Random ficlet in part inspired by the binding of power from the film The Craft, (Which I haven't watched for a few years. These things stew in my brain, before combining on paper.), and various bits of witchery that I've picked up off the net.
Disclaimer: You recognise it, it's not mine. Simple as that.
Harry carefully sealed the concentric circles around him, described in earth, air, fire, water and power. "As I seek an end to harm, let none intending harm pass." The power circle glowed, igniting the others until he was enclosed in a glowing dome of protection. Letting out a shaking breath, he centred himself and picked up the charged dagger in his right hand, his wand hand. He sat, head bowed, and let his mind wander. Seeking, searching, looking for the mind he wanted, looking for the correct body to inhabit. Hunting his target. There! A wisp of contact brushed the outer edges of his seeking self and he plunged towards it, drawing himself ever closer by that thin thread of aura that grew stronger as he neared the body's physical location. Now came the difficult part, taking over the body long enough to achieve his goal, to serve the purpose of this out-of-body trip. Lingering, lurking, again seeking but now seeking a way in, an unbarred gate that would allow him access to his chosen target. Probing, testing, there! A weakness, a flaw that allowed him to plunge inwards, to fill the body that was now his to claim!
Shaking, he opened his eyes and looked out of foreign eyes, in a mind that wasn't him but was his. He flickered out his tongue, testing, and found that charging the dagger had worked, it had allowed him to carry it with him as he travelled, allowed it to be incorporated into his new shell. He hissed his triumph! Carefully, Harry/Nagini probed the metal fang that was the dagger, and slithered forward to coil around the Master's feet. If this went wrong, months of planning would be wasted and he would not get such an opportunity again! He slithered round Master, who paid his pet little heed as the serpent was so tightly bound to him that it was almost an extension of himself. A faint flickering in her mind nagged at him, but he ignored it in favour of listening to the report of the snivelling worm that abased himself at the feet of his Lord. Carefully, gently, Harry/Nagini coiled round the Dark Lord's neck. Now was the time! Hissing mindless noise the dual-minded snake very slowly eased it's mouth open to expose its single silver fang. With a quick swipe, it punctured the Dark Lord's skin and drew blood, a cut too fine to be noticed immediately that nonetheless left the silver stained with red.
In that instant Harry fled the snake, relinquished control of the Dark Lord's serpent and fled back to his circle, to the protection of his wards. He settled back into a body grown stiff with inertia, and hastily checked the dagger. Its tip gleamed dull crimson in the moonlight streaming through his window, and he stifled a shout of triumph. It had worked, it had worked! Speedily but neatly banishing his circles of protection he rushed over to his trunk where he pulled out a beaten golden goblet, thrumming with old magic. Carefully he tilted the blade to allow three drops of Voldemort's blood to fall into the shining bowl, where it immediately started writhing as if the power embedded in the metal stung it, hurt it. Quickly but efficiently wiping the dagger clean on an old shirt, Harry then made a neat slice across his own palm, hissing as the blade bit into his flesh. He tilted his hand before too much blood had seeped from the wound, and allowed six drops of his own blood to fall into the goblet. This time the liquid adhered to the metal as if seeking to burrow inside it. Again wiping the excess blood off the dagger, he used it to cut a strip off the shirt that he then used to bind his hand. Picking up his wand and using the glowing tip, he stirred the bloods together, thrice widdershins and thrice sunwise, speaking as he did. "As I seek to end harm, let you harm none. I bind thee, Tom Marvolo Riddle, from doing harm. I bind thee and I bind thine power in blood and magic and age-wrought metal; I bind thee from doing harm. I bind thee, Tom Marvolo Riddle, with name and blood and power, from doing harm!"
As he spoke a harsh wind picked up until he was grasping the goblet firm to prevent it whipping from his hand, feed place firmly apart as he worked his magic. At the last binding, an incandescent flare shot from the goblet to engulf the room in gold and crimson, before fading to leave a drained and exhausted boy clutching an empty goblet.
And scarcely an hour later, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore relieved the snow-white owl at his window of its letter, and turned pale when he read the three words scribed in shaking script.
He is bound.