't really left him yet. Sirius and Lyra, the sickly sweet newly-weds, had decided to take them on a canal boat trip for the day, and Harry had been quite looking forward to it.
Lyra had spent much of the time comparing the Oxford here to the Oxford in her world, pointing out a ruined church that looked almost the same as a nun's priory in her world, which had been destroyed in a great flood, and telling them about the horse-fairs she used to attend at a place called Jericho, spinning them a tale of how she had once almost stolen a narrowboat from some Gyptians at one of them.
But Harry had barely heard a word of it. For at about the time that they were passing the ruined church, Hermione had laughed at something that Lyra had commented on, and at the exact same instant a glint of sunlight had reflected in her chestnut eyes from the blue canal water below. The combined effect mesmerised Harry as he absently caught sight of it, quite unprepared for what it was about to do to him.
For he found himself staring, blatantly and unashamedly, at Hermione's face in that moment ... a moment which seemed to hang around for much longer than it should have. For Hermione looked so pretty in that second that Harry found her couldn't take his eyes off her. It was as if his gaze was stuck in place on her soft skin. And he found himself looking at a different type of pretty than the one he was used to.
Now, Harry knew very well that Hermione was a pretty girl ... she just was. She had subtle, delicate features, warm eyes and a cosy, complex smile that Harry found very pleasant to look at, so he tried to look at it as often as he thought he was allowed. But this new version of 'pretty Hermione' was different entirely. Harry felt it pass through his mind and body with a cool shiver, one that actually caused his neck and arms to break out in sporadic goosebumps.
He stared hard at Hermione in that stolen moment. The little frown of academic concentration, that lived between her eyebrows during term-time, had vanished; her face looked altogether softer, her mouth was relaxed and her lips fuller as she laughed. There was a sort of lazy enjoyment in her complexion, which was far more fine and silky than he was used to, and there was a tint to her cheeks as if she were hot or blushing in a dream.
Harry had pulled his eyes away, thinking he was doing wrong by staring. But his gaze merely fell lower, onto the pale skin of Hermione's legs where she was languidly stretching them out across the width of the boat to tan herself. Harry found himself moistening his dry lips, as his mind and vision had hitched on Hermione's slim, tense calves, on the textured skin of her knees, and the slight swell of her thighs, just visible beneath the skirt hem of the pretty cotton sundress that she had been wearing. Harry maddeningly wondered what it would feel like to stroke that skin, curious about how soft it might be, for it certainly looked soft ...
But those images were far too troubling altogether to hold steady in his head. He pushed them away firmly with a silent groan in his chest, but his mind was still dwelling on the hypnotic memory of Hermione's face, on the thoughts about what it might be like to smooth it or kiss it. He needed to think about something else, but all he could focus on was trying to work out what had happened to him.
A week later and Harry was still no closer to solving the mystery, and equally concerning was his secret birthday wish that had been born along with it. For he hoped, more than he would ever have the face to admit out loud, that Hermione would be wearing that same dress again when she next came to London to see him ... and that he might get a chance to satiate this insane new yearning to sneak a glance at the silky flesh of her legs again ...
Harry cleared his throat and swatted these unsettling musings aside. Marici knew all about them, too, and seemed to understand them a little better than he did. But Harry was thankful that his dæmon had a care for his modesty, for she had yet to broach the subject with him either subconsciously or in actual speech. Harry was glad about this, as he didn't feel anything like ready to face whatever truth might arise from her sharing this advanced comprehension with him.
So Harry focused on opening Hermione's birthday presents instead, rather than on anything to do with her legs. Perhaps it would be better if the Monster book did eat one of them, Harry considered, thus removing at least half of the source of this peculiar new craving he had for Hermione's longest limbs. But he was out of luck.
Ping.
"I did it, Harry! I think you'll be proud of me! Pap distracted the book by shrieking like a baby, and then I jumped down and squished it under my knees - Harry tried very hard not to dwell on the dreamy image of Hermione's knees - and then as soon as I smoothed the spine it became like a normal book! Hagrid has a lot to answer for, honestly! But, now that I'm looking through it, it's really quite an interesting book."
