Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work.

Ithaca

Chapter One

Hermione Granger watched as her best friend enter the Hedge Maze. She could feel her stomach knotting as he disappeared from sight. She detested that all she could do was watch him face whatever was in there. She frowned as he vanished into the darkness of the maze,

That was part of the challenge, she guessed, facing the unknown with nothing more than a wand as a guide. Deep down she knew full well that he was prepared. She'd spent too many nights going over all of the spells they could find that they thought would serve any purpose in the maze for him to not be prepared. And she knew he relished the thought of facing his fears, of walking into uncharted territory. Harry Potter, she knew, was more excited than afraid.

He'd never been one to be afraid. No, that was her and Ron. They'd been afraid enough for all three of them. Even now Ron clenched her hand so tightly in his that it was painful. She didn't care though, she liked the security it provided.

A security she'd needed a lot of in her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh sure, in September it had sounded amazingly fun. The revival of a famous old tournament for the older students? That was certainly going to be more interesting than watching stupid quidditch matches every couple of months. And, she was sure, would cause there to be far more conversations about magic than sports.

She hadn't been wrong, but it had been a bit of a monkey's paw argument. Sure, she hadn't had to listen to any dreadfully boring quidditch talk for the entire year. But, of course, Harry's name had somehow come out of the Goblet.

It didn't matter that he was too young to compete. Or that Hogwarts already had a champion. Or that he hadn't put his name in or arranged for it to be in at all. Of course those details didn't matter in the least. Why would they?

Oh no, he had to compete! His name had come out of the Goblet after all. So he had to compete. Simple as that! Even if it made no sense. No, that didn't matter. New rules put in place? Why would those matter?

Hermione was still furious about that. How the Headmaster hadn't managed to find some loop hole, some way around the stupidity of a fourteen-year-old boy with no interest of competing being forced to. Well, she had no idea. It was absurd to her. The only thought she could get to, logically, was that the older Wizard hadn't really been interested in preventing Harry from competing.

But the why of that she couldn't figure out. No matter how much her mind wandered around the problem. And that was all it was capable of doing at the moment, as a gigantic hedge maze was certainly a terrible venue for viewing final task.

Dragons had been absurd, everyone knew that. Bringing violent fire-breathing beasts to the school and then having students evade them was just a horrible idea. There was no way to justify it. And frankly, there were lucky no one was killed!

But, she had to admit, grudgingly, that it had been entertaining to watch. Even if the French harlot had the most unique solution, magically speaking. She couldn't help but wonder just how challenging it must have been to enchant a dragon to sleep. Just the amount of power it would take one person to pull that off seemed shocking. And for a seventeen year old witch to do it? Well it was rather remarkable.

Cedric and Viktor had also at least used magic to get to their goal. Both in characteristically obvious ways.

Cedric had out-thought the problem and gotten past it on sheer determination with a series of incredible transfigurations long enough to play to the dragon's most basic needs. He'd distracted it with food and managed to get to his goal while it wasn't looking. It was artful and effective but was really nothing more than a series of simple spells used effectively.

Viktor had just powered right on through it. He was the only one who'd attacked the dragon. It yielded mixed results. But he'd succeeded in the end. Hermione frowned at the thought as her mind pulled her elsewhere. It should have been obvious then, but she hadn't been looking at it close enough.

Viktor powered through everything. He'd grown too accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted, as soon as he wanted it, that nothing seemed interested in standing in his way. The dragon had been some trouble, but not enough.

It irritated her now that she'd been too blind to it all. But, in the end, it was his forcing his way into any situation that soured their relationship. He'd thought he deserved something from her after the second task. Something that she wasn't remotely ready to give.

Ron had taken her entire relationship with Viktor, if it could even be called that, very poorly. So poorly that she never brought up the ending of it to him.

No, it had been Harry who'd sat with her, held her, let her cry into his shoulder after it was all over. And he hadn't pressed at all, he'd been able to just tell that she didn't want, or need, to talk about it.

Eventually, everything had gone back to normal between the three of them. And they never brought it up together. Which she was thankful for. But it had been one specific friend who'd gotten her to that point. And it was the same friend that she wasn't able to help out now. And that thought still ate away at her.

