A/N: A special shout-out to Gonalt for the lovely words that motivated me to write more – even though time is something I don't have much of.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.
Chapter 31
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
A young girl took a deep breath as silence entered her soul like an angel's lullaby, smoothing out the roughness of the day. Twilight came sooner than expected, the last of the sun's rays disappearing over the distant horizon as the empyrean above slowly faded away to blackness. As the young girl awaited the starlight and the silvery moon, silhouettes of distant trees swayed in a manner that almost hypnotized her, causing her to relax even further into the timber of the windowsill she was currently leaning on.
Ariana was in the very same place she was exactly one and half years ago, in the same room in Hogwarts which Albus had so kindly let her take up residence while she was first sorting out how she had ended up in this strange new world. She sighed softly, letting out a musical tune that drifted upwards on the back of a stirring breeze, eyes drawn to the dampening of colours that faded away as the sun did, each hue deepening in noble solemnity, finding unity in the night.
And so, Ariana did not move an inch for the next hour, her head reposed sideways on one arm while the other dangled freely out of the window, the soft hoots of curious owls the only thing giving her pause, their flammulated plumage muted against the grey filter that blanketed the world. After what seemed like an eternity later, she finally heard noises behind her in the form of a door opening and then the thuds of heavy footsteps that seemed to carry an air of responsibility to them.
She lazily rose to her feet, pushing her long, silky hair out of the way as she gave the new arrival a once over with her forest green eyes, ignoring a bout of pins and needles that stabbed at the nerve endings in her feet from her prolonged sedentary position.
The newcomer then began to speak, using a grandfatherly tone which she had so dearly, dearly missed.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts… Miss Potter."
That utterance was enough for Ariana to break herself out from her lethargic state and give a grin so wide her mouth started to hurt. She then gave a joyous laugh and launched herself like a cannonball at the person who just spoke, her arms wide open as she almost flew across the room.
"Hello Al," she murmured in a muffled voice when she latched tightly onto the current headmaster of Hogwarts, hugging her dear friend as all previous worries temporarily expunged themselves from her mind, her spirit soaring upwards with no end in sight.
After the deep hug ended, she then detached from overflowing robes of purple and she placed her arms on her hips in akimbo, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she then donned a glare with no heart behind it.
"Albus, you wicked, wicked man. How could you hide something that important from me?" she mock-scolded, wagging one finger in the air.
"Hide what, my girl?" Albus responded cheerfully, his eyes twinkling brilliantly over his moon-spectacled glasses as he looked down at the spirited young witch.
"You know…" she spluttered, arms flailing animatedly, "…the adoption thing!"
Albus' eyes twinkled even brighter, "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."
The smile on Ariana's face slowly lessened as she sobered, her movement ceasing to be erratic and her face began to contort from the presence of raw emotions that flitted across her face.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," she said quietly, her hands curling up tightly against her chest as she bowed her head, "Thank you so, so much."
And thus, a child beloved by the Fates and the most powerful wizard on the earth reunited once again.
The hours quickly flew by as they each regaled the other with wild stories – full of bold embellishments, of course – of what they had been doing in each other's absence, talking tirelessly into the night and catching up as if they hadn't seen each other in years. However, the theme of merriment and good cheer soon faded away as their conversation turned to more darker and serious topics.
"…and that's exactly what Tom is trying to do," came Albus' voice, layered with urgency after twenty minutes of heated debate with the intellectual prodigy in front of him.
"You're wrong. I don't think that's his plan," Ariana immediately refuted, "He needs so much influence within the Department of Magical Transportation that it's only possible if he–"
Albus suddenly interrupted her with a slicing wave of his hand, his eyes burning brighter as one particular thought catapulted to the top of his mind.
"Hold that topic. I've just had an epiphany," he announced before he struck a thinking pose, "From the evidence we've gathered so far about the state of Tom's current wherewithal… this can only mean one thing." He paused as he tapped his chin. "I believe… he wants to nationalize the commodity market," he speculated slowly, his brow furrowing the harder he thought about it.
"Nationalize the commodity market?" Ariana echoed in surprise, "But… but he'll need nearly full control over Wizengamot to even begin to think about that." She then tapped her lip thoughtfully as a few historical case studies popped up in her mind, "And besides, hasn't nationalization benefited the economy a few times before?"
"Nationalization is not uncommon in times of war, but has severe drawbacks," Albus argued as he brought up his fingers in a counting motion, "Firstly, it gives rise to the principal-agent problem between politicians and corporate management – where each party acts in their own interests, leading to inefficiencies and ineffectiveness. Secondly, long term investment is out of the question as our Ministry spends its budget largely on education, health and defence – industry is last on their list. And finally, it makes the market less volatile."
Ariana gave a confused frown, her eidetic memory kicking into play as her mind rifled through a multitude of books she had read on governmental interference with private businesses, "Isn't it better if prices are less volatile? How is that a bad thing?" she wondered out loud.
"Volatility is what breathes life into the trading market. If there is no price change, there is no profit," Albus quickly elucidated, "Without going into too much detail, a highly volatile stock can provide almost infinite opportunities to trade on price swings; a bullish market is a healthy market."
Ariana grew even more confused from conflicting sources of information, "Hold on. Isn't our current market horribly inflated from the influx of Muggle money that has been pouring into our society?" she challenged, remembering the words of a very peculiar wizard she had met during James' birthday party.
