Harry scowled, cursed, rubbed his scuffed knee, then got up to try again. He looked out from the lofty position of the Potter estate, down across the twinkling lights of the towers and high rise accommodation blocks of Pont-y-Annwn, which stuck out stark against the dark, since the main illumination from the Light Deck hadn't come up yet. He really would miss the place when he was gone. This view was maybe his favourite of all.

But now was not the time to be regretful. His future promised to be bright, full of magic and adventure. He had to focus on that. So he threw his leg over the wooden pole once more, hauled himself back up onto the mound of crates and boxes he'd manage to cobble together, then took a determined breath. Then jumped.

And promptly fell flat on his face. Which caused him to invent several new swear words as he cradled his sore nose.

"What are you doing?"

Harry leapt up, turning scarlet in his embarrassment. He wrung his hands guiltily.

"Harry?" Lily pressed, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. "What exactly are you up to?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered, looking at a random spot over his mother's shoulder, anything to not look her right in the eye.

Then Lily's gaze turned down to the patch of gravel that Harry had been using as a makeshift crash-mat. And her face ignited with mirth.

"Are you … trying to fly?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn, and tried to roll the broomstick at his feet under one of the boxes, which had toppled over when he last jumped.

"No," Harry replied shamefully. Because, of course, that was exactly what he'd been trying to do.

Lily closed the distance between herself and her son and picked up the broom from under his heel. She looked down at him seriously.

"This is how you use a broom," Lily teased, her eyes twinkling, as she promptly turned the brush the right way up and began sweeping the footpath, which made Harry laugh at himself for being so silly.

"I just wanted to see if I could," Harry grinned shyly. "I've been reading all about Quidditch … and it's all Dad wants to talk to me about at the moment … so I really want to give flying a try. I thought I might ask my Godfather to take me to learn and I don't want to make a fool of myself if he does."

"You wont make a fool of yourself," Lily returned supportively. "In any case, it'll be your first time. It's quite unlikely that you'll be a natural. And I don't know what the rush is anyway. First-year students never get picked for the House teams at Hogwarts. I know your father has been putting more ideas into your head, but you need to be aware of how these things work. Don't think that I'm being cruel, honey, it's just that I don't want you to be disappointed when you don't get picked."

Harry wasn't put off by his mother's sage warning. The way he saw it, she would just be even prouder of him if he confounded expectations, did better than anyone thought he could. The motivation drove Harry like a dynamo, and he was fast becoming a ball of potential energy, restlessly keen to get on with the business of learning magic.

But that was the best part of a year away. Harry wasn't sure how he was going to stand it. But there was still a mountain of things to do before he could start to think about any of that. In any case, his mother had begun to prepare him for his mission, to deliver this mysterious Stone to whatever was going to protect it on the surface.

And to do that Lily had to introduce her son to an obscure branch of magic, and one of the many allegoric languages that it was conducted in.

"So Harry, I know how impressed you were by your father's boast that both he and Sirius could transform into animals," Lily began, guiding Harry back to the house after his flying fiasco. "I never became an Animagus myself, because I chose to focus my advanced magical study on another area entirely, one that was infinitely more interesting and requiring great skill to accomplish."

"And what was that?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"I delved deep into the study of alchemy, one of the most ancient and secretive forms of magic there is," Lily revealed.

"I've never heard of alchemy," Harry frowned. "What is it? What does it do?"

"Well, fundamentally, alchemy is the magic of purification and perfection," Lily explained. "At it's basest form, an alchemist can purify metals to make them purer and more precious, can create panaceas and elixirs, all by manipulating natural processes. A Master Alchemist can turn any metal into gold, and create potions to cure any disease … and even one that can make him live forever. They are the original Masters of Fire. And because all of this is speeding up things that would take Nature an indefinite amount of time to do, a Master Alchemist is also a Master of Time, as well."

"Wow!" Harry hushed in reverence. "And you are one of these Master Alchemists?"