She was lucky she'd been asleep during the second task. And not just because most of the students complained it was too difficult to actually view any of the action. Because at least for that task she wasn't worried about Harry. Although Harry's wellbeing was her first thought when she woke up.

Memories of the complaints about the second task drew her back to reality. There wasn't any action from the maze. From the top of the quidditch stands they could see parts of it. But the hedges seemed to alter and move and block views whenever someone game upon anything hazardous. She had the briefly morbid thought that perhaps it was enchanted so that they wouldn't be able to see anything too gruesome.

The only spot they could consistently see was the center of the maze. Where the final trophy, the glowing Triwzard Cup, sat on prime display.

She couldn't help but agree with Dean Thomas's mutterings in front of her though. Her father loved football and racing and the cameras on that never missed any of the action. And yet here they were, hosting the Triwizard Tournament, viewing it live, and it was almost impossible to catch a glimpse of anything going on.

She let out a long, annoyed sigh as she thought more about it. Ron, his sister Ginny and Lavender Brown, the three people closest to her in the stands, all shifted away as she did. She frowned, thinking they probably expected her to start lecturing at any moment. But she had nothing to lecture on. Really, she just wanted this to be over.

Hermione continued to scan the maze, doing her best to keep Harry in her sights. It seemed to her like the crowd was losing some interest in the task. Conversations were popping up here and there, a small din rising from the stands.

Ludo Bagman, the tournament's announcer, seemed to notice this and suddenly his voice boomed through the stands, narrating some of what was going on in the maze. Hermione tuned him out and continued to keep her focus on Harry.

"It's going to rain," Ron sighed, staring up at the sky.

"I hope not," Ginny responded, frowning as a flash of lightning streaked off in the distance.

"That will make this miserable," Ron added.

"More so for those in the maze," Hermione chided.

"It'll make it even harder to see," Ron said.

"And colder," Ginny sighed, casting a preemptive warming charm on herself.

"You should have worn a sweater," Hermione said.

"Something's happening," Ron said as the rain began to fall. Hermione took out her wand and charmed the area around her to deflect the water. Other students were probably annoyed with her, but they were free to cast the same spell themselves.

"Who was over there?" Ginny asked as flames rose from one of the hedges.

"Fleur Delacour, I think," Lavender said as the rain started to fall harder. She leaned closer to the others, trying to get more of her body under Hermione's spell. The professors and officials flying around the maze all convened on that location as more lightning streamed around them.

Fire and smoke continued to rise up from the hedges as time slowed to a crawl. It seemed as if every person in the stands leaned toward the action, trying to get a glimpse of whatever could be causing it. Trying to will the hedges to move to reveal more of the action.

But the hedges didn't move. At least not while there was anything to see. Eventually a slew of magical sparks flew into the air. Two of the officials dived into the maze, forcing their brooms quickly to the ground. They emerged a moment later cradling the body of Fleur Delacour.

The French Champion's uniform was shredded, scraps of it clinging wetly to her body. Her hair, which had been in a pristine bun when she'd entered the maze, was disheveled and part of it appeared to have been burned away. There were also visible burns on her skin.

"Oh, Merlin is she dead?" Ginny gasped.

"She's still breathing," Hermione said, noticing a slow rising and falling from the champion's chest.

"Oh, thank God," Ginny said.

"For sure. The world can't afford that loss," Ron japed. Ginny hit him on the back, a resounding thunk echoing with the impact.

"Prat," she said.

"Ow," Ron whined. Hermione slid her hand from his and continued staring at the maze. Her eyes flashed to the cup in the center, wishing that someone would step into that small area and claim it for their own, ending the entire thing. But she wouldn't be that lucky. Not this quickly, that much she knew. She watched the rain continue to fall, pooling on the ground as the officials rushed Fleur away from the arena.

"I wonder what got her," Hermione said in an attempt to get her mind off just what could be happening to Harry. Of course, she knew that whatever had ended the French champion's night could easily end Harry's.

