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Chapter Fifty-Five—Fire

“Potter! Wait up.”

Harry turns around, a bit curious. In truth, he feels so detached most of the time now that the curiosity is as strong, relatively, as it would be in normal times. Every spare bit of him is straining forwards to arrive at the ritual.

But Pansy calling his name in the corridor when he’s on his way to Care of Magical Creatures, especially loudly enough to attract attention from other people, is pretty unusual. So he slows down and waits.

Pansy comes to a halt in front of him, panting, and then pauses and stares at him. “Are you all right, Potter? You don’t look good.”

“I’m all right,” Harry says absently. “What was the thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Not here.”

Harry thinks that’s kind of silly when she was the one to chase him down yelling in the middle of the corridor and could have just talked to him in the common room, but he follows her over to an alcove. It is easier to anchor a Privacy Charm to the sides of the walls there, which Pansy promptly does.

“What is it?” Harry asks again.

Pansy turns to face him, and she’s the one who should look in a mirror before she starts shouting about him not looking good. Her face is pale and her eyes huge and bloodshot.

“I used some of the new talent last night,” Pansy says softly. “It says that death is coming to the school the day before OWLS.”

Harry half-smiles. “Did it?”

“Yes. Are you laughing at me? Are you one of those fools who thinks Runic Divination is as useless as the rest of it?”

Harry shrugs. “No. I don’t know enough about it one way or the other to make a judgment like that. But I already knew about death coming that day. I’m the one who intends to bring it.”

Pansy opens her mouth and says nothing. Harry just looks patiently back at her, reaching up with one hand when Lion’s uneasy uncoiling back and forth on his shoulder gets irritating.

“That’s the day that you intend to hold the ritual for Theo,” Pansy whispers at last. “Isn’t it?”

Harry nods. “But I would suggest you keep this to yourself.”

Pansy tosses her hair over her shoulder. Already, she looks a little more normal than she did. Less pale, at least. “As if I would talk to people about this,” she half-snarls. “But the runes did say that I could die if I stay here.”

The question in her eyes is huge and liquid, and Harry answers it gently. “I’m not planning to sacrifice you.”

“Then why would the runes say that?”

“The person I’m sacrificing will have—objections. And they could make those objections known in a way that makes it dangerous for other people to be near them.”

Pansy bites her lip hard, and then nods. “All right. But I hope that you won’t take it the wrong way if I leave the school instead of staying here to maybe become an accidental casualty in the name of your saving Theo.”

“Of course I won’t take it wrong.”

Pansy pauses, eyeing him. Harry watches her back, calmly.

“You really wouldn’t mind if other people die in the pursuit of your saving Theo, though,” Pansy says at last, her voice subdued. “You don’t care.”

“I would regret it. But I’m going to do it anyway.”

Pansy tilts her head, eyes locked on him, and Harry has no idea what’s going through her head. It’s not like he knows her as well as he knows his other friends. Finally, she says, “Are you going down the path of a Dark Lord?”

Harry blinks. Then he shrugs. “If I was able to save Theo, or other people after this, by becoming a Dark Lord, yeah. I’d do that.”

“All right,” Pansy says, and she nods to him before she turns and walks away.

Harry leans against the wall for a moment with his eyes closed. It’s rare that he gets even this amount of time alone, what with people wanting to work with him and asking for his protection and learning from him in the Room of Requirement and wanting to know how the ritual is going.

“You should ask for a Speaker to be there.”

Harry touches Lion’s wing and spends a moment stroking it, wringing little contented hisses from the snake. “Lyassa will be there, but she’ll be subject to the same restrictions that the other people who are attending the ritual will.”

“She should not be.”

Harry says nothing. Lion doesn’t approve of what Harry is planning to do—or what he thinks Harry is planning to. Harry hasn’t told him the truth any more than he has anyone else.

Someday, he hopes, he will be able to explain, and apologize.

