Chapter I
The Potion Master's Puzzle / The Mask
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Actually, I own all seven Harry Potters, from "The Sorcerer's Stone" through "The Deathly Hallows." But that isn't what I meant and you know it.
Author's Note: Keep the reviews coming, folks! I love hearing what you all think so far.
I realize the Prologue may be kind of puzzling to H/Hr fans such as myself. It should all become clear over the next couple of chapters. This first chapter follows the same formula as the Prologue (I'll be following it for a good chunk of the rest of the story), but should hopefully shed some new light on things, without giving things away too quickly. If you want to know exactly what's going on... well, keep reading! Hopefully I've written it in a way that it should at least be an entertaining ride while we get to all the answers.
I'll do my best to update frequently; I've a few chapters already written, expect updates to come slower as I catch up to that. It only takes me a day or three to write a single chapter, though, so far at least, so updates shouldn't be any further apart than a week or two.
Oh, one last thing—in the interest of full disclosure, Time is the Fire isn't going to be chock full of lemons, I'm much more interested in the relationships between the characters (mostly between Harry and Hermione, given the pairing, obviously). That said, later chapters will have some steaminess (three guesses as to between who), and I am of the philosophy that if you're going to write a sex scene for the right reasons anyway, then it might as well be as hot as is feasibly possible. I'll do my best to keep everything in-character, so no worries on that front. If you don't want your mind's eye ruined from seeing J. K. Rowling's characters doing M-rated things, well, then, you shouldn't be reading an M-rated Harry Potter fan-fic. Now, onto the story!
Soundtrack Note: A Window to the Past, from the Prisoner of Azkaban soundtrack.
"I want to go ahead of Father Time with a scythe of my own."
-H.G. Wells
She trailed after them, shrouded in invisibility, careful to stay far enough from them that they wouldn't notice her presence but close enough that she wouldn't miss the cutoff as they passed through the foul-smelling room with the unconscious, battered troll and into the next chamber.
The hardest part had not been following them, though that had taken its toll on her, physically and emotionally. The hardest part had been deciding which moments to observe them in, which moments she thought the most crucial. She couldn't be with them through every moment of their lives; even with a Time-Turner and an invisibility cloak, they were too smart, and surrounded by too many smart people, for her to remain undetected for any length of time. No, she had no choice but to watch over only the moments that had been the most important in their young lives, the ones that would forge the bonds he would try to sever.
They would be together when he made his move, she knew that much. And he wouldn't choose just any time. He would choose from among the same moments that she did, those most important to him. The question was, which one would it be? This one? It was the first, and perhaps, to her, one of the most important of her life.
As they passed the threshold into the next chamber, a fire immediately sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.
"Look!" the girl shouted, seizing a roll of paper lying next to the bottles that stood in line atop a table along the wall.
"Brilliant," the girl said, her voice higher pitched than she remembered it being. "This isn't magic—it's logic—a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."
"But so will we, won't we?"
"Of course not," said the girl. "Everything we need now is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."
Concealed beneath the cloak, she allowed herself a smile at the girl's tone, the confidence that others would mistake for arrogance. Already she could see her mind beginning to race, as she struggled to make sense of the clue presented to her, file them away, compartmentalize them, fit them together like pieces of a puzzle. Only she could see the nagging self-doubt the girl concealed from him, the fear that she would fail him, fail herself.
"But how do we know which to drink?" the boy asked.
"Give me a minute."
She watched, drawing back to give them room as the girl read and reread the paper again, walking up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them.
For his part, the boy did not interrupt her, allowing her to reason it out herself. He knew she needed her concentration, and he could only hinder her here, in her own realm.
Slowly it dawned on her that she had miscalculated, relied too much on her own feelings instead of trying to anticipate his thoughts, as she should have. Surely it had not begun here, she thought. Not for him. There had been too much on his mind, too much pressure, for him to worry about anything else. The girl was a burden to him, in this, his first trial against the darkness. He needed to be freed of her, to know that she was safe so he could turn his full attention to the task at hand—protecting the Stone, and hopefully surviving as well.
"Got it," said the girl, clapping her hands. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire — toward the Stone."
He looked at the tiny bottle.
"There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one swallow."