"Probably that," Ginny gasped as Hermione's question was answered by one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended monsters punching through one of the hedges. It hissed, an oddly cackling noise as the rain impacted on its still smoking end. The creature charged toward the stands, but about twenty spells hit it immediately. When the dust cleared there wasn't anything left of it.

Hermione paused for a moment, finding herself feeling pity for the thing. She wondered if Hagrid knew all along just what those creatures were going to be used for. And if the giant felt sad for its demise. She shook that thought out of her head.

Excruciatingly long minutes passed as they continued to stare at the maze. She heard Ginny and Lavender talking but didn't pay attention to their conversations. Instead she just kept watching the maze, her entire body tense with nerves as she waited for something else to happen.

She didn't have to wait long. Moments later bright flashes of color shot from the maze, contrasting with the occasional flash of lightning. They were the unmistakable signs of dueling. Hermione bit her lip as she watched. A duel was certainly not an area Harry would have an advantage. She hoped it wasn't him. But why would the Champions be fighting each other? The goal was to get to the center of the maze.

Well, no, she thought. The goal was to win a race to the center of the maze. And a disabled opponent was considerably less likely to make it all the way to the center. Getting rid of the competition merely meant whoever was left could be more careful.

The flashes continued for about three minutes before they stopped. No sparks rose this time. Two officials again floated over toward where the action had been. They swooped into the maze and emerged with Cedric Diggory.

"He's not moving at all," Ginny said.

"No, he isn't," Hermione said.

"That's…not good," Ron added.

"What happened in there," Lavender gasped.

"There's no way to know," Hermione frowned as the officials sped off toward the castle with Cedric's body.

"What if something happens to Harry?" Ginny gasped.

"We've been saying that the entire tournament," Ron said as reassuringly as possible. "And yet he's still fine. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"It's just him and Krum left in there, though," Ginny said. "And you've heard what they teach at Durmstrang!"

"He'll figure it out," Ron said, his tone betraying his words.

"He better," Ginny said.

And their watch continued. A half hour passed with no action. Then an hour. And then another. The rain slowed and stopped in that time as everyone in the crowd grew progressively more fidgety. The only visible movement from before them was the maze shifting every few moments.

Whispers started to circulate through the crowd about what happened to Fleur and Cedric. But there seemed to be nothing but rampant speculation with no basis or backing, so Hermione ignored them.

And then it happened again. This time the flashes of magic were near the center of the maze. What seemed like just feet from the cup. They exploded more brightly than they had before. And continued for far longer.

No, this was not some quick fight. The magic grew bright and brighter as it flashed around parts of the maze. It seemed nearly constant and it just continued and continued and continued. She didn't know how two people could fight for as long as they did.

Until finally there was one bright flash of purple light, bright and powerful enough that chunks of the hedges blasted up into the air and two officials had to dodge out of the way of the debris. They did not dive into the maze immediately this time. Instead they hovered for a moment as if being held back by something.

But that only lasted for a moment. Eventually they dived, far more cautiously than before, as if afraid of whatever they'd just seen. When they emerged a few minutes later, the blood red robes were an easy enough identifier of who they brought back with them.

"Holy shit," Ron said.

"Did he just win?" Ginny asked.

"Not unless he gets to the cup," Hermione frowned. And then she couldn't help it, the pedantic know-it-all part of her had to add. "The last time a tournament was held all the contestants died on the last task and there was no winner."

"Well that's fantastic news," Ron said, darkly.

They didn't have to worry for very long, though. It was merely minutes later when Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, stumbled into the center of the maze. He stared at the cup for a few seconds, taking a moment to adjust his disheveled robes. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that small action.

He didn't look that bad, all things entailed. He was limping slightly, sure, and he held one hand gingerly at his side. But he was still ambulatory and didn't seem that hobbled. And it would all be over soon, so she wouldn't have to worry about that for much longer.

Harry walked slowly up to the cup. It seemed to take him about twice as many steps as it should have. He paused as he stood right before it and then, after taking a deep breath, he reached out and grabbed it.

And then the world exploded.

No, Hermione thought, that was too dramatic. There was merely a blinding flash of light so bight that she assumed it would make the Muggle papers the next morning. It only flashed for a few seconds but it took longer for her to blink her vision back into focus.