Harry chuckled at that as he typed back. "Well, I'm glad you survived. Wonder why he sent them to us, though?"
"I noticed the book is part of next year's required text list. It's the set book for Care of Magical Creatures. Maybe he thought he'd give us a head start. He does like wacky beasts, after all. "
"I suppose we'd better take that class then, as a thank you to him!"
"Yes, I suppose we should. Speaking of next year's classes ... have you opened my presents yet?"
"I'm just about to," Harry typed. "Don't tell me you've bought me a self-cursing wand to practice on for Defence Against the Dark Arts, or something!"
"Of course I haven't! What sort of best friend do you take me for? Open your gifts. I hope you like them."
Harry was sure he would. Hermione had the uncanny knack of knowing exactly the sorts of things he would like. He hadn't received a gift from her that he hadn't liked yet. He reached over and grabbed the first of the three presents Hermione had sent him. He unwrapped it carefully, trying not to tear the paper at all, to reveal a very cool moon lamp. It changed colour at the push of a button and even had a setting to show a starry night sky.
"I love the lamp, thank you," Harry typed, immediately.
"I'm so glad! Did you see the star setting? That's the exact configuration of stars that were in the sky on the night that you were born. You can see the constellation Leo quite clearly if you know where it is. I think it looks a bit like Chi, but Pap wasn't so sure!"
Harry felt his heart shoot into his throat at that thoughtful attention to detail. A fresh rush of affection for Hermione bloomed anew in his chest, as he delicately unwrapped the next gift, which was a branded Weird Sisters t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase Sister Legion, the moniker given to fans of the super group. Harry loved it, but he had to be delicate with his thanks this time, as the Weird Sisters were a source of both joy and chagrin for he and Hermione, on account of Harry's last birthday, which turned into something of a fiasco.
Hermione's final gift had two parts to it. One was a large, domed glass vessel that was held within a brass fitting, both of which were elaborately decorated with numerous runes and other symbols that Harry didn't recognise. He wasn't sure what it was, but it had a certain esoteric beauty and a subdued sense of power, that was thrumming gently just beneath the surface of Harry's range of magical perception. He turned it reverently in his hands and allowed the sensation to wash over him a moment.
The second part of the gift was a thin sliver of emerald-green crystal. It was flat, rectangular shaped, about twelve inches long, and it, too, was ornately decorated with ancient runes around the edges. Harry had seen one of these before, and he rushed to ask Hermione about her gifts.
"The first one is a crucible," she explained. "And the second is an Emerald Tablet. The crucible is one of the key pieces of equipment used in alchemy, and the Emerald Tablet is the set of instructions that need to be followed during the Opus Alchymicum, to produce a Philosopher's Stone, the Elixir of Life and to be able to turn any base metal into gold. As we were both thinking of studying alchemy next year, I thought these might come in handy."
"They certainly will ... but they are really expensive! And Emerald Tablets are so rare! You shouldn't have spent so much on me."
"Hush you. I think you're worth it, and if I want to spend my pocket money on you I will, thank you very much!"
"No, thank you very much," Harry typed back. "You've really spoiled me. Thank you."
"I'm just setting the bar high for when MY birthday comes around in September! So get thinking! By the way, I didn't actually buy the Tablet ... I acquired it, from a source close to you, actually. "
"You did? From who?"
"From your Mum, but you'll have to ask her how she got it, because she wouldn't tell me that!" Hermione typed back. "She's a proper alchemist, is Lily ... she likes knowing things that other people don't, like when she wouldn't tell you about being pregnant!"
Harry laughed at that. "I will definitely get her to tell me about the Tablet when we go out later. It's such a shame you wont be able to be there, but I'll tell you if I find out anything juicy!"