"Not quite," Lily confessed. "I could have been, I was very close, but I abandoned my Work at the very final stage. It was too risky in the world just then. Besides, we already had people hunting us because of the prophecy about you, I didn't need to give them more ammunition."

"Unlimited gold … living forever," Harry breathed somewhat dreamily. "Imagine that?"

"Many have, and many have pursued alchemical paths to attempt to achieve it … but almost no-one has ever succeeded."

"But your friend did?" Harry pointed out. "Or her father did, anyway."

"Yes, Nicolas was successful, one of the few Master Alchemists to ever live," Lily nodded. "And lived he has … for a very long time!"

"How long?"

"Over six hundred years."

Harry's mind swam at that. "And you almost did what he did? You could have lived that long too?"

"If I had finished the Work, it would have been possible," Lily confirmed.

"I think you should have," Harry told her. "I'd never have to worry about you dying then. I think I'd like that."

Lily looked down fondly at her son. "To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. It's an adventure that I'm not afraid to take one day. Living forever, watching all your friends and loved ones die, that's a fate far worse than death, if you ask me."

Harry considered that a moment. "Yeah … yeah I suppose it is. I didn't think about it like that."

"You'd be best not to think about it too much," Lily advised. "Don't become obsessed with death and forget to live. For that is where many witches and wizards go wrong with alchemy. They focus their energies on trying to avoid death, on trying to cheat their way around death, when in fact alchemy is a philosophy on how to live your best life.

"For true alchemists do not seek to purify metals … but to perfect themselves."

Harry cocked his head as he listened, trying to understand that. But he couldn't, so he asked his mother to explain.

"An alchemist purifies metal by repeating cycles," Lily went on. "They break down the old material, remove the imperfections they find, then coagulate it again as a purer form. Thus the basest iron can become the shiniest gold. The solutions they use for this process form the basis of their elixirs.

"But there is a much more philosophical side to this process. For as the alchemist succeeds, he learns and creates a new paradigm in his world. And if he does not absorb this new enlightenment, he cannot proceed to the even higher levels. This process organically improves the alchemist as a person, purging him of his limitations and opening his potential to even greater things.

"In this way, alchemists are some of the most powerful witches and wizards to ever live. As well as some of the wisest."

"Which is why this You-Know-Who person targeted your friend's father," Harry replied, sagely. "He needed someone like that to come back from the dead."

"Yes and no," Lily returned. "There is no magic that can awaken the dead, Harry. But Lord Voldemort never truly died. His body was destroyed, but his spirit endured. His return was always a possibility, however remote. But I want you to promise me something, Harry … that you will call Lord Voldemort by that moniker at least. Do not get caught up in all this You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nonsense."

"Okay, but why?"

"Because if you become so afraid of saying his name, you will become even more afraid of the wizard, himself," Lily warned. "That fear could cripple you, and Voldemort could weaponise it against you. Do not give him that power, my son … he has enough of his own as it is."

Harry swallowed hard, a ripple of anxiety creeping into his throat. "Mum … do you really think I'll have to face him then?"

"I think it is inevitable … but I don't want you to be afraid of him," Lily replied, bullishly. "If he is looking to come back, he will likely pick up where he left off … in pursuit of you. What he doesn't know is that you have it in you to defeat him for good … he's condemning himself by going up against you."

Harry felt buoyed by that, but still criminally under prepared for such a conflict. He couldn't wait to get a magic wand, to learn all sorts of combat spells to use on Voldemort when the time came. But that was for the future, for now alchemy was the best he had.

And as alchemy was such an obscure branch of magic, it wasn't covered by the myriad of detection sensors that saturated Pont-y-Annwn for any sign of the forbidden arts. So Lily decided to teach Harry the basic rudiments of alchemy while she still had time.

"What you have to remember, Harry, is that alchemy is a secret art," Lily explained. "As such, the language used to describe it can be allegorical, contradictory and confusing. Alchemists do this intentionally, to conceal their true meaning from prying eyes. But one of the most commonly used systems for spells in alchemy is this … which we call ancient runes."