When it was finally in focus again she stared down at the center of the maze. Naturally, it was completely empty. She blinked a couple more times just to make sure that everything was in focus, that her mind wasn't playing any tricks on her. But the chaos that erupted told her it wasn't.

The officials all descended on the maze and started to disenchant it and clear it away Working hastily, as if afraid of what they would find when it was gone. Professors Dumbledore, Sprout, and McGonagall joined them immediately as Flitwick and Snape sped off toward the castle.

They worked quickly. At first, some of the other Professors tried to herd the students away from the maze. But there was too much pushback from all three of the schools present. Instead they watched the maze be torn down.

Eventually they seemed to realize it would be quicker with more help. And many students, including Hermione, joined in with vanishing and disenchanting bits of hedges while the professors took care of some of the more dangerous creatures, including a banshee, and a vampire.

It took about an hour to clear away everything and when they'd finished there was still no sign of Harry Potter. She heard Rita Skeeter mumbling nearby, dictating a headline to herself and giggling about 'The Lost Champion' as it were. Her expression was far too gleeful so Hermione moved quickly away from her and toward Dumbledore.

"Where could he be?" she heard McGonagall hiss under the din of noise from the students.

"I do not know," Dumbledore said. It occurred to Hermione they were standing near the center of the maze at that point. Dumbledore was waving his wand around, and then staring at it as if looking for a reading.

"And how was he doing that?" McGonagall asked. "You saw what he did to that Durmstrang boy. Krum should have been able to beat him easily after what he did to Diggory. But Harry overpowered him. How is that even possible?"

"Again, Minerva, I do not know," Dumbledore said.

"We should have never let him compete. This entire situation was awful from the start. We should have done something," McGonagall said. Dumbledore let her rant as he frowned down at his wand.

"A portkey," he said.

"What?" McGonagall asked.

"Someone turned the cup into a Portkey," Dumbledore said.

"To where?" McGonagall asked.

"Somewhere south of here," Dumbledore frowned, shaking his wand as if he expected that to change the reading. "I need you to gather up all of the staff and officials and confiscate their wands."

"They won't like that," McGonagall said.

"Portkey enchantments don't last long," Dumbledore said. The staff and officials are the only ones who had access to the cup. Whoever cast it is either still here or fled. I trust you have the list of everyone who present."

"Of course," McGonagall said. "I will get to work."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said. The transfiguration professor nodded and walked away from him, starting the task at hand.

Hermione tried to get closer. She knew there probably wasn't anything she could do to help but she wanted to at least try. However, she was almost immediately ushered away by a copper-skinned Ravenclaw prefect.

But Hermione used Padma Patil sprinting toward the same Prefect as an excuse to slip away unnoticed. She decided this time to keep her distance and just help out with the clean up as much as possible as the deconstruction of the maze and capturing of the creatures inside continued.

To her surprise she found herself working next to a sphinx for a few moments, and two harpies moments later, before ministry officials approached the creatures and requested they return home. All three complied without any fight and Hermione wondered, for a moment, just how dangerous the tournament was.

Of course there were other things she saw being led away that seemed far less sentient than those creatures. She shivered slightly as a few acromantula wandered past. Her main goal, though, wasn't to assist with the cleanup. No, her main goal was to eavesdrop on officials.

It was too hectic to be productive. Hours later, with the pitch fully cleaned out and the Prefects rounding up the remaining students and forcing them back to their common rooms, she realized she had learned absolutely nothing. She looked around for Dumbledore or McGonagall, wondering if she could be annoying enough to get some sort of explanation. But neither of the professors was anywhere to be seen.

The Weasley twins managed to bring food and drink to the common room. It was a somber affair as everyone wondered about Harry. Hermione sat in a chair by the fireplace and stared at the flames, wishing she could think of something to do to help. But nothing came to her.

Most of her house mates tried to talk to her, but her lack of interest in conversation soon became apparent and they left her alone, instead turning to Ron.

Ron, at least, seemed to relish the attention. He blustered on with a bravado she knew she couldn't have ever managed. Every time he spoke it was expressing disbelief that anything could happen to Harry. And that when it was all over, he'd be back and triumphant. But, she saw the façade break whenever someone left him alone. She saw his face fall. And she saw the worry line his features.

