Thank you to minidraken~ you write lovely reviews, and even lovelier stories. For you? I will write more. :D

Thanks to CNGB, this has been betaed. Yay!

Possible trigger warning: self harm and dark ritual. Not graphic, but still there.

・・X・・


Exorcism rituals
Thunk. a loud noise interrupted Harry's searching.

"Hey. I didn't see you in breakfast!" Hermione breathed from behind a stack of legal papers. "Ron said he'd get—"

"—Fred and George to save you some toast. Morning Harry." Ron gave Harry an irritated look. "Where you been?"

"Nowhere." Harry said quickly. "Just…getting a head start." He nodded in what he hoped was a convincing manner at Hermione's stack. And as he had half hoped, was immediately handed a portion of it. He maneuvered it to hide the most promising tome on possession.

The book would wait underneath all those documents until he had a chance to look at it privately. In the meanwhile, he had to get rid of Hermione and Ron to do so.

Harry felt his eyes sliding from the texts several times, and his head tilting to the side. He couldn't decide whether to claim sleepiness or stomach ache to get out—or to subtly suggest they go away? But then again, bed and the nurse's office would leave his books unguarded. No…it'd be best if he could stash the books so he could come back to them later. Best, though, if Ron and Hermione left on their own.

…but out-waiting Hermione in the library was like challenging a dragon on its own territory. Not recommended unless you had a distraction planned.

Ah. Harry thought to himself. I could always go pretend to be looking for materials and read over there… With that thought, he grabbed the thickest tome and a stack of papers, wandering off with a quiet, "I'm going to go cross-reference these…"

Ron scowled at him, but Hermione only nodded busily.

Harry nodded shakily, and ducked out of sight.

Out of their immediate vicinity and a few corners later, Harry sat down in the most inconspicuous nook he could find. He settled back against the rows of books, and cast one worried glance behind him. Sitting between the rows of books might get him in trouble with Pince, but he might have to risk it….

He took a deep breath and opened the book. The library was filled with a golden glow of torchlight and candlelight; exactly the opposite of what Harry had imagined when he'd find his answer. The book was just what he needed. He traced his finger down the pages of it, feeling the smooth dryness and uneven parchment. He took a deep breath, and began to read:

Exorcising potentially violent spirits should never be attempted alone, or in places with known violent spirits. The following ritual is for reference sake, written in times of antiquity when knowing about Dark Magic was more trendy than sensible.

Harry read the words and felt a thrill of elation-drive the spirit out. It was exactly what he needed. He hastily read on.

The reader may notice the bloodletting, which clearly marks this ritual as one of the dark arts, and thus, casts into doubt whether it should work as a proper banishing charm at all. Also, the runes which are mentioned, and words of power and banishment are most obscure, though Wizard Humdrum lists the following runes as possibilities, and suggests the Charm and Words of Powers to be variants of shield charms and buffering spells. An older, Gaelic source suggests the names of powerful spirits and gods as the words of power, and requires certain potions be made. The trees are meant to be worn as a crown, or in a grove, with the proper trees forming a circle. It may be noted...

Harry stopped reading the lengthy paragraph in favor for the list of runes and gods.

He studied it, wondering if he could copy it well enough to work. Fidgeting, he recalled that Hermione was taking Ancient Runes...maybe he could get her to copy them out right, and let that paper stand for that bit. For now, he would work on finding something silver to transfigure into a bowl.

Maybe he could mail-order one somehow...or sneak one from Trelawney. She might have one. Thinking of this made Harry smile a little—there'd finally be a bit of use to be had from her class. He scribbled a bit on the parchment he had on the side—a half circle and the word silver. Then he started to tap the paper, thinking about the other parts of the ritual…

His hand pricked suddenly. Harry flexed his fingers and casually wiped away a bit of ink, and he remembered another parchment. Smudged ink on the creamy pages of a diary before it sank into nothing…and reformed again into spidery, delicate copperplate.

How could Tom Riddle have escaped the diary? The diary which destroyed the memory…Basilisk poison…how was this even happening? He frowned, chewing his lip.

"Harry?" Hermione called from the end of the table. "I wanted to do a bit of a conference. Share what we've found for Buckbeack's defense. Ron's waiting in the Common Room—let's go up and have a talk."

It was later than he'd thought. Harry hastily shoved things into a pile, grabbed the parchment necessary for the ritual, and pulled a smile on. "Right." When everything was where it was supposed to be (and out of Hermione's watchful eye), he nodded. "Shall we?"

Hermione smiled, and off they went.


Night had come again all too quickly, and Harry made his excuses. He went to the place the Death-day party had been held, that damp, solitary place underground. He'd set up the ritual, and began with a single cut.

There was too much blood.

More than the tiny, transfigured bowl could hold. Harry hadn't meant for it to be more than a shallow prick on his wrist, but the knife was spelled—part of the ritual—and it slipped in his hands…its bite was deep. Harry tensed his legs, leaning backwards into the circle, uncertain. Could hestop? What would too much blood do, strictly ritual speaking? Harry was fairly certain he wouldn't bleed to death, but would it ruin the ceremony?