Albus twitched slightly as the young girl hit the nail on the coffin, speaking with wisdom that belied her real age, "This is why the implementation of a crude Laissez-faire system is the best we can hope for right now," he replied slowly, coming back to his main point.
The young witch rubbed her temples as the first signs of a headache appeared, turning inwards to her spiralling thoughts.
Albus keeps thinking short term. Why isn't he thinking about the far future as we've always been doing? It's almost as if he's rushing our plans along for some reason…
Also, why is he wearing a glove on his left hand?
"How exactly is all this connected with Voldemort knocking off all the Heads of the Sacred Twenty-Eight again?" she asked tiredly, alluding to the cabal of Pure-bloods that pulled all the strings in the shadows.
"It fits together like pieces of a puzzle," Albus patiently responded, "Tom first brainwashes notable and unsuspecting scions, then kills the current head of that particular family. After that, he lets the groomed heirs take their rightful place and thereby attains more seats in Wizengamot by proxy, which in turn, gives him fertile ground for his machinations."
"He wants to create a war – then profit out of it," he added as an afterthought, reluctant to admit that he was impressed at the simple yet complex ingenuity of the Dark Lord's plans.
Ariana gave a low scoff, "All that time and effort, just to earn a few Galleons and Knuts?" she murmured disbelievingly, "Surely, this is only one side of the coin."
The aged wizard was about to reply but halted, his mouth clicking shut, "We'll continue this conversation during our next meeting with the Order," he started, the first signs of lethargy showing on his face, "I don't want to repeat myself twice; time is precious."
And with that, he deftly changed the topic. He reached down under his desk, bringing out a small wooden box and placing it gingerly atop the wooden surface that separated him and the young witch. He then carefully unlocked the seal on the box with a murmured spell to access the well-protected receptacle.
After stowing his wand away, he emptied the contents of the box on the surface of the table.
Every single muscle in Ariana's body froze as she gazed upon a terrible sight, one which only held the memories of wanton rage and destruction to her.
An invisible hand clasped over her mouth as her breathing stopped; she felt her ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate her lungs. Something akin to a deluge of icy water began to surround her every limb, slowly creeping higher until it passed her mouth and nose, suffocating her. Her world spun, and the ground felt as if it were melting under her feet.
A loud screech nearly caused Albus to jump out of his skin as a hysterical adolescent scrambled back and fell off her chair with a painful thump. It didn't end there, for she then leapt to her feet and stumbled backwards unsteadily without course or aim, only to stop when her spine hit a bookshelf on the wall.
"Get… get that thing away from me," she hissed furiously, backed up in the corner of room and baring her teeth like a wounded animal. Her eyes were strangely glazed over, as if seeing two worlds at once: the tumultuous present and the unalterable past.
Confusion that once sat on Albus' face was replaced with a haunted look as he realized what had evoked such an extreme reaction, "Forgive me. I did not mean for you to see this," he murmured sorrowfully, hastily stowing away remnants of a destroyed diadem that were scattered across the wooden surface back from whence they came.
Even though Ariana had accepted that Voldemort was the once responsible for all the deaths she had caused last year, the graphic images of slain men and women whose life forces were extinguished by her very hand were stained eternal upon the twelve-year old's mind.
After the fragmented pieces of metal were fully swept away, Ariana slowly blinked as the pervading fog that sat on her eyes lessened, regaining function of her mind and body once more.
Wonderful. Ariana thought bitterly once she was herself again. Just wonderful.
Just what this stupid body needs, more panic attacks.
A presence then slinked stealthily into her vulnerable mindscape, reaching out with tendrils of seditious and pernicious influence. The girl was often bedevilled by this unknown entity when she least expected it, their whispers always carrying the same theme – a ghoulish obsession with death and decay.
Is there truly joy in this cursed existence you call life? You struggle on and on, but to what end? There is a way to make all the pain stop, you know.
Just take your wand and put it against your head–
Gritting her teeth, she slammed an Occlumency shield down with all the mental force as she could muster. Though she had meagre training, it was enough to stamp out the voices entirely and reset her personality to a blank slate.
"Apologies for the outburst," she said emotionlessly as her body immediately relaxed, swiftly walking over to the chair she had upturned in her frenetic thrashing and righting it. She then elegantly sat down and gestured with one hand to the aged wizard as if nothing had just happened, "Please, continue."
Albus briefly bowed his head to hide something that flashed across his face, knowing exactly what the young girl had just done to suppress her emotions, before taking a deep breath and continuing with their conversation. He then picked up a large ring – the other item from the box – that looked like it had been cleaved in twain by a sword, a clean separation down the middle proof of it.
"This is an heirloom from the House of Gaunt, taken straight from the depths of the Riddle House," he revealed as he held the said object closer to the candlelight, "A very special ring that has passed from father to son for many generations; it was also a Horcrux."
Ariana's eyes widened infinitesimally from the news, her Occulumency shield still firmly in place. She then eyed the fractured ring carefully, "I take it it's been destroyed then?" she asked with a blank face, "I sense no Dark magic emanating from it."
The wizened wizard nodded just once in response.
"Great work, Albus," she expressionlessly intoned, a mask of apathy pulled tight over her face as she moved straight on to the next topic, "Which Horcrux shall we pursue next? Shall we extract the diary from bowels of Malfoy Manor or try to track down artifacts belonging to Hufflepuff and Slytherin?"
