Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Prized

Chapter Twenty-Four - The Ritual

In what might have been the first good thing since Harry was first abducted from France, the ritual that Peter revealed to Voldemort wasn't a terribly complicated one, and the one to counter it was… Voldemort hesitated to say that it was easy, but…

As long as Peter wasn't lying to him, and Voldemort knew that he wasn't, had made certain that he wasn't, then he would be able to complete the ritual that would restore Harry that evening.

He stared down at Peter, at the traitor who had made Harry's capture possible, but who had also given Voldemort the means to break the spell, and let out a small sigh. He could hold him, torture him, break him until nothing remained of him but a quivering mass of flesh. But that would mean sacrificing someone else in the ritual, likely someone who Voldemort found himself wanting to keep alive and torture longer.

The ritual demanded a clean death, after all, via a slit throat.

"I find myself inclined to grant your wish," Voldemort said finally, into the silence that stretched between himself and the rat. "You have until nightfall to get your affairs in order. Do I need to keep a guard on you?"

Peter let out a small laugh. "Probably," the man said. He didn't look at Voldemort. "There's a good chance that I'll try to run, regardless of my best intentions."

Voldemort's eyebrow twitched, but he called for Bellatrix. The woman was, as always, prompt in her appearance. "Peter will be assisting me in the ritual to free Harry," he said to her. "Keep an eye on him and see to it that he doesn't choose to flee."

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed in confusion, but she dipped into a low curtsey. "As my lord asks."

As he swept from his office, book with the ritual he needed as well as the one that had been performed on Harry in hand, he heard her asking Peter, "Why on earth am I playing guard to you today?"

As the door closed behind him, he heard Peter respond, "Because I'm going to die tonight," in a voice that didn't shake.

Voldemort supposed that was the famed Gryffindor courage that he'd never seen in Peter, but shook the thought off. He didn't admire the man, and never would. He was a traitor, and the fact that his treachery had proven useful to Voldemort in this one instance didn't negate the damage he'd done to Voldemort's cause over the years.

He headed for the hospital wing, where he found Lupin conscious, looking wan and fragile. Severus sat by his side, and the two were having a low-voiced conversation. Beyond them, Voldemort could see the private room where Harry rested, in something as close to slumber as they could provide.

No more. That would all be better at sundown.

Lupin froze upon seeing him, what little color in his cheeks draining away. "My Lord," Lupin whispered, dropping his gaze.

"Lupin," Voldemort said, and felt a small flare of guilt. He shoved that aside. He'd done what he had to do to ascertain Lupin's loyalty, and Lupin would survive. Perhaps not undamaged, given the remaining trembling in his hands, but he would be mostly fine. "Severus, I have need of you."

Severus rose immediately. "Yes, my lord?"

Voldemort consulted the book in his hand. "I need a cleansing potion brewed. Two of them, before sundown. You can manage that, can you not?"

Severus blinked. "Of course." He hesitated, then held out his hand. "If I might see which potions you need, specifically?"

Voldemort paused, then handed the book over. "This is the ritual to free Harry," he said, a bit awkwardly. He wasn't used to feeling uncomfortable about anything, and being in Lupin's presence, while still feeling just the slightest bit of guilt… He didn't like it.

Severus' eyes, meanwhile, had widened. "My lord, you've found it?" he breathed. His eyes were moving rapidly over the page. "Yes, of course I can get these done by sundown. Are you sure that this is the ritual you need?"

Voldemort would have protested being questioned, but he understood Severus' skepticism. "The person who found the ritual for Dumbledore is the one who gave me that ritual," he said. "He had a… change of heart, I suppose."

Severus' eyes narrowed, but he handed the book back. "The ritual calls for a blood sacrifice, my lord," he said.

"I am aware." Voldemort studied the words on the page, then looked back up at Severus. "Fortunately, we have a willing volunteer. Given that his life was forfeit anyway for betraying me several times, I am inclined to use him as he's requested."

