Thank you for all the lovely comments ^^ Thankfully I was able to have this chapter finished in time for the regular update schedule, but from here on it will really take longer, sorry! So expect new chapters around every 3 weeks or so. (Unless I have some short ones of course)
Enjoy!
Chapter 39 – Ties of Blood
''Wait, we're doing this now?'' Evan spoke, sounding shocked. ''Don't we need to… wait for moon phases and star alignment and such?'' His wish had likely been voiced in a spur of the moment and now the boy wasn't sure if he was fully prepared to suddenly be involved, Voldemort assumed.
He gave the child an amused look. ''So you have been paying attention. Yes, normally we would need to wait for the perfect moon phase. As it stands, luck is with you once more. Today is the 27th of July, and it just so happens to be a new moon tonight. One of the best this year has to offer, right before the summer solstice. Would you be at the hands of an inexperienced mage, you might have had to wait for the next one, but I have raised armies of the dead before and do not need much planning to start, for I have already fleshed out this piece of magic fully, years ago.'' He didn't even try to hide his pride.
''So this is Necromancy then, yes?''
''In its full form even. Necromancy is the art of working with the dead and has three main branches: Corpus, Animus and Mens. Most necromancers only divulge in either Corpus or Animus: they try to raise dead bodies without a will of their own, or try to contact spirits of those who have passed away. Bringing someone back to life however, requires a mastery of all three in perfect sync. It is a form of the Art that is nigh impossible to get right.''
''But you can?'' The hope in that voice was as undeniable as the crushing longing that battered on Voldemort's mind right now. He hesitated for a moment. It was not the first time that he had ever received this request from a follower. Usually, he made them go through all the necessary steps and revelled in the horror that unfurled at the very last stage, when the dead were standing in front of them. Barty had told him not to lose the boy's trust now. On the other hand, perhaps it could work to a much more satisfying degree than usual. Lily and James Potter had been killed by his own hand after all. And with the connection between their wands and the strange workings of magic, their minds might not be as lost as was usually the case…
He settled for saying: ''In a way,'' neglecting to mention that he'd never attempted it in an as advanced form as he would attempt now, and that even what he envisioned to be the perfect result, was something he doubted Potter truly wanted. Evan was silent for a long time, staring into the fire.
''Whatever you have in mind…'' he carefully started. ''Is what you would have given me if I had joined you back then?''
''Yes.'' There was no denying that now. Oh, he would have brought Potter's parents back, for worse or for worst. He kept his promises after all, and he'd never promised anything about how alive they would be. Ironically, it would even have worked worse then, as he hadn't had weeks in which he had studied the boy's wand and found out about the connection of their cores, nor had he taken in Evan's blood. He still felt it was a safer option to agree now, than to flat-out admit that back then, he could have barely brought back their souls even.
A rare expression crossed the boy's face, who suddenly looked much older as he pensively stared at Voldemort. ''I have been told again and again that the dead cannot be brought back. I… may have gotten a tad too excited before.''
The Dark Lord gave him an unimpressed look back. ''You will pass?''
Evan shook his head sharply. ''No, that's not what I meant. I only wish to say that I am not eleven anymore, and as tempting as the thought of my parents living again is, I'm not so naïve to believe that it is that simple. I'm interested in how far you can take it, but I please ask you to not pretend that it will be really them. That would make it… too hard. I've already lost them once. What I want, is to fully know why everyone keeps telling me that it can't be done, when necromancy and soul magic and all that exists. I want to see the absolute limit, and you're the only one who can give me that.''
Mind links and soul pieces be damned, if Voldemort had ever felt a genuine connection to this boy, it was now. Evan kept surprising him. Performing a hellishly difficult piece of magic just for the sake of seeing where the human limit lay, was exactly what captured his own interest all the time. For Evan to see past the instinctive desire to have Lily and James Potter back on this world again and to still wish to go through with it, showed a depth that Voldemort had feared wasn't there at all.
''In that case, I'll go further than I ever did before,'' he vowed, unable to suppress a sinister smile. Death magic was the most fascinating of all, and Evan would give him the tools to explore it deeper than he'd been able to as of yet. ''But first, you need a theoretical foundation. Sunset is only at nine and the night last till 5 'o clock tomorrow. The ritual itself takes about an hour. Wait here, I will send Barty out to get some… ingredients.''