"I've located what seems to be a magically protected cave near Tom's old orphanage in London," Albus replied without pause, "I would like us to investigate it in a week from now, if that timing so suits you."
Ariana raised an eyebrow slightly from the automatic inclusion of her in the quest to destroy Voldemort's soul-sepulchres. Normally, Albus would insist that he was going alone and she had to beg and convince him to let her come.
The old wizard got the gist of her incredulous look. "For the sake of time, we will both be going." he said matter-of-factly, "We cannot afford to mess up now."
Ariana nodded evenly and prepared herself to leave, recognizing a clear dismissal in the other's tone. As she attempted to get up however, an outstretched hand stopped her at the last second. She tilted her head quizzically before sitting down into the chair from a command to stay.
She looked on wordlessly at one nervous-looking Albus, one that looked as if he was fighting something internal within the recesses of his mind, his eyes twitching, hands and knuckles weaving in and out each other, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, as if the next thing he was going to say was a terrible idea.
"In the future," came a voice tinctured with nervous inflections, "You said that I'd given you an invisibility cloak as a Christmas present, am I right?"
Ariana nodded wordlessly, a wave of physical and mental lethargy sweeping through her body as she struggled to keep her Occlumency shield in place and stay composed, not trusting her highly strung emotions tonight.
"Did… did the invisibility cloak ever talk to you?"
The adolescent blinked owlishly from the seemingly bizarre question, "What?" she blurted out.
"The cloak. What happened when you put it on? Did it try to make you do things that you didn't want to do? Did it have a voice? If so, what sort of voice did it have?" came forth a profusion of questions.
Ariana struck a contemplative pose for a few seconds before speaking, "Well, the cloak wasn't alive – if that's what you're asking. It never communicated with me at all," she replied truthfully before perking up, "Why? It is supposed to be magically sentient?"
Albus was about to respond but stopped as his eyes strayed over her shoulder to a large grandfather clock that stood solemnly against the wall, then giving a visible start as he realized the hour hand was indicating that it was nearly midnight.
"Remember this conversation, for I will answer your question the next time we meet," Albus said in a strangely heavy tone, "And when that happens, I shall then tell you of an old fairy tale. One of three brothers; one of prodigality, lust, and cowardice."
"Doesn't sound like much of a fairy tale now does it," Ariana muttered dispassionately, too tired to care at this point.
"The many untruths and truths that gnaw at our hearts will soon be revealed," Albus replied cryptically before gesturing to the door with his hand, "Now please, you need to rest. My apologies for not noticing the time."
Ariana nodded sleepily, glad that the long talk was over as she hopped to her feet, eager to jump into her soft confines of her bed.
"G'night Albus," she slurred slightly as she gave a tired wave, suppressing a yawn that threatened to take her to the land of dreams.
"Good night, Miss Potter," Albus said with a gentle smile, giving a small wave of his own.
Ariana froze.
A black rune – only visible to her eyes – slipped out from under the old wizard's gloved hand as it waved her goodbye, an inky residue of magic floating upwards until it eventually reached the ceiling where it evanesced into the darkness. All torpidity borne from her paroxysms vanished as her breath hitched, only now noticing that the odd look her friend had been constantly carrying on his face closely resembled one of constant pain.
"Albus… what's wrong with your hand?"
Albus froze for a millisecond before making sure the twinkle in his eyes were at their maximum effect, "What are you talking about?" he said in the most pleasant voice he could muster.
"Remember what you said," the young witch snapped, her patience oddly thin tonight, "No lies between us."
The aged headmaster held his grandfatherly look in place as he struggled to not show any emotions to the only person in his life he felt unwilling to argue against, "You look exhausted, my girl," he pointed out almost desperately, "Please, head back to your dormitory and get some much-needed rest."
What he was not prepared for however, was the small girl to suddenly sprint from her standing position and leap over his large desk in a single stride, obviously magically assisted, and crash forcefully into him, sending both of them flying across the room. His indignant squawk of surprise was interrupted as he felt something soft behind him; a Cushioning Charm separated his old body from the ground, safeguarding his body from the fall.
The audacious offender however, was now seated upon on his chest with a look of renewed anger and fear on her face, her Occulumency – a cruel but necessary skill that he had once assisted her with – was all but absent as she rapaciously grabbed onto his left hand and wrenched his specially designed dragon-hide glove off in one swift move.
He saw her gasp in horror and awe as her eyes trailed upwards, looking at something only she could see, ensorcelled by whatever magic was leaking out from the black mark that lay etched upon his skin.
"The same," the young girl whispered in fear, her eyes widened, her breath now coming in ragged and harsh, "The same as before," she continued in a distant tone, looking closely at the decay of flesh and bone on his hand.
Albus frowned and stopped squirming, accepting the odd position they were in.
"What do you mean, same as before?"
The young witch ignored his question and jumped off his chest, starting to pace around on the spot and biting her nails as she muttered something unintelligible under her breath.
"Ariana?" Albus asked hesitantly, pushing himself off the floor into a sedentary position.
He called out a second time to the witch that shared the same name with his sister.
Only then did she visibly start and refocus on him, her piercing green eyes making him twitch unconsciously, almost as if they stared past his weary body and into his very soul.
"Yes?" she responded blankly, her mind obviously somewhere else.
"Inferring from your reaction, you've already seen this sort of magic in the future. Am I correct?" he asked lowly.