He swallows, closes his eyes, and steps out of the alcove into the flow of the corridor again. There are eyes on him, whispers following him, words echoing in his head.

It doesn’t matter. He will follow the path to its end.

*

“It’s going to be the day before OWLS?”

“Yes.”

Theo watches Harry with his eyes narrowed. Harry just watches him back. His hand rises to soothe Lion, who’s writhing and hissing in tangled patterns on his shoulder. If he’s bothered by anything, including Theo’s lack of questions, he doesn’t show it. He just waits, and Theo reaches a hand up and traces the Sowilo rune in the air.

Harry blinks. Then he says, “If that helps, by all means do it.”

“Are you going to have the rune in the ritual?”

“Anchoring the corners of the binding circle, yes.”

“And what else are you going to do?”

“I’ve told you as much as I’ve told anyone, Theo.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me.”

Harry stands there and smiles. Theo finally steps back with a roll of his eyes that he tries to make as calm and unconcerned as he can. “I suppose I don’t have much choice if I want to get my mind back.”

Harry uncoils then, rather like Lion, reaching out to snag a hand around Theo’s wrist. “You always have a choice,” he whispers. “It was following me that got you into this mess in the first place. If you don’t want to participate in the ritual, or if you don’t want to do what I’ll need you to do, then just say it. I’ll find another way to accomplish it.”

Theo stares at him. “You’ll turn your back on the ritual?”

“No. I’ll find another way to accomplish it if you don’t want to participate.”

Harry’s eyes are so cold. It makes Theo think he should reach out to see if they really feel like the two pieces of green ice that they resemble. “Harry, it’s me.”

Harry blinks once. “Yes, I know that. I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t you. I would find some other way.”

“And what happens to me if you die?”

“I don’t intend to.”

“That doesn’t answer anything!”

Harry watches him.

Theo takes a slow breath and shakes his head. This probably is just another indication that he isn’t himself, because most of the time, he can’t imagine feeling this fluttered and panicky. He misses the person he was—he thinks he was—before the Soul-Breaker, who was calm and cold and knew exactly what he should do in every situation. Now, he steps back and inclines his head. “As you will, my lord.”

“Does that mean that you won’t be part of the ritual?” For a second, Harry’s fingers press down harder on Theo’s wrist.

“No. I’ll be there. I won’t allow you to do this without me.”

Harry does smile, then, and it seems to flare through his face like the blaze of the sun on snow. “Thanks, Theo.”

He lets go and walks off, and Theo watches him go, rubbing absently at his wrist, even though Harry certainly didn’t grip him there strongly enough to create a bruise. He just watches, and then turns around and traces the Sowilo rune in the air again.

His mind clears like clouds breaking. Theo nods. He’ll be there, and he’ll do what he needs to do to win his sanity back again…

Unless Harry is in danger. Then Theo will gladly and joyously sacrifice his life for his best friend, his lord, the person who gave him so much of a sense of purpose these last few years.

He wouldn’t want to live knowing his lord died for him, anyway.

*

“I would be much easier if you would let me help with the ritual.”

“That’s not why you’re here,” Harry hisses at Lyassa. He doesn’t take his eyes away from the binding circle in the center of the stone room deep in the dungeons. Well, in truth, there are two circles. One is the binding circle that Ron found to hold Voldemort, and is smaller and off to the side. The other is a larger one that has five rings projecting towards the walls. Circles for Theo, Tarquinius, Severus, Sirius, and Lyassa, to keep them safe from the energies unleashed.

Harry smiles at them.

“That smile is disturbing.”

“You told me once that you were no judge of human expressions.”

“That one is still disturbing.”

Harry shrugs a little, his eyes locked on the circles. They’re formed by lines scored gently into the stone via a curse that Harry found in a book the Room of Requirement showed him. Thin channels sliced by precise fire mean that they’ll be hard as hell to erase, or cross, once Harry fills them with the magic that he intends to use.

“And you will sacrifice Tarquinius.”