They looked at each other.
"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"
The girl pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.
"You drink that," said the boy. "No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy — go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really."
"But Harry — what if You-Know-Who's with him?"
"Well — I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said he, pointing at his scar. "I might get lucky again."
The girl's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at the boy and threw her arms around him.
"Hermione!"
"Harry—you're a great wizard, you know." She held him tightly, desperately, in awe of his courage, not willing to see him go through the flames to what could be his death.
"I'm not as good as you," said the boy, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.
"Me!" the girl scoffed. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and— oh Harry— be careful!"
She realized now that she had chosen the wrong moment. He would not come here, to this time, this place. Why would he have? This was not the night he had fallen in love with her.
"You drink first," said the boy. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"
"Positive," said the girl. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.
"It's not poison?" he asked anxiously. It was only a testament to his faith in her and her mind that he would have ever let the girl risk consuming poison, she knew.
"No—but it's like ice."
"Quick, go, before it wears off."
"Good luck—take care—" choked the girl, hiding the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks at the thought of losing him.
"GO!"
The girl turned and walked straight through the purple fire. Only she saw the girl's shoulders shake and tremble as she lost composure, for she alone knew what to look for. The gentle licking of the flames concealed the sobs that she knew were being shed on the other side.
The boy took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames. She studied him, her eyes surveying his face, trying to read the emotions she saw wrestling for dominance there. He was relieved, now that her safety was assured. He felt no less burdened, though—if anything, he allowed himself for the first time to show that burden openly, now that the girl was gone and he thought himself alone. His face showed fear, and uncertainty, and ultimately that deep-set determination she recognized in him instantly.
"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp. Then he set it down, braced himself, and walked forward without a moment's hesitation into the blazing wall of darkness. Such was his confidence in her.
She was alone. There was no need for her to consume any of the potions to leave. With a few minutes' spinning of the Time-Turner, she would be in a time, either before or after this year, when there were no such precautions or enchantments guarding this section of the castle. Afterwards, she decided. Onward, to the next moment, the next opportunity to undo the destruction he had wrought.
He hadn't chosen this night. But coming here had not been a mistake. Indeed, she was glad she had come here first, for she had needed to see this, experience it all over again. It had given her the strength to carry on, to do what must be done, shown her the innocence she had sacrificed so much for to protect.
No, this was not the night he had fallen in love with her.
It had been the night she had fallen in love with him.
"Do you need any help with that?" Hermione asked.
"Not at all, have a seat! I feel like we haven't spent time together in forever! The last thing I want is to waste your time cooking dinner," replied Ginny, waving her wand in a circle lazily, directing the spoon she'd enchanted to stir the bowl on the kitchen counter, across the room.
"It wouldn't be any trouble," Hermione said with a smile as the two sat down at the kitchen table, the delicious aromas of minced garlic and roasted meats filling the room. "And we just went out to lunch the other day!"
"Yeah, but that was with Ron and Harry and the children," Ginny replied. "I mean some girl time, just the two of us!"
"I do like the sound of that," she admitted. Hugo and Lily were both at their grandparents' for the night, almost certainly being spoiled rotten by Molly and Arthur. "Things sure have been busy lately, haven't they?"
"Don't I know it! How're things at the Ministry?"
Hermione sighed.
"That bad, huh?" Ginny said with a reassuring smile.
"I don't know what it is, honestly. Things are much better than they used to be, and we're finally past all that Pureblood favoritism nonsense, but… I'm doing good work there, I know that, but it feel's like something's missing."
"Oh?" Ginny asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Well, yes. I got into law enforcement because I wanted to make a difference, change the way the Ministry did things, make things the way they ought to be, not the way they were when we were kids."
"You've made a huge difference! You've completely turned things around, Hermione! We have a Ministry we can actually be proud of now, and that's thanks to you," Ginny told her sister-in-law firmly.
"Only now that I have, it feels like… what is there left for me to do there, you know?" Hermione asked.
