Harry Potter - The Curse of Undeath
Chapter 2 The First
'...A better option would be basilisk venom due to its corrosive properties. However, due to its rarity there does exist a solution with unicorn blood. See page 356 for the details of the ritual.'
Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly before casting a tempus to check the time. He still had over an hour before defense class. It would be the first of the year with the new professor and it was the only thing Harry had looked forward to so far.
Almost a week had went by since he discovered the hidden library and Ludvig's book.
The knowledge in this...abomination of a book, both frightened and intrigued Harry. Several times, Harry had put away the book and looked through some of the others, but he always came back to it.
He always found his way back to it, no matter how disturbed it made him. He had learned many spells, but few he had the morality to actually perform. The spells were dark, creating death, sickness and pestilence. He'd tried casting some, without victims of course, but he could feel the sickening touch of death upon each spell he'd attempted.
Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to stop.
He had been reading diligently, almost non stop since he'd begun. There were many... rituals, that would unlock powers he'd never thought imaginable. Most were intended for him to perform either as a vampire or a lich, so those were out of his range, yet there were some that was viable even as a human. The only dilemma that remained for Harry was both the risk and morality of several of them.
Harry stood up and stretched, before moving towards the dining hall.
He had not yet found anything that he knew without a doubt would help him in his coming trials, but there was one ritual he'd looked into that seemed interesting.
Ominously enough, the ritual had been called 'Domination of all life'. According to Ludvig, it would unlock the power to influence the will of all living and unliving beings. It was, if Ludvig was to be believed, the only power for a necromancer to control a large amount of raised dead, but Harry had no intentions of raising any dead just yet. He'd most likely get smited on the spot by Dumbledore if he was caught doing something so dark.
It would not do much good against human's either, not for anyone not a Lich, but it would, according to the texts, still be of use to dominate lesser and more beastly minds.
Many of these necromantic powers had little or no wand movements or incantations, but Harry supposed that was more common back in the age the book had been written. Most of the powers would come naturally, or instinctively. It seemed odd to Harry, but he had no other guidance than what Ludvig gave him.
The things he needed for the ritual was easy enough. He just had to sneak in and steal a little bit from Snape's potions cabinet.
Smiling slightly, Harry supposed that he would have to make sure to pick up some detection spell before attempting thievery, just in case Snape had warded his ingredients.
Harry thoughtfully left Moody's class, thinking about what he'd learned. While he'd known about the death spell 'avada kadavra', he'd only heard of 'imperio' and 'crucio' in passing and without much explanation to it.
He had noticed Neville looking quite sick after Moody's show with the crucio spell, but found himself caring little. It was not as if Neville had any care for Harry after all, having stayed just as silent as everyone else in the school wide bullying. True, Neville didn't owe Harry anything, but neither did Harry in regards for Neville.
While the crucio spell looked nasty, the truly scary one in Harry's eyes was the imperio. Not knowing if you could truly trust those close to you in fear of them being imperioused seemed truly horrifying. Harry wondered if the ritual he was considering would aid against it. The imperio spell seemed to work in somewhat similar ways, just more focused against a singular target.
Moody mentioned it was possible to fight off the Imperio. Maybe it was a question about intent and will? Most spells were like that after all, but it seemed too simple an answer.
Harry kept to himself the rest of the day until evening came, where he quietly gathered his invisibility cloak and left the rest of the gryffindors to snore in peace.
Using the maurader's map Harry was able to easily avoid any patrolling prefects until he arrived at the dungeons. Not finding any spells or warding at all, much to his great surprise, Harry snuck in and grabbed what he needed, leaving just as swiftly as he arrived.
Feeling quite content with the results after dumping everything he'd found in the chamber of secrets, he relaxed a bit too soon as he took off the invisibility cloak and entered the common room.
Lights were on, Ron sitting in a chair obviously waiting for him with a scowl on his face.
"Where have you been?", Ron muttered with a foul look on his face.
Unsure, Harry looked at him warily before making his way towards the sleeping quarters.