Severus asked no more questions, and instead dropped into a low bow. "Then, with your permission my lord, I would like to get started on the potions, so that I can make certain that they are ready by sundown."

"Go." Voldemort waited until Severus had bowed and left the room before glancing once more at Lupin. And once again, he felt that awful feeling of guilt stirring inside of him once more. Hadn't he gotten rid of his conscience years ago? "My apologies, Lupin," he said stiffly, and the feeling of guilt eased inside of him as soon as he'd said it. "Twice now I have doubted your loyalty, and twice it has been without cause. I will make certain that it does not happen a third time."

Lupin opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and bowed his head. "Thank you," he whispered.

Voldemort hesitated, then swept away from Lupin's bedside and entered Harry's bedroom with a tap on the door. Narcissa was in there, studying one of the monitoring spells, and Draco sat by Harry's bedside as he always did. The boy was asleep, his forehead resting on Harry's bedsheets.

Narcissa's eyes darted to Voldemort as he walked in. "Have you given me another new patient, my lord?" she asked, the sarcasm thick in her voice.

Were it from anyone but his best healer, he wouldn't have tolerated such a tone. As it was, Voldemort's hand twitched towards his wand before he could stop himself. He drew in a deep breath, let it out, and forced his hand to relax. "I have not," he said sharply. "As a matter of fact, it is my intention to hopefully remove a patient from your care very soon."

Narcissa's eyes widened, but only slightly. "And which patient would that be?" she asked. "Because I can assure you, neither Remus nor Harry are fit to be left without care at this moment in time."

"I have the ritual to free Harry," Voldemort said, and had the pleasure of watching her eyes widen. "And I intend to use it at sundown, unless you can present to me a compelling reason why I should wait."

Narcissa swallowed. "No, my lord." Then her eyes narrowed. "Although, I have the feeling that Harry will be remaining a patient of mine for a long time to come. He won't emerge from this ritual unscathed, you know."

Voldemort knew that there was little chance of Harry being mentally intact when he came out of the ritual, but… there was a small part of him that hoped that Harry would be fine, in spite of all evidence to the contrary. "I am aware," was all that he said out loud. "Can you and Draco transport Harry to the Great Hall at sundown?"

Narcissa nodded. "Of course, my lord," she said with a small bow. "Was there anything else you needed, or can I go back to making sure Harry doesn't grow ill between now and then?"

"Is he in danger of that?" Voldemort asked, alarmed.

Narcissa just stared at him, her eyes dark with irritation. "Not at the moment, no," she said. "But I'd like to continue to make sure of that, if it's all the same to you."

Voldemort hesitated, then took a step back. Angering the healer was never a good idea, and Narcissa had been more volatile than not as of late. "Of course," he said quickly, and turned and left Harry's room. Not because he was fleeing, just… because he had somewhere else to be. Somewhere important.

Like his office. Where he would study the ritual, and pace, and hope that everything worked well at sundown.

ooOOooOOoo

Time ticked by, but there was nothing for him to do but pace and wonder whether or not his plans would come to fruition. It wasn't like Albus could escape his cell, given that he didn't have his wand and the cell seemed to have magic-suppressing qualities to it. He'd already tried to access his wandless magic, and had failed miserably.

And Peter hadn't been by again, not since he'd told Albus that he was done.

Surely this couldn't be the end of everything he'd worked for? Perhaps, even if Neville was dead, and Albus' heart broke at the thought, perhaps Harry could still be a viable option. He was still under the ritual's control, after all, even if by now it would have decayed significantly.

For the first time, Albus regretted that he hadn't been forced to use the ritual on James all those years ago. If he had, he might have known that the control it offered decayed rapidly and would have searched for a different ritual, one that offered something more permanent in the way of control.

Well, it was too late for wishes and would haves.

Albus heard a sound, and then a dark blue spell shot through the glass and struck him in the chest. He fell backwards, unable to speak or move, but still fully conscious, and the front of his cell faded away.