"Thinking perhaps of transferring back to the fourth level?" Ginny asked, referring to her best friend's time at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
"Maybe… there's only so much one can do from inside the office, though. The Wizengamot's where the real decisions are made. I've thought about the Department of International Cooperation a bit, I have always wanted to travel, but I couldn't possibly go now, with poor Hugo all alone now that his sister's gone off to Hogwarts…"
"You poor dear!" Ginny exclaimed, animating a knife across the room to start chopping onions. "And to think I was going to complain about all the writing I've had to do covering Quidditch results for the Prophet. Well, Hugo is going off to school next year, right? You could always transfer in a year or two, you're more than qualified enough for the position, I just know you'll get it!"
Her eyes flashed. "Oh! I know! You said the Wizengamot's where all the real decisions are made, right?"
Hermione eyed her friend suspiciously. "I did…"
"Then why don't you run for office? Just think about it! You'd be grand, and you'd be able to show those stuffy old gits the way things really ought to be done!"
Hermione stared at her friend like she'd sprouted Flesh-Eating Slugs all over her face.
"Ooh, and then some day you could run for Minister! You'd get to travel loads with that job. I can see the headline of the Prophet now: 'Minister for Magic Hermione Weasley, the Best Witch to Have Ever Held the Office!'"
"Oh, Merlin, please don't say that," Hermione chided her friend. "Kingsley's wonderful, I could never measure up…"
"Don't be so sure of that!" the redhead pressed. "You never thought you'd do a very good job in law enforcement, either, and you've already completely revolutionized the entire Wizarding World!"
"Yes, well, I haven't made up my mind what I'm going to do yet," Hermione told her. "So don't start putting any ideas into people's heads…"
"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean by that," her friend said with a devilish grin.
"Well, whatever you do, don't mention anything daft to Ron, I beg of you. He'll never let up on me until I get appointed Queen if you do, you have to promise me."
Ginny just smiled at her. "Oh, would you look at that, supper's done!" she exclaimed, levitating the bowl of mashed potatoes over to the table and summoning the roast from the oven.
"Ginevra Potter, that was not a promise!"
The two friends talked and laughed over their dinner until it was well into the evening. "Oh, Harry'll be home soon," Ginny remarked as she started to pick up empty plates and carry them over to the sink.
"Let me take those!" Hermione reproved her friend. "You've done enough, making such a wonderful meal. I'll clean up."
"Alright," Ginny agreed, touched by Hermione's insistence on helping her out. "Just let me put a Stasis Charm on Harry's leftovers and then I'll pop up to the loo."
Hermione decided not to bother with magic and to wash up the dishes the old-fashioned way. Having turned on the sink, though, she realized that Ginny must feel differently for she was lacking any of the items necessary to give plates a good scouring.
She ended up Transfiguring one of Ginny's spoons into a scrubbing brush. So much for no magic. But she did find it somewhat soothing to take care of the rest of it using her own elbow grease instead of a few quick spells. She was the kind of woman whose mind was always running. Sometimes she just felt the urge to do something mindless for a while, to just stop thinking and plug away at something. Next to curling up with a good book or snuggling up to Ron or the children, housework was one of her favorite methods of relaxing.
It was a good thing, too, given the man she was married to. Honestly, it wasn't as if she was asking him to do it all by hand; Ron acted as if he didn't know even the simplest of cleaning spells!
Drying up the last plate, Hermione heard the fire erupt in the lounge. Oh good, Harry must be home, she thought.
She heard Ron's voice as she went to go greet him; the two must have Flooed in together, then.
"…I'm just sayin', mate, why all the secrecy?"
"I'm telling you Ron," came Harry's voice. He sounded irritated. "Nothing happened. I'm fine."
"Yeah, but…"
"I don't want to talk about it," Harry snapped with a sense of frustrated finality. "And I think you ought to go home."
He bumped into Hermione in the doorframe, not expecting her. He just stared at her, his eyes widening, his mouth opening a bit, looking as if he'd just seen a ghost.
"Harry?"
He seemed shaken to hear the sound of her voice.
"What is it—oh!" She looked down to see that his right hand was heavily bandaged. Evidently it needed to be changed, as there were clearly visible dried bloodstains across it.
He continued to stare at her. Hermione began to feel a little uneasy. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. In all her years of knowing him, she'd always been able to read the face of her best friend. But tonight… his face was a mask, an intense, unreadable mask.
"You okay, mate?" Ron asked.