She fell asleep in the chair. A concerned seventh year Prefect nudged her awake early in the morning and helped her to her dormitory. Getting there was a haze. She didn't sleep well after and found herself up early, feeling miserable and lonely as she went to breakfast.

For a moment she thought she might find Harry down there, nervously poking his fork into eggs and being annoyed at questions about what happened in the maze. But he wasn't there. And the paper was filled with headlines about how he was missing, how Krum had assaulted Delacour and murdered Diggory in the maze. And how he still wasn't awake after whatever Harry had done to him.

There was some commentary on the duel. One of the officials observing from the air had talked about what happened. After seeing Krum completely outmatch Diggory he'd fully expected the Potter boy to be disposed of quickly.

But, from what the man said, it had seemed more like Harry was holding back, trying his best to reason with the Bulgarian champion. It wasn't until Viktor hit him with a series of progressively dark spells that Harry had fought back. And once he had, the fight only lasted seconds.

Hermione cried as she read the articles as the memory of Cedric's limp body flooded to the front of her mind. Two Prefects sat at the table next to her and she got the strangest feeling they were acting on orders from McGonagall as they did everything in their power to keep the few reporters who still lingered in the castle away from her.

The day passed in a blur. She only vaguely remembered talking to people. She barely registered that, despite his being missing, Harry Potter was ruled to be the victor of the Triwziard Tournament. There was no pomp associated with it, no fanfare at all. It wasn't even acknowledged in the school were black banners replacing the house banners.

The final days of term remained somber. Rumors were rife in every corner of the school, but the truth seemed impossible to find. Until the Weasley twins managed to con it out of one of their older brothers. No one really asked how they'd pulled it off. But, on the second to last night of term they shared their discovery with their friends and family.

Albus Dumbledore managed to trace the Portkey's magical trail. He and Mad-Eye Moody chased after the magic. According to the ministry they wound up in a small town in Northern England.

There wasn't any sign of Harry Potter when they arrived. Instead they'd found a destroyed cauldron, a burned-up circlet that disintegrated when they attempted to magically move it, a dismembered pig, and Barty Crouch, Jr.

Hermione had no idea who that was. But Neville Longbottom did. And he explained enough for the story to click. There had been a big fight, apparently. Because Mad-Eye was still in the hospital. Whatever he'd been cursed with made it seem like he'd become incredibly malnourished and they were slowly working him back to full health.

But even Dumbledore couldn't find any other trace of magic there. The twins claimed that Bill told them Dumbledore was recruiting for a defense group. And that he'd approached their brother because of his expertise in ancient tombs. Dumbledore had asked Bill and a few others to visit the town with him.

They'd all been able to sense the frightening, malevolent power in the air around the site the portkey led to. It wasn't like anything Bill had ever felt before. One of the other curse breakers claimed he'd sensed something similar out east. But he couldn't quite remember where, just that the feeling stuck with him.

They'd explored the area for hours, run every diagnostic spell they could think of, and done everything in their power to try to find out what happened there. But all they could come up with was that the pig wasn't really a pig. However; despite their best efforts, no one could undo the magic on it and return it to whatever its real form was.

And that was it. The Gryffindors listening to the twins were on the edge of their seats. But the story just ended. There was no satisfying resolution, no real tease of anything to come. Just the same mystery that existed before. Hermione sighed when they finished talking and just excused herself to bed.

That was not how she'd expected her fourth year of Hogwarts to end. The summer didn't seem like a welcome vacation, but rather an empty hole of confusion. She sat with Ron and Ginny on the train. None of them really spoke as the train trudged onward to London. By then they were all sick of discussing the rumors of Harry Potter. Doing so just left a sinking, empty feeling in their stomachs.

So, Hermione Granger did all she could do. She went home to London. She smiled a fake smile for her parents and, once again, lied to them about her year of school. After all, she couldn't tell them that there had been deaths and vanishing students. That would just frighten them. It was fine, she told them. Uneventful. She'd learned all sorts of new spells and charms and runes. She blabbed on about things she could do.