“Yes. I had the impression that you’d agreed to this since we talked about it months ago. Do you want to retain him alive now?”

Lyassa sways back and forth for a long time before answering, and Harry takes his eyes away from the circles long enough to stare at her. Tarquinius has to be here. There’s no choice in that.

“I don’t want to keep him alive,” Lyassa finally answers. “But I question your ability to handle a wizard so powerful when I fully release my control from him, as I will have to do in the moments before his death.”

Harry snorts. “What do you think the circles are going to do, if not keep the people in them from crossing the lines?”

Lyassa turns around and stares at the circles, barely blinking. Then she says, “I see. I thought they were mostly to keep us safe during the ritual, but they are also to make sure that we can’t interfere.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You are so confident in your ability to handle this kind of ritual. What is going to happen if that confidence is misplaced?”

Harry matches her stare for stare, even if he can’t maintain his own unblinking for as long as Lyassa can hers. “I would destroy the boundaries of the circles at that point, and allow you to interfere.”

Lyassa goes very still, looming above him. “These kinds of circles cannot be destroyed like that. Not without releasing the kind of violent magical backlash that would destroy everyone in the room.”

“And?”

“I think you have something else planned to protect us if things go wrong. The kinds of things you would tell no one about.”

Harry smiles, and doesn’t reply.

Lyassa gives a long hiss without words, then reaches out and places her hand on Harry’s forehead above his scar. He’s so startled that he lets her.

“Let me leave you with a blessing that is all I can give you,” Lyassa says. “Something that may help you if things go wrong.” She gives another wordless hiss, long enough to make Harry feel like air is swirling around him, and then she turns and slides off into the darkness. Harry sees a flash of light that is probably her returning to the Speakers’ world.

Harry blinks at the darkness for a few minutes, and then Lion loops his tail around Harry’s neck and says, “It is a powerful blessing.”

“You can feel it? You know what it is?”

“I know that is powerful, and that it waits around your neck like a snake you have yet to summon into being.”

After a few moments’ thought, Harry dismisses that. Maybe the blessing will be useful. He doesn’t think he knows enough about it to say right now.

He strides over to the part of the room where the five circles converge. He wasn’t lying. One for Tarquinius, one for Theo, one for Lyassa, one for Severus, one for Sirius. One each to keep them safe but permit them to see what’s happening without participating in it.

Harry slices his wand down the air, and an illusion that he set up before Lyassa ever entered the room crumbles into scraps of light. Instead of five binding circles in this part of the room, there are seven. The most powerful magical number, and two circles that need to be hidden because the others wouldn’t understand.

Harry smiles at them. One for himself, with more porous carving surrounding it than the others, so that Harry’s magic can reach beyond it and create the part of the ritual that he needs to work the sacrifice.

One for him, and…

One where the true sacrifice will stand.

*

“That’s Dark magic, Sirius.”

Sirius doesn’t look away from the heavy grey book hovering in front of him, where he’s copying down the lines of a ritual that can be done entirely in runes, without circles or chants. “I know, Remus.”

“Do you believe it’s worth it to do that kind of magic? Just to stop Harry?”

“I do.” Sirius lays down his quill and stretches and looks up at his friend. Remus looks as though he’s about to faint from worry. “I’m sorry,” Sirius adds in a softer voice. “I would do something else if I thought something else could save Harry. But this is my only option.”

“You know he won’t thank you for interfering with something that he thinks will give him his best friend back. He might attack you.”

Sirius looks back at his notes for the fifty-fourth time, and uses one hand to smooth the page down. He says nothing. But Remus stands next to him and looks anxious, and Sirius finally says and gives in.

“I’ll be upset if Nott dies, sure. I spent time with the kid when we were talking about him becoming an Animagus. But I put Harry before everyone else. If he lives and he’s angry at me and never wants to talk to me again, then at least he’ll still be alive.”

“And if he wants to use you as the sacrifice instead?”

“You think he would do that?”

“If you messed up his ritual and you were handy? You were there? Maybe.”