He didn't reply. His eyes, those eyes, burning into her with such force, as if he were seeing her for the first time, and trying to make sense of what it was that was before him…
"What happened to your hand?" she asked him, hoping to snap him out of his trance.
It worked. Reeling back as if he'd been slapped, Harry averted his eyes. "It's nothing," he said gruffly, his voice low, wholly unable to meet her gaze. "Clumsiness at the office."
Ron snorted.
"Then why hasn't your hand been healed yet?" Hermione demanded, taking out her wand to see about fixing his wounds.
"Don't bother," Harry said, drawing back, still not looking at her. "Cut it on an enchanted artifact. Magic won't work. Just have to let it heal up the old fashioned way." He turned and left the room, heading into his work study.
"Ronald!" Ginny called out happily as she came down the stairs. Completely missing the expressions on Hermione's and Ron's faces, she greeted her brother with a hug. "Good to see you. Have a seat, there's enough food for you and Harry both. Me and Hermione were just about to open up a bottle of Firewhiskey."
"Actually, uh, we were just lea—" Ron began, looking at Hermione and then over her shoulder at Harry, who'd emerged from his study carrying a stack of papers.
"No, stay," Harry said, and Hermione didn't miss how his eyes looked at everything but her as he strolled back into the living room. "I've got to go back to the office anyway, you can keep Ginny company."
"Oh, really?" Ginny asked, disappointed.
"Sorry, love," Harry said, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. "Gotta lot of paperwork."
Ginny nodded in understanding. To Ron and Hermione, though, the excuse sounded entirely hollow.
"Wait, look! What happened to your hand?" Ginny cried when she noticed the bloodied bandages.
Harry shrugged, casually, but Hermione noticed the way his face set grimly when he was asked. "It's nothing, really. Just a bit of an accident at the department. It'll heal up in no time, really."
Harry turned and threw some powder into the fireplace. The flames roared with the eerie green light of Floo powder and without another word he stepped inside and vanished. Ron looked at Hermione, bewildered as Ginny ushered them into the kitchen, making small talk along the way, but she shot her husband a warning glance and mercifully he acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place for the rest of the visit to his sister's place.
It wasn't until they'd returned to their own home that Hermione was able to drill him for information.
"What the hell happened today?" she asked him as she and Ron got ready for bed.
"I don't know much more than you do. I was in briefings all morning, so I missed the excitement. But I talked to Demeter later on in the day and she told me what she knew," he said as he pulled off his trousers, referring to Harry's secretary.
"She said office rumor had it he'd been excited about a security detail job at the Ministry, took it over himself."
"What kind of job?" she asked, changing into her nightgown.
"Nobody knows. Something secret though, that much I can tell you. He had Flitney and Murkins with him, even they didn't know what it was they were moving."
"How strange…" she said.
"It gets weirder," Ron told her as he crawled into bed. "Demeter says Murkins told her that after the transfer Harry wanted to take a look at whatever it was they'd been moving, had them wait outside. Less than five minutes later, they heard him scream and the sound of something being smashed to bloody bits."
"What did they see?" she asked, climbing in next to him.
"Dunno. She said that he wouldn't let them get a good look at it. Whatever happened, it shook him up pretty badly, though." He put his arms around her, and she rolled onto her side, so she could more comfortably snuggle up to him. "That's not the worst of it, though. I mean, this is Harry we're talking about! If he can't talk about it with us, something rotten must be going on."
Hermione nodded, lost in thought. The way he'd looked at her… There was something frightening about it. Something alien, and intense. And his hand…
"I'm worried about him, Ron."
"Me too," he said, squeezing her closer to him. "But he'll talk about it when he's ready to talk about it. We've just got to be patient with him."
"I guess…" She wasn't so sure.
"Good night, love." He kissed the top of her head.
"Night, dear."
Ron turned off the light. She lay there in the dark for a long time, unable to sleep. Worse than the way he'd looked at her was the way he hadn't looked at her afterwards. The way his eyes had studiously avoided her, like he'd been trying to pretend she wasn't there. Like she'd done something to upset him, or like he'd been ashamed of her.
What was it that he had seen that so disturbed him?
More importantly, why has it made him stare at her like that, and not Ron or Ginny?
