Avada Kedavra

The night deepened, and so did the fog.

Perhaps London's air quality was simply too terrible. A moment ago, at Hogwarts, the night sky over the remote mountainous area had still been bright with stars and moonlight. The next moment, upon arriving at the abandoned playground on London's outskirts, the sky here was gray and gloomy, clouds and haze mingling together like a patchy cover draped over the earth, sometimes blocking out the stars and moon, sometimes letting faint light shine through.

The cold wind stirred the rolling fog. The grass, left undisturbed for years to grow wild, welcomed visitors in the dead of night. Dew dampened their trouser legs, grass blades scraped against their soles, and their footsteps were faint.

Harry followed behind the black-robed professor. Stimulated by the cold and his tangled emotions, a thin layer of goosebumps rose on his skin. Countless questions lingered in his mind and rushed to his lips, yet he did not know where to begin.

The footsteps ahead came to a halt. By the faint moonlight, Harry saw that Snape had taken out a stone cauldron. It was entirely black, seemingly brand-new and without a trace of use, larger than every model of cauldron in the cauldron shop.

The last time Harry had seen such a cauldron was on the night Voldemort was resurrected.

Stones, charcoal, and several strange pieces of firewood had been piled on the soft grass. That wood was a magical material that had appeared in his fourth-year textbook, but Harry could not remember what it was called.

The cauldron was set on top with a faint clink.

Then came Snape's voice, devoid of all warmth. "Light the fire. Do everything you can to keep it burning fiercely."

Harry silently stepped forward, pulled out his wand, and lit the