Author's Note: Welcome to newcomers CurtK and SnWfLaKeSwEeTy. I hope you and everyone else are still hanging in there.
***
Chapter Ten:
Blood
"This will take time, Albus," Sirius said, indicating the dense forest before them with a sharp movement of his dark eyes.
"Time," said Dumbledore, "is something we do not have in abundance."
"No help for it," Sirius shrugged. "No Apparating through that barrier. I shudder to think how much innocent blood was spilled to erect it."
Both men knew that the most potent of Dark Magicks derived power from human sacrifice. The strength of this barrier left no doubt regarding the means by which it was achieved.
"Blood cancels blood," Sirius stated matter-of-factly. He drew back his left sleeve and extended his arm.
Dumbledore nodded. He picked up a melon-sized stone and touched it with his wand, transfiguring it into a crucible. He then traced a line across Sirius' bare arm, parting the skin as with a scalpel. As Dumbledore caught the flowing blood in the crucible, Sirius looked on impassively. Then the younger man lifted his eyes, a low growl reverberating deep in his throat.
Sirius stared intently at the impenetrable forest from the heart of which had come the fiery beacon that had drawn them to this place -- a signal that could only have come from his godson.
Somewhere in those black depths, Harry was confronting the most dangerous and powerful Dark Wizard in the world, beside whom Grindlewald paled to insignificance. Sirius swore under his breath, reserving his most colorful blasphemies for Cornelius Fudge. He vowed that, if he survived this night, there would come a reckoning beside which Voldemort's fate would seem a holiday at Brighton Beach.
Sirius and Dumbledore were all that remained of the Aurors, the rest having disregarded Dumbledore's counsel and followed a false trail to parts unknown. The pair had no way of knowing how many foes awaited them in the black belly of that sinister wood. They knew only that they must act without delay. Harry might be the Boy Who Lived, the Child of Prophecy; but he was still only one man. One man, alone, against the Dark Lord.
Though outwardly calm, Sirius seethed inwardly with a passion that knew no equal in his life. For a handful of Knuts he would have launched himself into that tangled wall with tooth and nail.
He steeled himself with a grimace. He reminded himself that it was not the forest that was the true barrier. Voldemort's magical shield was the real obstacle, and he would see it fall if it took every drop of blood in his veins.
When the crucible was full, Sirius sealed the cut with a touch of his own wand, leaving a thin, white scar.
"Poppy wouldn't have left a scar," Dumbledore observed wryly, attempting to ease the tension.
Sirius responded with a smile as thin and ominous as the line on his arm.
Suddenly his head jerked up.
"Did you hear thunder, Albus?"
"I heard something," Dumbledore replied slowly, his eyes on the clear, star-dotted sky. "What, I cannot say."
The old wizard's eyes seemed to hint at a greater knowledge than his lips had divulged, but Sirius chose not to press the matter.
"It's past midnight, isn't it?" Sirius remarked in what might have passed for detatchment under other circumstances.
"A fitting date," Dumbledore said soberly. "Now, if you will stand back, Sirius."
Dumbledore touched the rim of the crucible and a small notch appeared. Then, drawing on a store of knowledge unequaled in the wizarding world, he poured the blood on the ground, tracing a rune that was ancient when Merlin walked the earth. When this was accomplished, he pointed his wand at the center of the crimson glyph and muttered low.
A tiny sphere of fire appeared. hovering in mid-air. Dumbledore spoke again, and the sphere grew, expanded slowly until it could not have been compassed by the arms of both men.
Dumbledore pocketed his wand, then stood before the fiery sphere, his arms raised above his head. His blue eyes stared unwinking at the flames, seeming to pierce them and fix on the dark barrier beyond.
Sirius covered his ears; he knew the incantation to come brought madness to any but the speaker.
Dumbledore's bearded lips formed words unspoken by human tongue for a hundred lifetimes. As he spoke, the flaming sphere brightened, flared. A hot wind rushed out from the burning orb. Dumbledore threw back his head, his long hair and beard dancing in the volcanic breeze, their silver-white sheen tinged carmine.
Sirius pressed his hands to his ears as tightly as he could, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth bared in a mirthless grin. As Dumbledore cried out to the heavens, a jet of fire lanced out from the pulsating sphere. It shot through the trees, which melted away as ice before an iron brand.
The fire died. The sphere seemed to heave a tortured sigh before it collapsed in on itself and expired as suddenly as a candle flame from the breath of a child.
Sirius, his eyes open again, stared. A corridor lay before them, broad enough for two horsemen to ride abreast.
"Do we Apparate in?" Sirius asked anxiously, his body quivering like a spring striving for release.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Not until we know what awaits us. But we must not tarry -- four feet are swifter than two -- "
Without a moment's hesitation, Sirius transformed into dog-form and raced down the tree-lined corridor. Dumbledore, sprinting at a pace remarkable for his age, followed, his eyes blue flame, his mouth a thin, grim line beneath his flowing white beard.