"Yes," the adolescent immediately replied, her mind refocusing as she knelt back down on the floor, "You had the same mark on your hand during my sixth year at Hogwarts – but you always bandaged it instead of covering it with a glove."
Albus raised an eyebrow from the new pieces of information.
Bandaging the wound has little to no effect. Perhaps the person who treated me in the future was a potions specialist?
Although Horace is a Potions Master himself, his ability to create new and completely innovative rituals has always been second to none.
A bolt of despondency then shot through him as he realized that his current self had acted the in same way his future self would, inexorably succumbing to the dark calls of the Resurrection Stone – or was it the calls of the Horcrux? Before his train of thought digressed from the matter at hand, the young girl he treasured so dearly suddenly jumped up and started speaking excitedly, her eyes alight, smouldering with the first signs of an unquenchable fire.
"I knew it! I recognize the runes from the black mark on your hand," she exclaimed excitedly as she gestured energetically, "I read a book last year called 'Mastery of Multivariate Parselmagic' and it described runes exactly like the ones I'm seeing. In the book it says that this web of magic is…"
Albus blinked twice in confusion when the rest of her words suddenly turned unintelligible to him. After a good ten seconds of confusion of hearing nothing but strange grunts and hisses, he realized with a start that she was unknowingly speaking Parseltongue.
He sucked in his breath sharply.
Horace and I have spent many sleepless nights together, perusing through every single book housed in Hogwarts in an attempt to sate our wild curiosities, only to be denied the answer time and time again.
Can it truly be Parselmagic?
It took a while, but he finally managed to mellow the visibly vibrating girl back into a more relaxed state, standing up himself and mollifying her with outstretched arms and a soothing voice. He had always liked to rest his hands on her shoulders: it reminded him of days of past, of good times, of innocent times.
"Now, my girl," Albus gently asked the young witch once the burst of energy had dampened, "I didn't catch any of that. Can you summarize what you just said?"
Ariana nodded seriously and said just one line back to him, a single sentence that would forever change the course of history as they knew it.
"I know how to fix this."
Albus' eyes bulged from the utterance, his grip on her small shoulders weakening as his body grew slack. His vision blurred as he swayed slightly on the spot from the deliverance of a complete feeling of helplessness that persistently sat atop his breast. He didn't even realize that the young witch had raced out of his office – fervently saying something about bringing a book back – for his mind had begun to accelerate at a terrifying speed, creating and destroying scenarios within seconds of each other in a raging maelstrom that dominated his thought processes.
A good two minutes later, the Child of Flame – a moniker he once remembered Fawkes using – bounded back energetically into his office with a small bag strapped around one shoulder, accompanied by a large codex that floated obediently in the air behind her.
She was panting heavily. "Hurry up, Al. Come… sit down on the floor… with me," she called out between laboured breaths as she gestured frantically with one hand, placing the other hand on her heaving chest – obvious proof that she had been running nonstop.
Albus' countenance grew firm as he was wrenched out of his churning thoughts, energy then infusing back into his old bones as he crossed the entirety of the room in under a second. He then kneeled down beside the impassioned girl, silent and curious as he patiently waited for the young witch to start elucidating the current situation.
The young witch's face was donning a focused look as she pointed to the floating book with her wand, her eyes glowing as tapped it just once and muttered something under her breath. Her magic then caused the book to snap open and furiously flip through its pages to eventually come to the exact page she wanted, her previous magic still binding the book in place and kept it levitating under the gentle illumination of his office.
"There," she proclaimed proudly after scanning a certain page, pointing to a sinister looking symbol that resembled two snakes entwined around each other, "Look closely at the runic architecture, it is the exactly the same as the one on your skin."
Albus automatically looked down at his blackened hand. To his eyes however, all he could see was a smudged, dark stain; there were no symbols of any kind.
"Parselmagic is intrinsically multivariate in nature," she lectured with the tone of a cultured scholar, not waiting for a reply, "This means it always requires more than one source of magic to activate it. Ranging from slight augmentations to your wand – of which I've experimented with – to using live animal sacrifices to act as conduits; it is a magic like no other. The complex framework behind each lovingly crafted spell harkens back to the Tongues of Old if an incantation is needed."
Albus gave a small grin despite the situation.
After living for nearly ninety-five years on this planet, I'm still learning new things every day. He thought brightly to himself, suppressing the desire to do a little jig on the spot.
"Tongues of Old?" he then asked curiously, settling into a more comfortable position on the floor.
The Child of Flame's eyes burned bright as she described ancient and arcane knowledge that had only previously been privy to members of a dedicated cult that followed in the footsteps of the great Herpo the Foul – the earliest known Parselmouth. Ever-so often Albus had to interrupt her, for Ariana was unconsciously switching back and forth between English and Parseltongue, borne from her inability to properly delineate her thoughts and to find an analogous example in her mother tongue, the minutiae of ophidian spellwork seemingly too complex for her to explain using the words the English language possessed.
Twenty more minutes of crucial discourse passed, imparting Albus with arguably the world's most secretive information, further expanding his ever-growing lexicon of magical knowledge.
"…and finally, we can focus on the practical part," Ariana declared loudly, fully finishing the theory behind what they were about to do.
Again, not waiting for Albus' input, she opened the bag she brought back with her and unceremoniously dumped their contents onto the hard stone that lined his office floor. The wizard narrowed his eyes when he spotted a few items of among the bag's contents that sent warning bells off in his head; broken sticks of chalk, stumpy candles and a very, very sharp knife.