Sirius plays with his notes some more. Then he finally sets them aside and looks up at Remus.

“Harry is not a Dark Lord. I really believe that. He cares about his friends, but he wouldn’t sacrifice another of them to save Nott. If anything, I think it’s going to be him. And if he turned around and drove the knife into my chest instead in an excess of grief…” Sirius shuts his eyes. “Yeah, I would be willing to die for him.”

Remus crashes into Sirius, hugging him hard. Sirius reaches up and hugs him back. His hands are shaking.

“I don’t want it to come to that,” Remus whispers. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know. I don’t really want to die, either. I’d just prefer that to Harry dying.”

Remus closes his eyes and hangs onto him. Sirius stares over Remus’s shoulder at the calculations he’s made on the parchment, then shuts his own eyes.

He knows his method will work. And Harry won’t be able to do anything to stop Sirius from shifting the burden of the sacrifice over to himself.

It’s a much clearer and crueler death than he’s told Remus, choosing to sacrifice himself instead of just keeping Harry from committing suicide. But he wants to leave Remus with as little worry as possible, so he won’t tell him.

*

Severus steps back and eyes the potion in its flask for a moment. The bubbles move slowly and more slowly in the thick, green, gelatinous liquid, and then they stop.

Severus nods, pulls the potion from the fire, and drinks it before he can rethink this.

The feeling of cold that flashes through his limbs is more piercing than fire. Severus bends over, eyes closed, not crying out. This potion itself has elements of ritual, which is why he had to begin the brewing under a full moon. If he makes a sound now, he loses the best of the effects, which he will need to save Harry.

Slowly, the cold burning fades. As slowly, Severus stands up, and conjures a mirror. When he sticks his tongue out, fangs made of flickering green light form in his mouth and then fade, the sign that the potion is working.

Severus closes his eyes and leans back against the wall behind him.

He was present in the corridor when Parkinson confronted Harry and dragged him to the alcove. He followed and pierced the wards with his own magic. He listened. He heard. He knows what day death is coming to Hogwarts.

The potion will remain in his body, and great strength, both magical and physical, will rise at his call when he needs it. He will prevent Harry from sacrificing himself, while making sure he can live at the same time.

Harry will need Severus when he cannot rescue Mr. Nott.

*

Harry straightens up slowly from examining the lines he’s carved into the floor, including the two circles that were previously hidden with an illusion. He has no one with him, not even Lion, who he left asleep on his pillow.

Time to begin.

Harry slashes his wand across the air the way that he did when dropping the illusion, and thinks, Fire.

Fire blossoms where his wand passes, and white sheets of flame shoot along the carved lines like water. Harry pivots to send more flame down the lines of the other circles, and hears a thin, high singing as it appears, like a bird pressed between two panes of glass.

That’s a sign it’s working, but he has to have more. So he lifts his wand and thinks again, Fire.

More fire, and more, and more. Harry waits until he’s sure that he’s conjured all the flames he’s capable of producing and also that all the lines are lit with glimmering brilliance. Then he casts the large emerald he chose on the shadow leopard’s urging into the middle of the fire.

It flashes, once, in such a way that it’s impossible to tell what’s the fire and what’s the gem. And then it settles abruptly. There’s only the emerald, shining in the middle of all the circles, with all the fire inside it.

Harry smiles at it. He can sense the shadows stirring around him, and knows the leopard’s probably watching, but he ignores that.

He’s done what he can. He’s made all the right moves. Everybody who’s planning to come to the ritual, and everybody who’s planning to disrupt it, thinks they know what he’s doing.

They’re wrong.

The secret of what Harry’s doing is locked in the emerald, and won’t come forth unless and until it’s needed.

Harry has ensured that if anyone does attack the ritual and try to interrupt it, they will fail. Potions master or godfather, friend or shadow leopard, it doesn’t matter. He is in command here, and the fire will rise and dance at his call.

The ritual will do exactly what it’s supposed to do.