"Thanks! I just want to say again, about your birthday ... I'm so sorry that I cant be there with you tomorrow, Harry. I had such a great day planned for us, too. But when Sirius came back with the news that the Mandrake Restorative Draught was ready for Mum and Dad, I thought I ought to go and be there when they woke up, in case they suffered damage from the shock. I also need to explain everything, make sure they aren't angry with me. But I am sorry to be missing your birthday."
"Don't be silly," Harry typed, his disappointment at Hermione's absence warring with his happy grin that she was so rueful at having to go away. "Of course you should go and see your parents. It's only right. But what did you have planned? I'm dead curious now!"
"I was thinking about the postage stamp museum, then an hour riding the escalators in Harrods, followed by a salad and a girly movie to finish. How would that have sounded?"
"I would have been barely able to contain my excitement!" Harry typed, chuckling as he did so.
"Well after last year's debacle I decided it would be safer to go a little bit more low-key! I'm only kidding, by the way! I thought we could have started off in the History of Quidditch Museum, then grabbed an ice-cream lunch at Florean Fortescue's, then maybe finished up in Muggle London and with a film we BOTH could have enjoyed at the big cinema in Leicester Square."
"That would have been great, apart from the Quidditch Museum. I know you don't really like the game," Harry replied. "So you wouldn't have enjoyed it."
"I don't really dislike Quidditch, either. I just get frightened that you'll fall and break your neck or something. You do fly much too quickly, Harry! I'm sure you don't need to go quite so fast. But something we both like is History, so I'm sure that the museum will be an interesting place to visit. Maybe we can go over the Christmas Holidays or something, because I'm not likely to return from my old world until I go to get the Express back to school."
Harry felt his heart groan as he read the words. A month not seeing or hearing from Hermione was likely to make this the worst August in his living memory. But he was buoyed by the promise of Christmas.
"Would you mind doing that, if we did? I think I'd quite like to go, if you really wouldn't mind."
"Of course we can. I'll be happy enough, so long as I'm allowed to come along with you."
Harry's heart fluttered again. He hoped he wasn't having a heart attack. "Okay, that sounds great. As a bribe, you can pick the film we watch after it."
"And if I choose a Christmassy, girly movie?"
Harry held his hand over his phone screen a moment, as he took a nervous breath.
"I'd be happy enough ... as long as I was watching it with you."
There was a pause of thirty seconds or so, during which time Harry's harassed mind conspired with his overworked heart to imagine Hermione whooping, or squealing, or lying face down on her bed and kicking her little besocked feet in the air behind with rampant joy. But these were thoughts not only very silly and unlikely, but downright disturbing.
Then the phone pinged again."I accept your terms. And I'll hold you to them!"
"We have a deal then! How's the North Pole?"
"Cold, I imagine! But we aren't at the Pole, cheeky, but this is the last point of civilisation before we head out there. Once we leave, my phone will be out of signal range. So I'll take this last opportunity to wish you a Happy Birthday, Harry. Then I really ought to get some sleep. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."
"Me, too!" Harry typed back. "All cake and sweets and treats. It'll be exhausting!"
" Fancy swapping?"
"Not a chance!"
"Well, can't blame a girl for trying! Right, I'm going to turn in, Harry. Have a great birthday, I'll be thinking of you. Don't eat too much and get so fat that you'll look like me in all my cold-weather gear. Honestly, you should see me! I look like a beach ball with arms and legs and a head!"
"Take a picture and show me! I have to see this!" Harry typed as he laughed.
"Not a chance!" Hermione replied, swiftly.
"Spoilsport! Well, you go and sleep. Be safe out there on the snow. Night, Hermione xxx."
"Goodnight to you too, and Happy Birthday, Harry. See you soon xxx."
Harry looked at the three little kisses, felt the warmth that they stirred all through him, then sadly closed down his phone. He was about to close his eyes, too, when the door to his bedroom opened slowly and his mother appeared in the frame.
"You could have knocked," Harry muttered.
"Knock, knock," Lily replied with a wry smile. "I heard you banging around in here just now so I chanced that you'd still be up. What was all the racket about anyway?"