Now this was something that Harry had heard of. The archaic Norse language of squiggly pictures and symbols carved into little stones had always fascinated him, and he was eager to learn how they tied into alchemy.

"Each rune has it's own, symbolic meaning," Lily went on. "But that meaning can change when placed in a spell with another rune, and runic spells are usually cast in sets of three. The effect of each rune in a spell is also dependent on where is it placed in the sequence, as well as it's relation to its fellows."

Harry blinked and looked up blankly. "That sounds complicated."

"I never said this would be easy," Lily grinned. "The combinations and interpretations are extensive … it may take a lifetime to learn them all … maybe more."

"How are you even supposed to start?" Harry grumbled. This didn't sound like something he could ever master.

"It helps to have the blessing of a rune," Lily whispered. "If the forces of nature favour you, they will bestow a Runic Grace upon you. It will imbue you with aspects of the rune that chooses you, and make you more adept at the alchemical process."

"Then get me a blessing!" Harry cried eagerly. "How do we do that?"

Lily beamed widely. "I was hoping you'd say that. I'll set up a ritual and we'll see if the universe favours us. It might take a day or two to get everything prepared, but be ready for it."


Early one morning, about three days later, Lily gently woke Harry and urged him to great dressed in the dark of his bedroom. He wrapped up warm and followed his mother from their estate home, and they stole across town while the rest of the city was still sleeping. The lights were just coming up now, which gave the citizens a sense of almost sunrise, which the Director of Pont-y-Annwn thought was a good idea for keeping up people's spirits down here in the eternal, palpable dark.

It was five o'clock and the city was utterly silent. There was mist and frost, droplets of it clung to the astroturf lawns and the wax resin trees … for it was impossible to grow real plants down here, so far away from the sunlight as they were. Nobody had yet been able to explain the frost, or the clouds which sometimes formed and wreathed the Light Deck in a dark, foreboding fog. There were stories that said there had even once been lightening down here, but nobody could remember if that was true or not.

But for now, Harry was simply trotting along in his mother's slipstream. She had promised to take him to secret location for her ritual, the place where they would begin his journey as an Alchemy Adept. Harry had absolutely no idea what that meant, but it was pleasantly alliterative and it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

But at first, the mystical location turned out to be a bit of a joke.

"Is this it?" Harry scoffed.

For the chamber there were in was distinctly unremarkable, apart from the fact that it was perfectly round, as it made by a massive drill bit. And it was very small. If Harry had laid down on the damp ground and stretched as far as he could go, he was reasonably convinced that he would have been able to touch both sides of the chamber. And it lacked the majesty and mystery he'd felt at the Inverted Pyramid. Harry was disappointed, he couldn't help it.

But then his mother flicked a switch that Harry hadn't seen, hidden into a groove in the wall.

There was a mechanicalcrunch of rock just above them, and a stream of light burst into the chamber. Harry shielded his eyes against it, peeking through his fingers until the initial shock of blindness passed. In the centre of the room was a pale cylinder of stone so white that it might have been silver. Harry couldn't really tell. It was exactly the same diameter as the shaft of light, and Harry was hit with a confusing impression as he looked at it.

For it was almost as if the cylinder was creating the light, sending it up rather than it coming down from above. It was the most bizarre thing.

Then Harry looked around the chamber and was startled by what he saw. The walls were not rough as he'd imagined, but perfectly smooth … apart from the hundreds and hundreds of little etchings carved into the stonework. Harry run his fingers along the nearest one.

"Runes!" he hushed to his mother. "They are everywhere!"

"Well spotted," Lily grinned. "They create the power all around us."

"And where are we, exactly?"

This is the Apex Room of the inverted pyramid," Lily revealed. "it is one of the most focused locations for magic that I have ever come across. If you are to be favoured by the forces of alchemy, then this is where you will receive your blessing."

"Then how do we start?" Harry chirruped. "I'm ready."

"Take a seat," Lily urged, motioning Harry towards the cylinder of light. "Then we can begin."