It made her feel better. Even if she utterly avoided the topic of her friend Harry. Her parents had to notice, she thought. She talked about him and Ron more than anyone else at school. And here she just didn't bring him up. But they didn't say anything. And, for a moment, it provided some solace.

But that left when she crawled into her own bed. Hermione broke then. Tears coming freely and silently down her face. She buried her head in her pillow and wondered just what misery Harry was being forced to endure at that same time, if he was even still alive. Eventually she fell asleep, wondering if she would ever see her best friend again.

The Sorceress opened her eyes slowly, finding herself annoyed at the coolness of the water around her. She could have rectified that easily enough but she was too annoyed she'd slept through the pleasant part of the bath, and her skin was starting to prune. The bath hadn't helped with her aching muscles as much as she'd hoped it would.

She rose out of the sunken marble tub and stared out over the wine-dark waters of the Aegean, the sunset reflecting on the waves. She waved a hand and the illusion hiding the wall vanished. She summoned a towel off of the wall and proceeded to dry herself. She could have done it magically, but the towel was warm and fluffy and felt wonderful on her skin.

She wrapped it around herself and summoned another to work on her hair. The Sorceress rolled her shoulders, annoyed at the stiffness still in her muscles. And more annoyed that the bath had done nothing to alleviate that tension.

Once her hair was sufficiently dry, she vanished that towel before waving her hand over the second one. It transformed around her, turning from a fluffy cotton into a white maxi dress with a ruffled skirt and a floral print. It wasn't quite her choice of attire. But she'd seen similar in shops and on other women. It would take some getting used to, but she may as well do so.

She created some simple sandals next. Something she was much more accustomed to, and stepped into them.

Finally, the Sorceress turned her attention to her hair. The brownish red mane fell down her back in a ruffled sheen. She grabbed a handful of it and brought it to her nose. Auburn, she thought, that was the word she was looking for. It was darker than it should have been but it It finally didn't smell rotten. No, that was wrong, it was lighter than it should have been but it had still taken far too long to get rid of the last vestiges of that scent. So long she'd debated just getting rid of all of her hair and starting over.

She'd seen women with shorter hair. But she struggled to picture herself without an elaborate braid. It just seemed wrong. So, she'd decided to keep it as it was, for now at least. She let magic pull it into her favorite braid, one that fell down the right side of her head. She watched it fall over her right shoulder, examining it as the magic finished its work. When it was done she flipped it back and looked into the looking glass for the full effect.

Something was still wrong with the figure that looked back. Something conflicting. But there didn't seem to be anything else to do. She yawned, fighting off the last vestiges of the bathtub nap as she looked at herself, trying to figure out exactly what was wrong. The proportions, she thought. The proportions seemed off. Some parts of her seemed too big, others too small and some curves seemed too round while others felt too flat.

The Sorceress couldn't help herself then, a smile revealing one dimple as she laughed. What a silly thing to think. But it stuck with her. There was truth in it somewhere. A truth she'd have to research.

But now wasn't the time for research. She instead had to focus on the task at hand. She stepped from her bathroom, through her bedroom, and into her laboratory. It was fairly sparse. She'd not been able to create as much as she'd like. But things were coming back to her. She was less exhausted after spells.

She was still sore, everywhere, constantly. But she would fight through it. She checked the potions she had brewing. Six at once, her ambient magic stirring and chopping and adjusting as she paced through the laboratory.

Perhaps, she thought, that was why she was so tired. She was overexerting herself. She should just let her body crash and wake up when it was ready to be productive. The tension was obviously its warning sign that she was working too hard and too fast. But she feared what would happen if she allowed that to occur.

So instead the Sorceress focused on the potions. Maybe six at once was too many. Maybe she could save some energy by dropping it down to four. Then maybe she wouldn't be as tired. But they were all important. They all served a purpose. Even if they weren't being as effective as they should be.

One new one looked about ready though. The yellowish paste of it bubbling slowly. The final bits, she frowned, would have to be completed by hand. She moved to that cauldron and summoned nightshade, hellsbore, moondew and a fine silver knife to her. She started chopping with the speed of experience.

