An Opus Alchymicum Vol 4: The Dæmon's Crucible

The Dæmon's Crucible

Buckbeak was a disgruntled Hippogriff at the best of times, so being whipped through the air by Phoenix Apparition wasn't good for his mood at all. His pride suggested he could have flown the distance quicker ... Fawkes' wise old head suggested he return to Hogwarts sharpish, once he'd delivered the Hippogriff to Harry, Hermione and Professor Dumbledore.

The three of them looked up at the huge crack in the sky. It looked like a snaking canyon of angry storm clouds, and most of the surviving population would probably think that's what it was, too. By the time anyone thought anything different, the rift would have healed, the sky would return to normal and the future would be solely in the hands of a few, very devious individuals hell-bent on getting their dream of total control.

"What a heinous crime," Dumbledore sighed, sadly. "All those lives lost. So sad."

"How many died, Sir?" Harry asked. "Are there any early guesses?"

"Many thousands ... many, many thousands," Dumbledore replied. "It is a tragedy to define our age."

"I'm sorry we can't do anything to prevent it," Hermione mumbled. "If we could, we would. But -"

"The impact on the continuum of Time would be far too great," Dumbledore smiled genially. "I know my temporal mechanics well enough, Miss Granger, as clearly do you. I think you may well be the brightest witch of your age I have ever come across."

"Thank you, Sir," Hermione muttered bashfully.

"I think you're quite wrong about that, Professor," Harry frowned. "Hermione isn't just the brightest witch of this age, she's the brightest witch of any and every age, too."

Dumbledore smiled kindly at them both, his eyes twinkling brightly. "Yes, I feel you may be right, Harry."

Hermione was much too embarrassed to respond to that, so she just buried her face behind her hands instead. Dumbledore looked up at the sky to preserve her modesty.

"You should waste no more time. Climb aboard Buckbeak, here."

Harry did the bowing honours, Dumbledore helped him to mount the hippogriff, then Hermione slipped on in front of him. She took the Time-Turner from her robes and set the little dial on the side from hours to days. Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at her.

"Three turns should do it, Miss Granger," he suggested. "And do try not to be seen."

"We'll do our best," Harry vowed faithfully.

"Good luck," Dumbledore nodded. "I hope I shall see you in three days ... with the future firmly back in the hands of Fate."

With that, he waved a last goodbye. Hermione took a steadying breath, checked with Harry that he was ready, then turned the little hourglass three times.

It was like watching a movie reel in reverse running at incredible speed. People, weather, vehicles. Sounds all mashed together in a cacophony of colour and noise. Harry closed his eyes against the nausea it caused in him. Every time he'd used the Time-Turner before he'd been sure to do it in a secluded place, like a storage cupboard or something, and he only ever went back an hour at most.

So watching three days worth of time rewind before his eyes was really quite dizzying.

Hermione, too, seemed a little green when the reversal of time finally stopped. She wobbled a bit on Buckbeak's neck and Harry had to hold on tight to her waist to ensure she didn't simply slip off.

"Next time, let's do that somewhere dark," Hermione suggested.

Harry looked at his hands still clutching Hermione's waist and his stomach twisted awkwardly.