Feeling rather foolish, Harry moved forwards and lowered himself onto the cylinder. For a few moments, nothing happened. But just as Harry was about to give this up as a bad job, his mother began walking around him, placing the most bizarre set of objects on the ground as she muttered to herself.

Harry watched as his mother cupped her hands out in front of her. Suddenly, a small, domed tower materialised in her hands.

"The athanor - provider of the Secret Flame," she whispered reverently. "I call on the Spirits of Fire to imbibe my circle."

A sweep of energy thundered around the little chamber. Harry felt it pound through his body like a sonic boom.

Lily stepped to the right. "The horn of the unicorn, a sacred creature. I call on the Spirits of the Earth to imbibe my circle."

Another heady sweep of magic coated them both.

"The talons of an owl, messengers of the sky. I call on the Spirits of the Air to imbibe my circle."

Lily moved to stand behind Harry now. He felt pinpricks of energy on his skin as this torrent of magic rushed over him. Lily conjured miniature waves from thin air, which hung surreally between her palms. "The swell of the raging ocean. I call on the Spirits of Water to imbibe my circle."

If anyone had been watching through a window, they might have thought that the room had been hit by a sudden hurricane. Rarely, in the history of magical Britain, had a level of magic of this magnitude ever been recorded.

But Lily wasn't yet done. She knelt in front of Harry, and placed a little item on the ground at his feet.

"The Acorn - the power of Autumn," she breathed, tapping the little nut with her wand. She then placed a second totem to the left of the first. "And a head of barley, to summon the heart of Spring."

Lily switched to her other hand. "A snowflake, to call to us, the Winter, and a captured sunbeam, the energy of Summer."

The magic now became so intense that as it heaved around Harry, he nearly fainted from the force of it. Then Lily held her hands aloft in front of her, as if in prayer.

"I call upon the Spirits of Alchemy to favour my son, to mark him as an Adept, should they see fit," Lily chanted. She drew two vials from her robe, one full of a silvery potion, the other of something red, and offered them to Harry, who took them in his trembling fingers.

"I call on Queen Luna, Goddess of the Moon, to bless my child," Lily called out. "I offer mercury, body of the White Queen, and my own blessed power."

She motioned to Harry,who uncorked the first vial, took a steadying breath, and drank the potion in one. It tasted like cinnamon and sugar, which made Harry less skeptical about drinking the second one, which he guessed was in his immediate future.

"I call on King Sol, Lord of the Sun, to bless my child," Lily cried again. "I offer sulphur, body of the Red King, and my own blessed power."

Harry downed the second potion, which had something of the liquorice about the taste. He felt funny. The second potion was like drinking liquid ice. But nothing seemed to be happening. And then … from somewhere high in the chamber, there was a snap and a rumble of low thunder … and then …

A bolt of lightening streaked down and hit Harry right in the forehead, ust above his right eye.

Bizarrely though, it didn't hurt at all. Rather, it tickled, like being licked by a kitten's bobbly tongue.

"Well … is that it?" asked Harry. "Did it work?"

"Um, well … I think so," Lily smiled weakly. She was wringing her hands like a guilty child who had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. Harry frowned at her.

"What?"

"Well, you've always liked you pretty face, haven't you?" Lily began slowly.

"Yes," Harry replied, carefully. Where was this going?

"Always been rather pleased that you don't have any spots or blemishes or birthmarks?"

"Mum …? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying … this might not be your day."

Lily then reached into her purse and whipped out a make-up mirror that she carried around with her for emergencies. Slowly, reluctantly, she handed it over to Harry, who took it with even greater reticence. He looked into the little circle of glass with a sense of cold dread … and lost his breath in an angry rush.

For instead of an unblemished face, Harry now had a very prominent scar on his forehead, sticking out starkly against his pale, milky skin. It was glistening with the moisture of being freshly cut, and Harry touched it gingerly with his fingertips. It stung slightly, but Harry still traced the shape, recognising the ancient symbol now carved into his skin.

For the scar looked very much like the sowilo rune … the Rune of the Sun … a rune curiously shaped like a bolt of lightening …