"Nowhere. Just been preparing."
"Of course.", Ron sneered from behind his back. "Guess the hero need all the time he can get!"
Harry's hands clenched the cloak tightly as he reigned in his anger.
He was better than this. He would show Ron...
...He would show them all!
Days passed and things began looking up a bit as Hermoine began spending a little time with him. It felt good, finally having a conversation with someone who didn't sneer at him.
They sat together in Transfiguration class, practicing under the ever watchful eyes of McGonagall.
Harry had once had a lot of respect for the stern woman, but her failure to step in as head of Gryffindor as Harry's housemates systematically bullied him, he no longer held any care for the woman.
Watching the matchstick he was supposed to transfigure into a feather, Harry frowned and recalled a line from Ludvig's book...
'Magic, in all its entirety, is nothing more than a question of will and intent. While there are some exceptions to this, staffs, wands, spellbooks or any other item that wizards use to aid them in spellcasting, are in the end nothing more than just that. These tools are just means to control and focus spells, an embarrassing crutch if anything. Doing the same craft without these tools is simply a matter of control and practice.'
Harry hummed as he thought upon Ludvig's words. Long ago, wands were most likely just one of many other methods of casting spells, or if Ludvig's scripts were to be believed, more common to not use at all.
But it made sense, in a strange way for Harry. Magic came from within them, did it not?
Putting the wand away, Harry slowly held his hand over the matchstick. Frowning in concentration, Harry attempted to do the same that he usually did with his wand.
...But nothing happened.
Pursing his lips, Harry took a deep breath. He felt it important to get the hang of this. Most of what was written in Ludvig's book were without tools such as a wand.
With intense concentration, Harry pushed out, biting his teeth together as he tried to force his magic to do as he wished of it. Seconds passed, before something slowly tore painfully within himself. Doing his best to ignore it, he latched onto it and pushed it out.
Forcing his magic out, he could feel it flowing out of him and everything it touched, like a soft flutter of wind. Feeling around with it for the matchstick, he managed to direct his magic into it.
...Or at least, he hoped he did.
But now what?
Harry furrowed his brows, eyes still closed. If magic was nothing more than a question of control, will and intent, then what would be the last step?
Their task was to transfigure it into a feather. The thought brought a memory to the surface, of his familiar Hedwig. He remembered the feel of his fingers running over the soft plumes of her neck...
Latching onto that feeling, that memory, Harry willed it into the matchstick, willing it to change.
...And felt it change under his magic.
It took only a second, enough for the transfiguration to complete before he lost his concentration in shock. In front of him, a white, soft plume, not unlike Hedwig's, laid on the desk in front of him.
"Astonishing!", a surprised bark made him suddenly jump in surprise. Looking up, Harry finally noticed McGonagall staring with wide open eyes. "Wandless transfiguration! At your age, Mr. Potter? When did you suddenly come upon such a talent?"
Harry noticed with sinking emotion how many of his classmates were paying attention to the sudden commotion.
"Just something i read, Professor.", Harry muttered demurely, extremely uncomfortable with the sudden attention. "Wanted to try it out."
"Well, whatever it was you attempted is clearly working for you. 10 points to Gryffindor!"
10 points. She must have been in a good mood that day, she usually never gave more than 5.
Smiling, Harry looked over at Hermoine only to see a foul expression on her face as she focused on her own matchstick. It was one of jealousy, one he'd seen often in Ron's face.
Sighing, Harry went back to his own assignment, deciding he would talk to her after the class was done. She didn't give him the opportunity though, as she packed her books and walked away briskly before he was even given a chance to follow the second the class ended.
A bitter feeling was left in Harry in her wake, his hands clenching angrily.
She avoided and ignored him from then on. Harry found himself glad of it.
Days went and the Tournament was rapidly approaching. The hazing got worse and worse and Harry was honestly considering wearing his invisibility cape to class.
Down and deep in the chamber of secrets, he'd cleared out the old shedded skin of the basilisk from the room where it rested. For over a week Harry had worked tirelessly, forgoing a lot of rest and sleep in order to prepare the room for the intended ritual.