The combination of these three items could only lead to one thing – and one thing only.
"Ariana, what are you doing?" he barked, the sharp order causing the girl to stop what she was doing and look up at him with a startled expression.
The adolescent frowned, pointing to an incomprehensible squiggle on one of the pages in the floating book, "There, it says we need to draw a pentagram using white chalk and then light ten candles–"
"Stop," Albus commanded sharply, causing her to snap her mouth shut with a loud click. He then took a deep breath. "This is magic related to a blood sacrifice, is it not?" he continued even though he knew the answer, the subtle firmness and accusatory cadence in his tone just enough to affect the young witch.
Ariana rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, "I probably mentioned it earlier… I think?" she laughed nervously.
Albus squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the top of his brow in consternation.
"Listen to me, Ariana," he implored gravely when he looked back at her, "Blood magic is the darkest branch of magic on this planet. Second to that are the forbidden rituals." He paused as everything clicked into place in his mind. "What you just described to me is a blood magic ritual. An unholy amalgamation of two of the foulest magics to ever exist."
To his dismay, all the girl did was to tilt quizzically her head at him, uncharacteristically holding a perfectly calm and collected face.
"And?"
All traces of levity were gone from Albus' face. "And I think this is a bad idea," he said grimly, suppressing memories of when he first dabbled in the forbidden schools of magic, "When one performs blood magic, he or she will then cross a terrible threshold."
Ariana unfortunately, had caught on to him, "When did you first perform the blood rites?" she asked, morbid curiously shining her eyes.
Albus turned his face away, unbridled shame and guilt rising in within him as a voice he had thought was locked away deep within his brain broke free, mocking him, goading him, toying with his aged mind in their quest to inflict as much pain and suffering as possible.
Go on then, answer the Child.
How many men and women did you murder in your quest for power, Albus? How many families did you tear apart? How many friends did you stab in the back? How many children did you–
"I walked down that dark path a long time ago," he revealed almost inaudibly, so quiet it was nearly lost upon the gentle breeze that coursed through his office, "And I have paid the price for it ever since."
He cleared his throat noisily. "Look," he continued in a carefully controlled voice, "Neither of us fully understand what we're getting into here. There are a thousand and one things that could go wrong if we choose to go through with this."
To his further distress, Ariana remained unfazed as she shrugged wordlessly before starting to draw the pentagram without his permission on the floor with the pieces of white chalk.
"I don't get why you're trying to dissuade me. All I'm trying to do is to remove the curse on your hand," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, continuing to draw white lines in long, controlled strokes.
Her words rang true in his mind, causing all retorts to die on his lips and fade away as he physically faltered.
Even if I could be healed, there is a small chance of potentially dooming this girl to a path of Darkness. Is it really worth it?
A single line then reverberated around in his head, causing him to sit up ramrod straight.
For the greater good.
"I'll do it," Albus blurted out loudly before he could stop himself, his face blanching from the utterance of his Freudian slip.
To his extreme confusion however, all the young witch did in response to his admission was to slump over dramatically and groan loudly in exasperation.
"Albus," she whined almost childishly as she pouted, "You just ruined everything."
"Err… what?"
Ariana's apathy then vanished as emotions once again appeared on her face, "You said the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear," she grumbled, annoyed that her plan had been set back, "I needed you to unwillingly participate in this ritual. Blood is always stronger when it is forcibly taken."
Albus' pupils dilated as old memories threatened to resurface once again, "How do you know that?" he whispered.
"Courtesy of Voldemort," the girl replied in a dulled toned before giving a pointed look, "My fourth year, remember? Ol' Tom resurrected himself with my blood."
Albus composed himself and gave a small nod, recalling the harrowing ordeal she had once recounted to him. The next few minutes were then completely and utterly devoid of noise – apart from the faint scratching of limestone against granite, the soft crepitations of candle wicks burning, and the hair-raising sounds of steel grinding on a whetstone.
In the end, the pentagram was ready, candles alight at every point of where lines of white chalk intersected. After everything and everyone was in their correct position, Ariana then rolled up her sleeve and picked up the knife, brandishing it towards herself in a non-threatening manner.
"We're not using my blood?" Albus said in surprise, who was now seated directly opposite the young witch, his blackened hand placed securely on the floor at one pointed end of the pentagram.
"Change of plans," Ariana informed in a business-like tone, angling the knife perpendicularly on her open palm, "We're going to use my blood instead."
"Why–"
"Since I can't forcibly take your blood anymore, we'll just have to settle with my blood willingly given."
"But–"
"In Merlin's name, the book said it's fine," she snapped hotly, her patience finally running out. The girl then realized she had just done and gave the old wizard an apologetic look, who nodded back in full understanding.
"Hold on. There's something I missed," Ariana added before putting down the knife, frowning as something suddenly caught her eye. A handwrit line was scribbled hastily on the bottom of the page.
"It reads: For the best effect, use the blood of a… catamite?" She tilted her head curiously at a word she had never seen before, "Albus, what does 'catamite' mean?"
"Ignore that instruction," came the sharp reply.
"What–"
"I said ignore it."
Gazing into the stormy recesses of the old wizard's eyes, she eventually acquiesced, filing this moment away in her mind. Her piercing eyes never left Albus' as she just asked one more question before she began the rite.
"Professor… do you trust me?"
The world was absolutely silent before his lips parted.
"Entirely, my girl."