Voldemort entered, a smirk on his face. "Old man, are you ready?" he asked. He levitated Albus, then started to walk. "I thought you might like to watch as all of your plans failed," he said conversationally. "Peter gave me the ritual you used, and the one that I could use to reverse it."

Albus' heart almost stopped. He couldn't have. Peter couldn't have been so foolish! To free Harry at this point, especially with Neville dead, would be the end of the Light and would lead to the certain triumph of the Dark! There was no way that Harry would ever kill Voldemort, not knowing that it was what Albus had wanted him to do all along, not after Albus had been the one to imprison him with the ritual.

He was brought into the Great Hall, a room much changed since the time he'd last seen it. Gone were the house flags, the long tables for the students, even the teacher's table. There were small tables scattered throughout the room, but for the most part, the hall had changed to standing room only. Aside from the ostentatious throne placed in the very center of the hall, on the raised dais that had once housed the teacher's table.

There were three other chairs on that dais at the moment, two of them occupied by Ginny and Hermione. They were each contained, naked, within what looked to be a glass cell, and were bound and secured, and were gagged as well. Albus was taken to the third chair, the one in the center, where he was bound and secured much as they were. Voldemort cast a small spell, and Albus found himself as encased in glass as Ginny and Hermione were.

"Now, Albus, enjoy the show," Voldemort crooned.

Harry was brought into the Great Hall, unresisting, and Death Eaters filed in after him. Albus' heart broke to see Remus among those filing in, and Severus as well. He'd failed them both, in the end. He'd hoped that they would be able to understand why he did what he did, but it was clear, judging by the hatred in their respective gazes as they looked at him, that they never would.

When Ron entered, flanked by two Death Eaters, Hermione began to struggle next to him, shrieking her rage, muffled by her gag. Albus wanted to console her, to tell her that Ron had always doubted and there was nothing she could have done, but he couldn't speak, and could not project his words into her mind.

Harry was lowered to the ground, on a conjured mattress, and Narcissa Malfoy stayed by his side as the sun kissed the horizon and the ritual began.

Albus watched as Voldemort chanted, as Peter knelt for the sacrifice, as his world crumbled and all of his plans were ruined, and knew, in the moment that Harry's form was swallowed by a dark, angry red light, that there was no coming back from this.

It was over.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry's eyes snapped open. He stared up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, his whole body shaking. The body. His body? He could… he could move his hand. He could make his hand move! He opened his mouth and felt his lips respond, made a sound and felt his vocal chords vibrate. He had… he had control? Did he?

Harry sat up and looked around. He was surrounded on all sides by Death Eaters, and there was Peter's corpse in front of him, pale from blood loss, his head dangling limply. Like Nearly Headless Nick.

"I'm free?" he asked, his voice shaking. It was his voice. He wanted to say the words, and he did, and it worked just like that. It was easy. He could say whatever he wanted to say. He could say… "Abracadabra," he muttered. He could say nonsense if he wanted! He clenched his fist, because he could clench his fist.

"You're free, Harry," Voldemort said, kneeling in front of him. His voice was soft, gentle, and Harry stared at him. "We've set you free from the ritual," he said. He reached out, and Harry shivered as he felt his cheek touched by gentle hands. His cheek. Not the body's. Not Dumbledore's. His.

"Free," he said. The word tasted good on his lips. Freedom. He had freedom. He had… his eyes drifted past Voldemort, to the scores of Death Eaters, to Ron… to Ron, who had worked so hard to get him free, who had been so kind to him when he was stuck under the ritual. To Draco, standing as close to the dais as he could be... Harry remembered….

He started to cry, great, heaving sobs that wracked his frame. He lifted his hands to cover his face, his hotly burning face that was damp from the salty, hot tears that fell from his eyes. His eyes. He was free.

A/N: Happy birthday to Harry! I was gonna make everyone wait until Friday and restart my weekly updates, but in honor of Harry's birthday, I figured I'd do two updates this week. Friday updates resume this week.

Also, please join me in a sigh of relief that Harry is now free and can now begin to recover. I thought it particularly appropriate to post this one on his birthday.