XxX
Harry leaned back when his Lord left the room and tried to figure out his own feelings. He was… looking forward to it, of all things. It was odd how calm he actually was. The thought of the dead coming back to life made him only nervous because it would be his parents, not because he generally had something against the idea. The longer he thought about it, the surer he was of that death wasn't very frightening anymore. He'd been on the verge of death himself often enough already that it wasn't such a distant concept as it might be for most people, and if there was any wish he'd always had, it would be to speak to his parents again in some form. When he'd been small, he'd imagined faceless men and women to speak to as he lay in his cupboard and pretended they were his parents. At Hogwarts, he'd practically been drawn to the mirror of Erised, the first time that he found magic which gave him a window to having his family back. It hadn't mattered that they weren't real, or that they couldn't speak to him.
If Dark magic could give him more than that… if Voldemort could… then why not?
He looked up at he felt Voldemort enter the room again. From the moment of his request, it had become more tangible, turning the air thick and syrupy, making breathing harder. A heavy book landed in Harry's lap, a strangely beige, thick tome covered in geometric symbols. ''I realise that we do not have enough time for you to acquaintance yourself with the concepts completely, but I recommend reading at least the first paragraphs of each chapter, so you have an idea of all aspects involved. Take the text with a coin of leprechaun gold though, some of the ideas and concepts here are a bit far-fetched and outdated.''
Carefully, Harry cracked open the book and squinted his eyes at the squiggled, handwritten lines of slightly faded ink on yellowed parchment. There was no introduction for some reason. It looked like the author skipped any historical aspect or reasoning why Necromancy was necessary, and instead jumped straight into the first chapter called 'the Black cosmos'.
As with all higher Magicks, the Art of the Dead operates on a different plane of existence. It is in this Black Cosmos that the Necromancer can connect to the true power of the beyond. Many practitioners never set a foot in the Black Cosmos and will never find the right moon to colour their Art, leaving them mediocre and weak. A True Necromancer will be able to clad themselves in the Veil without their body withering, and cross over towards the plane between. One must remember that to reach the Black Cosmos, the Veil is to be used, and to return safely, a tie to the home realm is of utmost importance. This can be achieved through a grounding by other sorcerers, a tie to the physical body of the summoned, or easier methods such as consuming the body of a canine.
''What?'' Harry muttered to himself, reading that last sentence again.
''Perhaps an entire bag of leprechaun gold,'' Voldemort spoke, peering down on the page over Harry's shoulder. Should it feel so normal to have a Dark Lord casually standing behind him?
''Why can I read this so easily? The book itself looks ancient,'' Harry commented, glancing at the faded title on the cover.
''It is indeed written in middle English, but while translation spells between entirely different languages often give poor results, it is not incredibly difficult to spell texts of older versions of a language to be readable in its modern variety. The grammar is key with these spells and it is similar enough to give little trouble. I shall take my leave now and come to find you when all preparations are done. A few hours should be sufficient for you to acquaintance yourself with the material.'' Without waiting for an answer, Voldemort left.
Harry tried to continue with the first chapter but found that the author was really going a bit too far with suggesting eating dogs to stay in this dimension, so he skipped ahead to the next. He figured that placing one's soul into vessels would be enough of a tie to keep Voldemort steady enough on this plane of existence when summoning spirits. It even had when the man himself had died, so that was not a point of worry. In extension, Harry should be pretty safe too with how closely they were linked now. So, he kept reading chapter two, which was simply called 'the Path'.
The four moons of the Art decide the path a Necromancer can take: four distinct moons fill the sky of the Black Cosmos, their colours paining the vast skies in an almost arctic display of vibrance. This otherworldly beauty has drawn in many a man not steadfast enough. The largest of all, the pale blue moon of Despair, calls out to those linked to Animus. Necromancers who walk under this moon will be able to understand the realm of to the dead like no other and call their souls even into our own dimension. Its twin moon is Ruin, which shapes the Art by giving power over Corpus. Necromancers who have Ruin's blazing red light reflected in their eyes can raise any corpse with artificial souls and even create moving matter out of nothing but a handful of bone dust and a few drops of blood. The other side of the Black Cosmos is filled with the eerie green glow of the moon called Fear, which can freeze the mind of any living being. Mens is its domain, and Necromancers who stalk its shadows can fully grasp the minds of living and dead alike. Those utilising Mens are able to connect to the minds of the dead and become an Oracle. Last of all, the smallest moon shines, its bleak yellow seemingly unfit for its name Glory. Few are drawn to this moon above the others, yet those who do can master all. I myself am fortunate enough to have ignored the obvious choices and looked beyond, a skill so valuable in all of the Art.