With that reassurance bolstering her confidence and spirit, she picked up the knife from the floor, fingers trembling ever so slightly as she prepped herself for a type of ritual that was completely out of her comfort zone – not to mention one strictly forbidden by the Ministry and carried incredibly dangerous repercussions if she messed anything up.
She held the sharp end of the quivering knife against her palm, held her breath, and then sliced.
A whimper of pain escaped from her lips as blood burst forth like a dam out from her open wound, the rivers of red meandering down her wrists and dripping onto the floor, the viscous liquid then guided as they flowed along the lines of drawn chalk of the entire pentagram until the entirety of it was saturated.
Satisfied that the first step was complete, Ariana then began to recite off the floating book in front of her, hissing in the noble language of Parseltongue as she writhed sinusoidally in situ akin to a moulting snake – but not straying an inch from her seated position.
The hair on Albus' arms stood up on end as the air thrummed with powerful and unseen magic, consolidating like a fog within confines the forbidden ritual they were performing. The putrid smell of decaying flesh mingled with the stagnant air of his office, the miasma accompanied by a noise that was too high in frequency for humans to hear – calling to the more ancient powers that lingered in this world as it insonified the room. His moon-spectacled glasses began to vibrate as it reached their natural frequency, bouncing up and down on his face as if he were riding a carriage on a bumpy road.
And thus, the ritual took its course, one with an old wizard trying to not squirm or shuffle, focusing intensely as he kept his cursed hand stable on its position on the bloodied chalk. As each minute passed, the young witch's hissing grew in intensity and volume, up to a point where it grated upon his aged heart and made his skin crawl, making him wish he could cover his ears and blot out the unearthly noises.
Albus grimaced internally as he thought about the situation.
Although Ariana is trying so very hard, it is very unlikely that this counter-ritual will succeed. Inflicting a curse upon someone is easy. To remove a curse however, is another issue altogether. The magic and willpower needed to remove this curse is far beyond the current power and knowledge Ariana possesses.
Perhaps it was wrong of me to humour her–
Albus gasped as he felt something wet touch his hand, the physical contact wrenching him out of his brooding thoughts. Glancing downwards, he hummed in morbid fascination at the sight that greeted his eyes.
The gelatinous liquid on the floor was slowly creeping towards him.
In the darkness the blood barely shone red, instead under the flickering orange candlelight above it was almost a sickly blackish-gold. The blood didn't gush in a constant flow, but rather rippled in perfect rhythm with the beating of his heart. It came thick and strong, flowing across his fingers as they lay flat on the floor. He felt the blood then advance over the top of his hand, the thick fluid no warmer or cooler than his own skin.
"DON'T MOVE!" Ariana screamed in panic when he instinctively tried to pull away.
Obeying the frantic command, Albus kept his every part of his body absolutely still, letting whatever was happening to him happen. He eventually lost track of what the blood was doing to his hand for it had surged up his arm en masse, entirely coating it in a turgid, roiling mass that was swirling around akin a raging whirlpool.
After exactly thirty seconds had passed, the nerve-wracking ordeal abated and finally came to an end, the blood coagulating as its cyclic motion slowly reduced in velocity until it petered out, upon which the liquid lost all of its impetus and finally fell back to the stained floor with gravity acting as their pathfinder.
The sight that then greeted Albus' eyes was one he couldn't have expected in a million years.
No… impossible.
"What..." Albus trailed off weakly as he raised his left hand up to his face, his mind reeling and unable to comprehend or process the images the scene was sending to his eyes.
This… this is IMPOSSIBLE.
His once cursed hand now bore no traces of damage on its skin of any kind. He turned over his pink hand over and over again in a frenzied manner under the gentle illumination in the room, his frantic eyes trying to discern for any dark specks or residues of the curse that previously engulfed his hand, almost as if in denial of what had just transpired.
"H-How?" he gasped breathlessly as he snapped his head back to an exhausted but smug looking witch, "Your magic is nowhere near powerful enough to revert this curse."
"Give… give me one second," Ariana said in a faltering voice. She hastily pulled out two large phials of what seemed to be Blood-Replenishing Potions from her bag and greedily gulping them both down without pause in-between. She wiped her mouth as colour infused back into her sallow face, although the large dark rings around her eyes told another story altogether – physical and magical exhaustion were nearly causing her to collapse on the spot.
"Recall the arithmetic axioms of Parseltongue we discussed earlier," she reminded in a slightly stronger voice, "Parselmagic magic can only be undone with Parselmagic. Combined with blood magic, its strength was amplified tenfold," she explained as succinctly as she could.
"I used my blood as a secondary source of magic, while my magic counted as the first," she continued, looking extremely pleased with herself, "It was actually very simple to dismantle the runic structure – all I had to do was to first see it."
Albus' thoughts were still in turmoil from what had just transpired, temporarily ignoring his still speaking saviour as he cast spell upon spell on his skin to check for any lingering indications of Tom's vile magic in his body. After what seemed like an eternity later, he stopped what he was doing as realization fully sunk into his old bones: he was cured.
He was about to explode with a jubilant cheer but stopped at the last second when he saw the person who had just given him a second chance in life was swaying dangerously where she sat. He frantically leapt forward to catch a falling girl – one who had just lost the battle against her overwhelming fatigue.
With one final burst of energy, Ariana grinned weakly as she looked up at him, snuggling into the softness of his velvety robes.
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," she mumbled as her eyelids began to droop, her consciousness fading as it guided her to the realm of dreams, "You were destined to live for the next two decades."