"Hagrid bought me a birthday present," Harry grinned, nodding at the slowly stirring Monster Book of Monsters. "I had to fight it to shut it up!"
"Oh dear, I bet the people at Flourish and Blotts will just love that!" Lily laughed sardonically, eyeing the book with caution as Marici sat on it to subdue it once more. "I remember back in my Hogwarts days when they released the Invisible Book of Invisibility. A shop worker told me they'd bought five hundred copies but couldn't find a single one! But I suppose that's better than having your fingers bitten off!"
"It would be," Harry agreed, then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "But why have you come to see me, Mum? What are you after?"
"Nothing, my paranoid little warlock!" Lily smirked. "I just thought I'd wish my son a happy birthday, that's all. You were born very early on July 31st, so it's almost the exact time, give or take a couple of hours. So ... happy birthday, Harry."
"Thanks, Mum," Harry smiled back.
"Now, I know I'm not the person you would prefer to be spending your birthday with," Lily went on, entering the room fully now. "But I come bearing cocoa and cookies ... if you've got room for another girl in your life."
Harry flushed deeply in the dark, and was thankful for the shadows that hid it from his mother. He instead focused on the tempting tray that Lily was holding up in her hopeful hands, and Harry found that he wasn't as tired as he'd previously thought. He scooted aside on his bed, his mother closed the door and crossed the room, before tucking under the quilt with her blushing, ever-confused son.
Lily offered Harry one of the hot chocolates and a cookie from a plate she had them arranged on.
"Have a cookie," she encouraged. "They're lemon and white chocolate, and I got addicted to them during my pregnancy cravings. They're very good."
So Harry took a chance ... and it turned out his mother was right. These were good cookies.
"Thanks," Harry mumbled, tapping the handle to his mug a moment as he chewed away thoughtfully. Then he remembered Hermione's present. "Oh, by the way, Mum ... I just opened one of the gifts Hermione got me ... and I think you have some explaining to do."
Lily smiled shrewdly. "I did wonder when you'd come to ask me about that. I didn't expect it to be this quick, but I knew it would come all the same."
"You gave her the Emerald Tablet you showed me back in Annwn all those years ago!" Harry exclaimed. "Why? And did you test her with it?"
"No, I didn't test her," Lily replied. "And as for why I gave it to her, I was just facilitating what I suspect is her role in your life, that's all."
Harry felt his skin prickle with flustered hotness. "Role? What role? What are you talking about?"
Lily sipped on her cocoa a moment, before turning to sit facing Harry with her legs crossed and a business-like look on her face.
"Before you left Annwn we started you out on the very first steps into the study of alchemy, do you remember?" Lily began.
"How can I forget!" Harry cried, sarcastically. "I have the flesh wounds to prove it!"
He jabbed his finger at the pale purple scar on his forehead, his branding that the Magical Press loved so much, as proof of this painful memory.
"You can barely see it, stop being a baby," Lily cajoled lightly. "Anyway, we've focused much more on understanding Ancient Runes since then, as more often than not the basic language of alchemy is written in this mysterious script. But now, it's time we switched your focus back to the Art itself."
"I don't like art," Harry frowned. "Even Professor Bobross said that I don't have the gift ... and he can teach anyone to paint."
"I'm not talking about painting or sculpture, Harry," Lily smiled fondly. "And is Bobross really still teaching at Hogwarts? My, my ... he must be a hundred and thirty years old if he is a day! Wow!"
"Mum ..."
"Oh right, sorry," Lily smirked. "Anyway, your father and I agree ... you are turning away from childhood now, entering your adolescent years in more ways than just being a whole extra number older. You are growing up at an astonishing speed, and you have matured so much, and done so much, already.
"So the time feels right to enter a more intermediate stage of things, separate you from the basic and foundation and move to something higher. And the reason we are so sure of this isn't just because of you ... it's because of your relationship with Hermione, too."
Harry blushed again. "Hermione and I aren't in a relationship! How many times have I got to tell you?"