Harry pulled back in on himself, thinking rapidly while trying not to think at all, to act as though the answer was already his. His best responses to threats were always instinctive—surely this would be the case now.

The sound of Tom chuckling behind him caused him to jerk, and little dots of blood sprinkled onto the floor.

Warmth spread down his neck, followed swiftly by chills. Harry looked around for the memory of the boy briefly, but then he stopped- waited. The spellbook had said not to make unnecessary contact. It'd said to clear the mind first, and then—

No, that was another spell. Harry frantically glanced down at the parchment he'd prepared, and his eyes blurred.

"Harry…" Tom's voice snaked through the now dimmed, cold air. His eyes shown through the mist, and he reached out two elegant hands…to strangle or caress? There was an odd look in Tom's eye.

He had to finish it. Finish the ritual, and get rid of him. Before something happened—before anyone noticed.

"Do it." Tom said. "If you think you can."

He's mocking me. Harry thought, detached. Does he want me to do it or not? Should I? Can I?

He raised the knife, directed it as though it were a wand, and let it drop into the air—there was a tiny whirling noise, and then, inches before the hard stone floor, it stopped. Hung where it had almost landed, and began to slowly spin widdershins.

Harry's eyes followed the blade and then darted around the room; he held his breath and counted to seven as the spell suggested, all while looking for a hint of the ghost. Swiftly, he pulled out his wand as he began to say the names of the runes and drew them in the air. His runes were not as well balanced as those in the textbook, and writing in the air instead of scrawling on parchment was more difficult than he thought. Nevertheless, the runes glowed.

He'd done it. Relief settled his heart, and he hastily went on with the ritual.

Harry stumbled over the old fashioned words, but he managed them well enough. "Walk not here, spirit! Be gone from my sight. I cast you out!"

Instant silence, and the world stopped for a heartbeat.

The air around him shifted as though in a strong breeze, and the runes shimmered where he'd written them. The unbalanced lines seemed to quiver harder than the others before they shook where they were. Harry glanced down at the paper, uncertain. Was that supposed to happen?

There was a rippling noise, something like hearing the sound of someone talking from underwater...or like Tom's voice wasn't reaching him as easily as before. Harry chewed his lip as the noise faded. The room was still, and quiet.

Harry let out a slow breath. He looked around again, studying the shadows with all the intensity he could muster. When not a thing twitched, he allowed a tiny, satisfied smile, and called the knife with a quick, "Up!"

The thing started to rise in a smooth fashion, just as his broom would have. Harry watched it carefully, eying the blade. He'd grasp it just so— The knife flew into his hand, and Harry made the final flicks with his wand and knife in turn. The ceremony was over, successful or not.

There was an unearthly shriek and a cold rush of wind as something barreled down on him—it came so fast, and so close that all Harry could make out was a sense of flaking paint on wood. Hands reached out, but didn't touch.

Harry leaned back, and something switched in his mind. It was like he was in a Quidditch game, and the threat was some bizarrely costumed opponent. Things seemed to move slower, now, and Harry could see his assailant for what it was. He saw a gaping mouth, and two wickedly curved horns—a sort of mask. Tom was wearing a mask. He can touch things now, then? The thought was so absurd, Harry nearly froze to the spot.

Tom's laughter was like the sound of branches scraping against stone. The chamber shook with it, and the darkness closed in briefly. When the torches flared with life, Tom reached down for Harry—his fingers extended as if to touch Harry's face.

This time, Harry held out his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" (*) He yelled, determination and some wild, unidentifiable feeling coloring his happy memory.

A feeling of triumph and adrenalin pumped through Harry as Tom's form flickered and dissipated before the silvery cloud of smoke.

He hissed as the feeling of pain (now both in his wrist and forehead). "You couldn't touch mebefore—and you can be cast off by a patronus since it's pure happiness!" Harry taunted. The silence rang on.

He took a deep, if somewhat shaky breath and slowly collected his things.

Yet as the silvery smoke dissipated , something cold splashed his neck. Drip. . The cold stuff was thin and chill as iced water, but the tracks it left on his skin burned hot after it touched. Harry jerked out of the way.

"…it's nothing." Harry breathed. He turned away before fleeing the space.

Unbeknownst to the boy, something stirred in the room's only mirror. Harry had opted to leave the mirror covered during the ceremony, so he didn't see the motion there. A faint reflection rippled, and took the form of a pale student with vividly glowing eyes. Tom Riddle's ghost waited.

The blood in the dish may prove useful…. he thought. Harry would be seeing Tom in a much more defenseless, intimate light very soon…

The very walls of the castle itself despaired. Tom Riddle's ghost had broken something faint and subtle, and the whole of the castle would soon know what havoc his desire would bring.

Soon. he thought. Soon.

・・X・・


tbc...

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