A/n: This is an AU beginning in Harry's fifth year. The events of this story are meant to augment Order of the Phoenix—nothing about Harry's experiences change until alte in the story.
Expect canon-typical violence, language, and relationships. This fic is gen but canon romances (pre-DH epilogue) get the occasional mention.
I am an American, and so use American spellings, but I've tried not to leave any glaring Americanisms. If anyone is willing to Brit-pick this monster, please PM me.
Suzanne of Dragon's Breath betaed this, which is only fair, because it's entirely her fault.
Chapter 1 should be up in a few days.
Prologue
Late September, 1995
Reginaldus Lestrange sat in an artificially cooled magical tent, finishing the last of the water in his canteen as he waited for the September sun to set over the Egyptian desert. He wore the raiment of an Ancient Egyptian priest of Osiris, down to the ground jasper and kohl eye makeup and the gold jewelry stolen from Egyptian Museum in Cairo the week before.
His presence in the country was the result of more than a decade of research and an additional three years of preparation. The ritual he was about to perform was extremely difficult—in his exhaustive search of ancient records, he found only two accounts of success, and none since Alexander the Great banned the ritual entirely in 332 BC. Furthermore, the nature of the ritual was such that he would not get a second chance. He probably would not survive to try.
When the sun approached the horizon, he stood and approached a second, larger tent. With a wave of his wand, he banished the tent to reveal a large, elaborate limestone altar with the body of a young man upon it.
He examined it one last time, making sure every detail was perfect. The altar itself came to his waist and was inlaid with onyx. Djed columns were painted around the base, and Nile river mud and wheat were scattered in the surrounding sand. With a second flick of his wand, the man conjured bluebell flames in the alabaster bowls that sat on each corner.
When he was satisfied that the altar was perfect, Lestrange changed his scrutiny to the body that lay upon it. It was a young man he had found traveling Europe. The boy was easily six feet tall with pale skin and dark hair, dressed in a linen kilt. The older man smiled. Finding a Dementor outside government control to administer a kiss had been difficult, to say nothing of the effort required to keep the body alive until the ritual, but the results were well worth it.
Then Lestrange placed a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles on the altar.
Satisfied with his preparations, he placed his wand in the sand at his feet and grabbed crook and flail of Osiris from where they had been leaning against the altar. The muggle curator of the museum from which Lestrange stole them would have been shocked to learn that they were extremely powerful magical artifacts.
With crook in his right hand and flail in his left, Lestrange pointed both at the golden cup. He watched the horizon. The moment the sun set, he began to recite the Amduat from memory.
Within moments, Lestrange's voice and the slow breath of the body on the altar were the only sounds, and the air was heavy with the charged feel that normally precedes a lightening storm, but the sky was completely clear.
Fifteen minutes later, the golden cup began to glow.
Exactly one hour after he began, still chanting, Lestrange lifted the crook and flail slightly, so that they were pointing at a spot a few inches above the cup. The glow followed, and a bright sphere hovered above the cup.
Time passed, and Lestrange continued to recite the Amduat. At the end of each section, Lestrange would raise the crook and flail a bit more until, precisely six hours after he began, the glowing orb hovered about six feet above the altar.
Thereafter, every time he finished a section, Lestrange lowered the crook and flail a bit. Finally, exactly twelve hours after the ritual began, his arms dipped to become level with the body on the bier and the sun rose above the horizon. The orb that had been hovering above the altar all night exploded with a brilliant flash of light.
Ritual complete and near the end of his endurance, Lestrange fell to his knees on the ground, crook and flail crossed before him, and waited for his vision to clear. As he waited, he heard the normal sounds of the desert morning begin to return, which was welcome after the unnatural stillness of the night.
Soon he heard movement on the altar and saw two feet drop to the ground as the body on the altar rose. "My lord," he said and bowed his head.
"My friend," said the newly resurrected Lord Voldemort. He extended a hand to pull Lestrange to his feet. "You succeeded."
"You knew I would." Lestrange was trembling with exhaustion, but he was smiling.
"I never doubted. Let us gather the others. There is much work to do."
End note:
Some of the research I used to create the ritual includes:
.
.
.
wiki/Amduat