"And so you shall."
Next evening
Ariana was humming happily to herself as she skipped down a lengthy flight of stairs, the joyous bounce in her gait revealing her current mood. Her small feet never missed a single step, never stumbling once as the echoing taps of leather upon granite played a musical tune under the gentle coolness of twilight.
All is well in the world. She thought blissfully to herself.
All is so perfectly, damnably, well.
When her legs eventually brought her to a set of brown and study wooden doors, she purposely slowed her pace down. Upon reaching her destination, she turned slightly wary, opting to peek through the crack of the doorway instead of openly entering, as if scouting for something – or someone.
She gave a satisfied nod after her piercing green eyes surveyed the room as best she could, ascertaining that the Hospital Wing was still empty as it was on the previous day. This was due to the fact that only one day of the new year of schooling had elapsed, for the beds would soon be full of intrepid first-years that had ventured too far into the Forbidden Forest, jaded seventh-years that had tested spells on one another, unfortunate students that had been injured by exploding potions, and all others that lay in-between.
The wooden doors suddenly swung inward, interrupting her quiet musing and causing her to let out a high-pitched squeak of surprise as she lurched forward, her body no long supported by the pieces of wood. Her yelp of panic was then cut off when she staggered face-first into something rather warm and soft.
"Oh, hello Miss Pever– pardon me, Miss Potter," came a gentle and familiar voice that floated down from above.
The said adolescent was confused for the briefest seconds before she recognized who was speaking. Then, without warning, she leaned forward just a bit further and engulfed a person who was literally saved her life in more ways than one with just one simple gesture: an all-encompassing hug – well, encompassing as far as her small arms went.
"I missed you so much, Madam Pomfrey," Ariana burst out breathlessly, her radiant smile partnering with the tight hug completely and utterly melting the heart of the older witch.
"As you, I, child," the Healer murmured fondly after they detached. She then placing on steady hand on the visibly vibrating adolescent and guided her into the emptiness of the Hospital Wing, a lazy flick of her wand shutting the doors behind them with a muted bang.
As the witches worked through the motions as they had previous done every full moon so far for Ariana's monthly ailment – bar when she was sojourned at Godric's Hollow, they caught up with one another within that time. One spirited and animated in all her motions, while the other trying her hardest not to chuckle at the endearing display of youthful expression.
Now, Poppy Pomfrey was a woman who was married to her work. Entirely devoted and dedicated to her vocation, there was not a single day that went by without her brilliant mind solving diagnostic or prognostic cases that had been sent in from St. Mungo's Hospital. With no lovers, children, or close friends to distract her, her only goal in life was to save as many people as physically possible. Not even letting herself get attached to patients, she was a hard woman by all standards.
However, it was times like these, ones of gentle conversation and lilting laughter with this rather peculiar girl, that the middle-aged Mediwitch cherished with all her heart.
"…and then I grabbed the Snitch right out of James' face!" Ariana chattered expressively, "You wouldn't believe the look on…"
"Is that so?" Poppy chuckled, only half-listening to the rambling witch, just content in basking the sound of the child's voice, a soothing tune that instilled a sense of serenity within her.
She then made sure everything was in position once the younger witch was snugly tucked into bed. "Now, a question before we begin," she gently interrupted the lively girl, "Did the special spell which Professor Slughorn invented work adequately whilst you were at the Potters?"
Ariana nodded affirmatively, "The spell made my stomach feel a bit funny for a few hours," she answered truthfully, "But apart from that everything else was fine."
"That's good to hear," Poppy paused, "If you'd like, we can start with your proper treatment now."
After giving another nod, the young girl then unloosened the muscles in her body and relaxed into the softness of the hospital bed as she prepared for a full day's sleep – a side effect of this particular ritual.
Poppy began to chant softly over her patient that lay supine, swishing and weaving her wand elegantly in the air as she drew upon the large recesses of her magical core, invoking restorative powers of a legendary status that would cause many a Muggle to wage war over it if they knew of its ineffable existence.
The Mediwitch suddenly felt something wrong in her spellworking and cancelled what she was doing at the very last second. She frowned deeply, ignoring Ariana's confused face as she waved her wand a second time, but this time casting a broad-spectrum diagnostic spell instead, conjuring a polychromatic halo that encircled the hospital bed, a bust of beautiful colours that resembled an aurora borealis – but to Poppy, it was anything but beautiful, for it told another story entirely.
Pushing past the lustre of flavours that ranged from mahogany red and yellow ochre, the ones that showed an extensive history of torture and abuse, her eyes finally located onto what was besetting her attempts.
"Miss Potter," she finally said in quiet voice, "You… won't be needing this ritual anymore."
Ariana blinked in confusion, "W-What?" she spluttered loudly, "But if I don't do this–"
"Let me clarify," the Mediwitch interrupted not unkindly, "For some reason, your magic is no longer rejecting your menstrual cycle. It is no longer trying to harm you in any way or form."
Ariana's eyebrows raised almost to the top of her head in shock, her brilliant mind absorbing and processing what the older witch had just said in just under a second.
"That's… that's great," she gasped breathlessly when realization finally sank in, her body sagging with relief, her muscles almost audibly groaning with relief from the first sliver of respite that had ever come their way in this world.
After a closer inspection at the panoply of colours, the experienced Mediwitch came to more well-defined conclusion.