It only took three seconds before she cut herself. She cursed herself as her left index finger immediately shot to her mouth. She laughed at herself, mostly in her own head, as the salty blood flowed into her, wondering how long it would be to kill that instinct. She could heal the wound in an instant, yet she'd still sought the immediate, physical comfort.

Her tongue pressed against the wound, she relaxed against the warmth of her life as it flowed into her. The wound closed moments later. She examined her clumsy fingers a moment later, wondering why they refused to obey. It was getting better, she thought, but her mind would have to slow down until her body could keep up.

The Sorceress frowned down at the drops of blood mixed in with her ingredients. They were useless now so she vanished them and started anew, going slowly this time. It took her a few minutes extra but she managed to chop and place them in a bowl.

She took the cauldron of yellowish paste and poured it into the bowl with the herbs before summoning a spoon and doing her best to mix everything into one. It took ten or so minutes but she passed the time by mixing as she checked on the other potions as well.

When she was satisfied with the final product she continued through the home and into the spare bedroom.

The boy certainly wasn't the best guest who'd ever slumbered in that room. But she didn't quite fully remember all of the others. And it had been so long since she'd had to that she just pushed the thought out of her head.

She approached the bed and looked down at him. He'd been asleep since she'd brought him into her home. She didn't know exactly what they'd done to him, or really who'd even done most of it. She wasn't even entirely sure why she was trying to fix him. Perhaps just to prove to herself she could. Of course, she was failing at providing that proof.

She put the paste down on the table next to the bed and pulled the covers back. He wore only underwear and his body was still covered with bruises and cuts and scars. They weren't killing him, at least not anymore. But they also weren't going away. She'd figured the epidural wounds would be easier to fix than whatever was going on under the surface. Even if they were less dangerous.

She'd been…well it was disingenuous to say she'd been wrong. Because she hadn't made much progress on whatever was going on inside either. So, that could still be harder. She didn't know what they'd done to him. So she didn't really know how to fix it.

She took the water that she'd left on the table and made him drink, slowly, using her magic to make sure he didn't choke. She made a mental note to start a nutritional potion if he didn't wake up. There was no reason to have him starve to death before she could fix him.

Once she was satisfied with the water she reached for the yellow paste and summoned a brush. Too much if it could burn straight through skin and start to eat away at muscles. But just a gentle brushing of it over the skin? That was wonderful at removing scaring and bruising. Well, normally at least. This was her third attempt. She was having some success, he was more a battered yellowy-green than purply-black now. So hooray for progress?

Either way, the Sorceress brushed his wounds until a fresh sheen coated him. Once she was done she put the paste on the table and examined him. She'd have to let the front soak in for two hours before she could flip him and work on the back.

She shook her wrists out as she watched, annoyed by the soreness from just briefly using a brush. But she knew she couldn't gain anything from continuing to whine about her own body. So, once she was sure he wasn't going to surprise her by waking up, she went back to the laboratory.

She didn't have any confidence in what was brewing. And she knew she couldn't just keep force feeding him potions. Eventually they'd become just as likely to kill him as help him. She frowned at that, wondering just what she could do to restore life.

Life. The word stuck in her head as the metallic tang of her blood stuck in her mouth. And then it clicked.

She grabbed a cauldron, fumbling with it as her fingers didn't seem to understand gripping correctly. She slammed it into a table fighting the urge to curse loudly. She summoned the knife to her and took a deep breath as her fingers wrapped around the handle.

The Sorceress then sliced open her left palm. She squeezed the blood into the cauldron, watching it drop into the black iron. She waited until her vision felt woozy. Then she healed the cut and left the laboratory for the kitchen.

It was new, freshly made based on sight and thought while traveling. But it was also remarkably sparse. She'd worry about rectifying that later. For now she found chocolate. A bar with the word Honeydukes written on the wrapper she'd taken from the boy. Why he'd had it in his uniform pocket she wasn't quite sure. But she felt an odd craving for the brown brick and ate half of it.