Chapter Ten:
Blood
"This will take time, Albus," Sirius said, indicating the dense forest before them with a sharp movement of his dark eyes.
"Time," said Dumbledore, "is something we do not have in abundance."
"No help for it," Sirius shrugged. "No Apparating through that barrier. I shudder to think how much innocent blood was spilled to erect it."
Both men knew that the most potent of Dark Magicks derived power from human sacrifice. The strength of this barrier left no doubt regarding the means by which it was achieved.
"Blood cancels blood," Sirius stated matter-of-factly. He drew back his left sleeve and extended his arm.
Dumbledore nodded. He picked up a melon-sized stone and touched it with his wand, transfiguring it into a crucible. He then traced a line across Sirius' bare arm, parting the skin as with a scalpel. As Dumbledore caught the flowing blood in the crucible, Sirius looked on impassively. Then the younger man lifted his eyes, a low growl reverberating deep in his throat.
Sirius stared intently at the impenetrable forest from the heart of which had come the fiery beacon that had drawn them to this place -- a signal that could only have come from his godson.
Somewhere in those black depths, Harry was confronting the most dangerous and powerful Dark Wizard in the world, beside whom Grindlewald paled to insignificance. Sirius swore under his breath, reserving his most colorful blasphemies for Cornelius Fudge. He vowed that, if he survived this night, there would come a reckoning beside which Voldemort's fate would seem a holiday at Brighton Beach.
Sirius and Dumbledore were all that remained of the Aurors, the rest having disregarded Dumbledore's counsel and followed a false trail to parts unknown. The pair had no way of knowing how many foes awaited them in the black belly of that sinister wood. They knew only that they must act without delay. Harry might be the Boy Who Lived, the Child of Prophecy; but he was still only one man. One man, alone, against the Dark Lord.
Though outwardly calm, Sirius seethed inwardly with a passion that knew no equal in his life. For a handful of Knuts he would have launched himself into that tangled wall with tooth and nail.
He steeled himself with a grimace. He reminded himself that it was not the forest that was the true barrier. Voldemort's magical shield was the real obstacle, and he would see it fall if it took every drop of blood in his veins.
When the crucible was full, Sirius sealed the cut with a touch of his own wand, leaving a thin, white scar.
"Poppy wouldn't have left a scar," Dumbledore observed wryly, attempting to ease the tension.
Sirius responded with a smile as thin and ominous as the line on his arm.
Suddenly his head jerked up.
"Did you hear thunder, Albus?"
"I heard something," Dumbledore replied slowly, his eyes on the clear, star-dotted sky. "What, I cannot say."
The old wizard's eyes seemed to hint at a greater knowledge than his lips had divulged, but Sirius chose not to press the matter.
"It's past midnight, isn't it?" Sirius remarked in what might have passed for detatchment under other circumstances.
"A fitting date," Dumbledore said soberly. "Now, if you will stand back, Sirius."
Dumbledore touched the rim of the crucible and a small notch appeared. Then, drawing on a store of knowledge unequaled in the wizarding world, he poured the blood on the ground, tracing a rune that was ancient when Merlin walked the earth. When this was accomplished, he pointed his wand at the center of the crimson glyph and muttered low.
A tiny sphere of fire appeared. hovering in mid-air. Dumbledore spoke again, and the sphere grew, expanded slowly until it could not have been compassed by the arms of both men.
Dumbledore pocketed his wand, then stood before the fiery sphere, his arms raised above his head. His blue eyes stared unwinking at the flames, seeming to pierce them and fix on the dark barrier beyond.
Sirius covered his ears; he knew the incantation to come brought madness to any but the speaker.
Dumbledore's bearded lips formed words unspoken by human tongue for a hundred lifetimes. As he spoke, the flaming sphere brightened, flared. A hot wind rushed out from the burning orb. Dumbledore threw back his head, his long hair and beard dancing in the volcanic breeze, their silver-white sheen tinged carmine.
Sirius pressed his hands to his ears as tightly as he could, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth bared in a mirthless grin. As Dumbledore cried out to the heavens, a jet of fire lanced out from the pulsating sphere. It shot through the trees, which melted away as ice before an iron brand.
The fire died. The sphere seemed to heave a tortured sigh before it collapsed in on itself and expired as suddenly as a candle flame from the breath of a child.
Sirius, his eyes open again, stared. A corridor lay before them, broad enough for two horsemen to ride abreast.
"Do we Apparate in?" Sirius asked anxiously, his body quivering like a spring striving for release.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Not until we know what awaits us. But we must not tarry -- four feet are swifter than two -- "
Without a moment's hesitation, Sirius transformed into dog-form and raced down the tree-lined corridor. Dumbledore, sprinting at a pace remarkable for his age, followed, his eyes blue flame, his mouth a thin, grim line beneath his flowing white beard.