"Friendship is still a relationship, Harry," Lily pointed out with a maddeningly patient air. "And that is why we feel you can succeed as an alchemist, and why I gave Hermione my Emerald Tablet."
Harry blinked hard. "It was your Tablet?"
Lily nodded. "I forged it myself, as all true alchemists should. I Apprenticed with Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel, you know, and they taught me the technique. Very few people ever create true Emerald Tablets, as refining the emerald to the exact level of purity is such a notoriously tricky process to get right and many fail at that point ... but I was able to succeed, because I was quite the Alchemical Adept, myself, before I became a Master of the Art.
"So now, I have no need of the Tablet. I can perform all my alchemical tasks from memory, so I gave it to Hermione, trusting that she would fulfil the role I suspect she has in your life and give it to you. Which she has, pretty much confirming my suspicions. One day, when she is ready, I'll teach her to make her own Tablet ... one that you both will be able to use."
There was something in his mother's tone that made Harry's heart speed like an out of control locomotive. What did all this mean? So Harry asked that exact question.
"Mum ... what sort of meaningless, double-talk is this! I don't understand what you are on about. Roles? Suspicions? Please ... throw me a bone here."
Lily smiled fondly. "It's okay to be confused, Harry. In a way, you are supposed to be ... and someone else is supposed to help you find the answers and understanding you are looking for. In your case, I think that someone is Hermione."
Harry sat up, startled. "That ... that sounds like what I was told on High Brasil by the Tuatha De Danaan ... that Hermione and I must help each other to become Enlightened beings. Are you telling me that you know how ... and that the Emerald Tablet will show us?"
"The Tablet will point you in the right direction," Lily corrected. "It will open the doors you will face ... but you and Hermione must work out how to walk through them together."
"That still doesn't make much sense," Harry frowned. "But tell me about this role Hermione has in my life. She came here on a prophecy that mentioned something like that, so what do you think it is?"
"Alchemy is a series of steps, repeated processes of purification through separation and reunification," Lily explained. "Base, imperfect matter is broken down, impurities are removed, then it is reformed in a more refined state. The process is repeated over and over to produce improved and more perfected forms."
"Lead becomes copper, which becomes silver, and then eventually gold," Harry nodded. "I see."
"Yes, in the most crude version of the Work," Lily confirmed through a dismissive little frown. "But true alchemists are not just concerned with earthly matters, but a higher, infinitely more spiritual Work, too. The concepts of purifying metals are applied to purifying the alchemists themselves, of turning them from crude mortals into Enlightened beings."
"Like The Shining Ones of High Brasil!" Harry exclaimed in a whisper. "So is that how Hermione and I must get better ... by becoming alchemists?"
Lily nodded. "Of the spiritual kind, first and foremost, but learning the fundamentals of the Art will help immensely. It will give you a roadmap to follow, if you like. Which is why I gave Hermione my Emerald Tablet."
"But why did you think she would give it to me? You made it sound like a test."
"In a way, it was," Lily smiled. "Harry, if you remember just one lesson from me about alchemy let it be this ... alchemy is, at its heart, a process of union. It concerns the joining of opposites, of the binding of disparate things to create a perfected whole. And no true alchemist ever works alone. Flamel had his wife, Perenelle, and later taught Dumbledore, who never fully succeeded as an alchemist because he never had a true complimentary partner to work with.
"Then I came along and worked on my alchemy with your father ... and now, you have Hermione. She provides elements you lack, and you do the same for her. But one of her main roles is as your guide in this process ... and every guide needs the right tools to succeed."
Harry fell open-mouthed a second. "So, you gave her the Tablet ... to see if she would fulfil her role as guide ... by giving me the tools to become an alchemist? To guide me on this ... well, quest?"
"Precisely," Lily smiled. "And she did just that, proving what I have suspected for a while ... that she is your ideal alchemical partner, Harry."
Harry swallowed hard at the implications, but swatted the greater suggestion aside for now. "And we have both decided to study alchemy at Hogwarts next year. That's the right decision then, isn't it?"