The one that would allow him to enforce his will upon living and unliving creatures.
The way Harry saw it, the chances were great they would face many different trials. Maybe they would fight each other, or maybe nothing more than beasts. This ritual would give him an advantage over either option, although the exact explanations from Ludvig's texts were a little vague.
But no matter.
Standing up, Harry stretched and sighed deeply. He was tired, but he couldn't stop now. His eyes had darkened circles around them.
The ritual was finally prepared.
Intricate lines drawn in several magical mixtures ran along the floor of the room, a small open area in the middle where himself was supposed to lay when the ritual began. Ludvig had said the ritual might leave him incapacitated for a while, but it was a weekend day. He would miss nothing.
Undressing well away from the circle, Harry was eventually left in nothing. The cold, unclean stone under his feet left him shuddering.
Shockingly, and not without a sense of foreboding, Harry stepped warily towards the middle of the room until he was at the designated spot. Gingerly laying down, he took great care as to not disturb the lines that were drawn.
The book had explained quite vividly the risk of doing this wrong.
Closing his eyes as he laid on his back, Harry gasped involuntarily as the cold ground touched his back. Fear gripped him, but Harry would damn himself if he ever gave up now after so much work.
Giving himself a minute, Harry ignored his shivering and focused on calming his breathing.
Magic was about intent, after all. The intent needed to perform the ritual was not to be afraid.
Taking another deep breath and deciding himself sufficiently calmed, Harry pushed the magic out from his body. As quickly as he began, he could feel his magic latching onto the lines drawn upon the floor, the magical properties in the mixture they were drawn from slowly forcing his magic out of his core.
It was too late to go back now. The ritual was out of his hands.
Clenching his hands, Harry thought upon his treatment from the rest of the school and how his treatment went ignored by the staff.
He thoughts upon how his own housemates themselves joined in on the hazing and how his own best friends abandoned him for the pettiest of reasons.
"...Nutu magiae...", Harry muttered and felt a riptide of magic getting forced out of his core painfully.
Thinking about it all, how the teacher's ignored his treatment, his friends abandoning him to face the trials alone and how the entire school treated him with contempt, an anger Harry had never felt before was drawn to the surface.
He would show them!
And it was with that thought, Harry drew upon his entire will, fixed, with the intention to dominate...
...The intent, to dominate ALL life!
"...Reficerentur vitae...", Harry hissed and opened his eyes.
Suddenly, the pull on his core stopped.
Harry noticed the entire room was glowing with unnatural color and felt a spike of fear if he'd done it wrong.
...But then, all the accumulated magic in the room, crashed into him at once.
Magic roared in his ears and Harry felt like he was going deaf. His core burned and his head felt like it was exploding with painful sensation as his vision blared white. An agonized scream tore out from his lungs in desperation, but it was heard by none.
It felt like it went on for an eternity, but before his throat was even sore from the screams, it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
Shocked, Harry lied completely still upon the ground, staring up into the darkened ceiling above. He felt completely fine, as if the enormous amount of pain he'd just suffered had never have happened at all.
...Then a sudden sensation struck his mind.
He could feel... Something. He could feel, movement, far above him in the castle.
Harry frowned in thought and sat up gingerly, not trusting his own body.
He focused on the...presence, he could feel, shifting and moving far above. Some movement was outside of the castle as well, but Harry could feel that the presence he felt above himself was much smaller outside.
Harry did not understand. Was this not supposed to be a ritual to grant him the ability to influence others?
...Unless...
Harry's eyes widened.
Could it be? Could it be, that the presence he felt were that of each and every living being around him? Then how was it, that he could use this to influence, and perhaps even dominate the mind of creatures?
Standing up, Harry ignored the wave of nausea that hit him. He would confer with the book before setting out to get something to eat, giving his body a moment of rest.
He supposed he'd waited long enough on testing the things he'd taken it upon himself to learn.
Discovery, after all, demands experimentation.