It warmed her and she returned to the guest bedroom. She summoned the knife once more, her fingers again fumbling with the handle. Once it was secure, she summoned a small glass vial. She paused for a moment. There was something that, in theory, could work better than blood. But that seemed excessive, so she decided blood would do. She pricked his finger and counted five drops of blood into the vial before closing that wound. The Sorceress didn't know why fresh wounds could be healed just fine, while old ones lingered. It was just another mystery with the boy.

She returned to the laboratory and added his blood to hers. She swirled it around for a moment before putting it over a gentle heat. She stared down at the blood as it started to boil.

One trick of potions that most people didn't understand was that the Elixir of Life wasn't really that difficult to make itself. It just required a lot of life. A donation that was, more often than not, fatal. The problem came with producing enough of it to counteract the cost of producing it.

The true genius of the Philosopher's Stone was its ability to effortlessly duplicate the elixir and thus create a form of immortality. But the potion itself really wasn't difficult. It was just not worth the donation required. After all, what was the point of extending your life a few hours if it took nearly a pint of your own blood to do so? Of course mixing their blood would dilute the power of the potion. But, if her hunch was correct, she didn't need a lot of power.

But she didn't need a few hours. She needed minutes. The elixir just needed to fight off whatever was going on inside the boy. Once it had done that, he should be fine. It would work more as a panacea than an elixir. And she shouldn't need much of it, just a few drops.

All-in-all it took her twelve hours, with small reprieve to brush the wounds on the boy's back, and another to flip him back onto his back and tuck him into the covers, to get it to the point where she could leave it unattended. She was impressed with herself. She could have probably done it in ten if she hadn't had trembling muscles and soreness to deal with. She left it on heat in her laboratory, watching for a few moments as the blood red started to burn to a pale gold, before she decided rest would do her good.

She woke around sunset the smell of burning coming from her lab. She vanished the offending potion, one designed to remove internal bleeding that she'd left on for too long, and turned her attention to the elixir. It looked ready. She sniffed it once and caught no odor.

The Sorceress figured it was worth a try by then. She examined him for a moment as she entered the bedroom. He was still out, his breathing rather shallow. She took the small vial of golden potion and poured it gently into his mouth. It took some coaxing to get him to swallow it, but he did.

Nothing happened. But she'd expected that. So she took the brush and the paste and gave his wounds one more coating of it. His breathing sped up as she did. Shortly after she finished she noticed his muscles tensing, his body struggling for something.

For the first time he started to move around, restlessly on the bed. She pulled up a chair and watched as he stretched and writhed and groaned. It lasted for all of fifteen minutes before he coughed and then groaned again. His eyelids fluttered but didn't open, his breathing seemed to level off. And then, finally, he opened his eyes.

The Sorceress smirked at him. Sure, it had taken her a lot longer than she'd though it would. But she'd fixed him. She doubted anyone else would have been able to do it. But who knows, people had surprised her before. No. No use thinking that. It was something only she would have been able to accomplish.

He groaned as his eyes opened. He blinked rapidly, sightless, as his world started to come into focus.

"Relax," she said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "You're safe. Just relax. Don't fight it. You'll just work yourself up and pass out again." And, to her surprise, he listened. His body relaxed against the pillow. For a moment she had the strangest impression that this wasn't an altogether unusual situation for him. His eyes closed tightly and he took a moment to regulate his breathing. This time, when he was ready, he opened his eyes. They shot rapidly around the room until they rested on her.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice raspy. He reached for his throat but she leaned over him and took the water from the bedside table and offered it to him. He thanked her with a nod and sipped from it.

But his question caught her off guard. Stupid, she thought. Of course he'd ask that. That was obviously the first thing anyone would want to know! But what could she tell him? She couldn't give him her names. That would be ridiculous. There was no way he'd react positively to that. And then she'd have to fight back which would render her last week of effort utterly moot.

What could she tell him if not her names? Names? Why were so many flooding into her head? Some were unspeakable, some were comical and some were insults, even if nothing more than an adjective turned pronoun. And some sounded far too odd, even for her. There were far too many names for one person. So she frowned, until a solution flashed to the front of her .

"You can call me Emily," The Sorceress said softly, flashing a her warmest smile at him as he sipped the water.