"If you hadn't told me that already, I would have insisted on it," Lily smiled. "I even told Lyra to make sure Hermione chose that as an elective study, too, just in case."
"You did?" Harry asked faintly. "It's that important, then?"
"It is. I feel it will be the most important subject you study in your time at Hogwarts. If you had said that you were choosing Divination or something I might have insisted on home-schooling you instead!"
Harry smirked at his mother's teasing, then he frowned again. "Okay, Mum. Assuming I believe that any of this weirdness is actually true, tell me something ... if you could have one, single, undeniable indicator that Hermione is this, er ... perfect partner of mine ... what would it be?"
"Good question," Lily nodded, approvingly. "Well, there are lots of little markers we could look at, but an obvious one would be her Patronus. I've been told what yours is ..."
"A stag, like Dad's Animagus form," Harry cut in with a nod.
"Yes, but there may be more to it than that," Lily replied, cryptically.
"How so?"
"Well, we assumed that your Patronus took a stag form on account of you viewing your father as a protector from all things dark and harmful," Lily went on. "But if your alchemical role is what I think it is, then you would be associated with a stag in a much more different way ... as an aspect of your wild soul that you must trap and tame ... in order for it to lead you to Enlightenment.
"So, as a symbol of your path to the light, the stag Patronus protected you from the darkness of the Dementors."
Harry gasped in shock. He had liked the idea of his Patronus being a form of his father that lived inside him, one that showed itself when Harry had need of him. But this ... this felt like something unspeakably deeper ... and so much more potently powerful as a result. Harry shivered a little with the enormity of the suggestion.
"And ... Hermione?" Harry murmured. "What would her Patronus be, if it was to do the same?"
"In alchemy, the stag has, as a partner, the unicorn," Lily explained with a soft smile. "So, if Hermione is ever able to produce a Patronus, and it turns out to be a unicorn, you will know for sure, Harry."
Lily smiled knowingly, leaving Harry to wonder quite what he would know for sure, based on that heavily-loaded look. But such earth-shattering revelations were disturbed a moment later, as the shrill tenor of a crying baby reached their ears. The bedroom door opened again and James was there this time, gently rocking baby Seren on his shoulder.
"I've done my best, Mum, but this one just wont settle," James smirked. "It might have helped if I hadn't been sick on her when I changed her nappy, but it could be that she just wants her mother's touch."
"You weren't really sick on our daughter, were you?" Lily quirked crossly, as Harry laughed away next to her.
"Almost," James smirked back. "She was ripe. Seriously, Lil, what's in that baby food you are giving her? She was as fragrant as a rotting basilisk!"
Lily cocked her eyebrows sardonically at her husband. "It's breast milk, James."
Harry guffawed into the back of his hand at the mention of the B-Word. Lily shook her head sadly at him, with a pitying look that clearly said 'like father, like son'.
"Right, I say we get up," she suggested brightly to Harry. "How about we have a midnight feast and a family game of Exploding Snap, or Cluedo: The Hogwarts Edition? I'll take Seren and put her to bed, you grab a whole load of fattening snacks from the kitchen, and your father can introduce you to Butterbeer as your late birthday treat? How does that sound?"
Harry brightened a bit from his confused state. "You're going to let me have actual beer?"
"Well, it isn't really beer," James replied for his wife. "There's no alcohol in it, but it is made like a beer ... just with caramel, which gives it the buttery flavour."
"Is it nice?" Harry queried.
"It's like ambrosia!" James grinned. "Come on, as it's your birthday I'll let you play as Miss Ravenclaw in Cluedo ... seeing as how you always flirt with her when we play anyway!"
"Excuse me! I do not flirt with moving toys!" Harry protested with a cheeky grin.
"No, just with Muggleborn witches from other worlds!" James teased with a wink.
Harry was in too light a mood to even protest. He simply poked his father in the ribs and ushered him back towards the living room, happy, as any other young wizard rightly should be, that today was his birthday.