"Hold on, my diagnosis was only partially right," she announced, speaking quickly so the girl wouldn't misconstrue her and panic, "Your magic wasn't rejecting your cycle… but rather was just confused by it, refusing to integrate with physical changes brought on by puberty."
"Regardless, think nothing more of this matter," Poppy continued, the relief on her face mirroring the look held by the would-be convalescent, "I'll carefully study the curious case of your body's magical mishap in my own time."
She then murmured under her breath so quietly, thinking the younger witch was out of earshot.
"I didn't think it was possible but… my dear girl, your body is finally healed."
The Mediwitch then smiled beautifully, tucking her wand back in her dress, "You may dress yourself, my dear," she said gently, "My beds house only the sick and weary: you are now neither." After seeing no movement from wide-eyed girl, she then clapped her hands authoritatively, "Come on, chop chop."
The words jolted Ariana back to reality, wrenching her from her mindscape and causing her to yank off the hospital gown she was wearing in a very unladylike manner, down to her undershirt and pants. As she changed back into her day-to-day clothes – her privacy intact by a screen around them, a voice suddenly permeated the air.
"Miss Potter, you may or may not know this, but you should really be wearing a bra."
Ariana froze for a millisecond, all her previous emotions of joy abruptly replaced with utter mortification as her face flushed scarlet.
"I err… forgot to wear it," she quickly lied in panic, unwilling to admit that she'd completely forgotten about certain pieces of advice her grandmother had so painstakingly educated her on.
"Well, try not to forget, Miss Potter."
Ariana gulped audibly as she fervently nodded.
Waiting until Madam Pomfrey's attention was diverted elsewhere, she pulled back the collar of her thin undershirt and peered downwards at the accursed sight that was brought to her attention, glaring balefully at the nascent hills and valleys of flesh and blood.
Just wonderful. Ariana sullenly thought as she resumed with dressing herself.
Second puberty. Just what I need.
After all was done and dusted, a quiet round of thanks, a tight hug, and a tender pat on the head concluded the meeting. Thus, Ariana exited the Hospital Wing with a much brighter look on her face than when she first entered, borne from the plan on sleeping solidly for the next ten hours in the warmth of her own bed this time.
"I'm cured," Ariana sang gaily, skipping down a deserted hallway back to her dormitory, "No more potions, no more spells, no more–"
She abruptly stopped singing as she felt something odd snap within her.
Dismissing it as a figment of her imagination after a brief second, she resumed her buoyant gait and cheerful song of celebration. A second bout however, caused her to stop whatever she was doing entirely.
As she was patting herself down to double-check there was nothing wrong with her, she eventually located the problem: her arm was itchy.
"Odd," she muttered to herself, absently scratching the offending spot and letting out a moan of pleasure from the action.
After a few seconds, she realized something: her arm was still itchy.
Noticing she was near a bathroom, she quickly ascertained it was the girl's one before hopping into it, hoping that temporarily coating her arm in hot water would ease the bizarre feeling. She noted with annoyance when she entered that the Hogwarts bathrooms were almost always in a state of dilapidation. From the old tarnished mirrors to the chipped enamel in the sinks, these were just the start of the many problems the facilities held.
Grumbling under her breath, magically heated water sprayed from a loose faucet over Ariana's almost translucent skin, thin and without any discernible pigment. Seconds passed into minutes, and she didn't realize what that she was still scratching, even under the hot water. She had only noticed what she was doing when the presence of another fluid mixed in with the water, the lack of light turning the once transparent liquid a murky grey.
Her nails had scratched past her skin – a wound was now exposed, dribbling blood.
Rolling at her eyes at losing track of something so simple, the young witch reached down within her vast wells of magic and angled her other hand appropriately, summoning a ball of scintillating starlight – Old Magic – and launching it towards her open wound in order to heal it.
What came next was something so astonishing, so mind-numbing, that the young girl couldn't quite understand what was happening at first glance.
The wound didn't heal.
Rubbing her tired eyes with disbelief, she tried again, this time creating an even larger sphere of power.
Same response.
Ariana let out an exasperated sigh at the situation. "Dammit, why aren't you healing me stupid ball of light," she muttered crossly, cursing the unpredictability of her secondary source of magic as she turned off the flow of tap water.
As she brought up the tiny wound up to her face to inspect it further, she noticed just one thing – and one thing only. There was a black spot on her skin of her left hand. She thought nothing of it first, until the black stain started to grow, and grow, and grow. Spellbound in morbid horror, she watched the stain proliferate and become exponentially larger until finally a black rune oozed out from her skin: one which looked like two snakes entwined with each other.
Her breath hitched, her brilliant mind realizing what was happening and what was causing it to happen.
"Multivariate Parselmagic," she whispered in growing terror to the reflection in the mirror, referring to the ritual she performed the previous night, "My body was acting as the real conduit; my blood was merely an extension of my body."
"The plan was to let my blood absorb the curse and evaporate along with the web of magic. But since my blood was tied to my body, Albus' curse was instead…" she shuddered, unwilling to finish the sentence out loud.
… passed onto me.
She felt sweat beginning to drench her pale skin, she felt a throbbing in her eyes, she felt muted screams of those long dead vibrate in her ears, she felt the rapid thumping of her young heart within her heaving chest. As her world teetered on the edge of blackness, her only consolation was that no one around to hear her screams of despair.
And thus, Ariana James Potter, a child beloved by the stars themselves, slowly began to die.