Harry looked up as he heard a sound, but it was only Nagini who had entered the room. He rubbed his eyes and went to chapter three. The second one had interested him so much that he'd read the first full page of the chapter, and if he was supposed to skim through all of the book, he wouldn't make it at this pace even if he had hours. While it was great that the text had at least been enchanted to read like modern English, the handwriting was still terribly hard to decipher. Who knew when exactly Voldemort came back. From his Lord's earlier words though, Harry figured that Voldemort, being apt at all aspect of necromancy, must have been 'chosen' by the Glory moon, whatever that meant. How much of this was to be taken literally anyways, and how much was poetic speech? One thing that caught his attention was the line about blood and bone dust. Voldemort had used both those ingredients in creating his new body. Did that mean that Necromancy had been involved? That would explain why splitting a soul also wasn't done so often… Even if people wouldn't really die from it completely, most might not have the skills or power to gain a physical form again.
The next few chapters described the different forms of Necromancy in more detail, and while Harry found it fascinating, it was not what they would be doing right now. He neither wished to have the dead speak through him, nor was he interested in raising soulless zombies -or Inferi according to the book-. The Author, who was called Cadmus as Harry had found out, and who loved mentioning himself throughout the text multiple times to the point of annoyance, was sadly rather tight-lipped on rites for full resurrection despite claiming to be proficient in all branches.
The described magic cast under the moon of Glory was limited to creating vessel bodies that could connect to a human mind and soul, creating artefacts that made passed over souls be bound to this realm in a ghost-like form again, and enchanting objects to create smaller doorways to the Black Cosmos using a Veil. He still also would have to ask Voldemort about that: in all the text he'd read now, it was just assumed that the reader knew what a Veil was. Either it was covered in another book, or perhaps there was a paragraph about it squashed somewhere among the twenty pages of Cadmus' rant in the first chapter of how amazing the dimension of the Black Cosmos was. He skipped through the next few chapters, which went into more detail about necessary calculations, entire pages covered in formulas and the same strange, geometric figures that Voldemort had doodled in the Transfiguration class during which he'd raised a skeleton. His finger stopped when Harry saw a title that caught his eye:
Ties of Blood
As made abundantly clear before, blood is the strongest ingredient when it comes to the Art and has been since the very beginning. The Greek used to sacrifice sheep and dogs to raise armies, and the Romans took the lives of human children to appease the dead and receive their blessing. It logically follows that one's own blood can also be used in rituals of the Art, and I have found this to be the strongest form. The dead that come to use more easily are those related by blood, either from birth or from marriage. Harry blinked, wondering if he'd read that correctly. Since when were married people related by blood through their marriage? True, Purebloods were obsessed in keeping bloodlines pure and practically only married those related to them, but surely the author couldn't assume that this was always the case? In turn, Necromancers can also enforce this bond and strengthen their magic using these ties. Creating Inferi with the bodies of ancestors, spouses or offspring will yield better results. Likewise, they are easier to call into the realm of the living. Harry sat upright, his eyes flying over the text. It described different examples of necromancers who had performed rituals with those related by blood and compared the result to other attempts where this hadn't been the case. So if he offered his own blood again, would this work better?
''Interesting reading material?'' he heard, and Harry looked over his shoulder.
''Barty! Yeah, I never knew anything about necromancy before. It's… different.'' The blond man approached with a strange look on his face and sat down, only casting Nagini a wary glance. Harry had long ago figured that Barty only tolerated being in the same room as the snake for his Lord.
''Evan…'' Barty hesitated. ''I just wished to check up on you. I can't say that I am surprised by your request of seeing this magic, but I'm not entirely sure you fully know what you are getting into. Your parents… your parents are dead. And even the magic of a Lord has its limits. Necromancy is meant to communicate with those who passed over and to make use of the empty husks the dead leave behind. Not to bring them back on this plane.''
''I know,'' the teen spoke quietly. ''Thank you for the warning nonetheless, I appreciate it. I can't really… explain my feelings about this very well. My parents were always this idea for me, you know? I always knew that they were dead, that they couldn't return, but ever since that mirror, I realised something. I want to talk to them, to see them, even if it is again just the idea of them. My parents died when I was one year old and I never will know how they were in life, so no matter how they react or how they look… could I even tell the difference?'' he growled quietly in frustration at his inability to express the full scope of the emotional turmoil in his head. ''Look, on one hand I want to fulfil a childish wish, on the other I am absolutely awed at how Voldemort -sorry, our Lord,- can push the limits of magic to a point I never thought possible. This could give me both. I will witness amazing magic that very few are privileged to, and maybe have a chance to catch a glimpse of my parents, in whatever form that is. It is absolutely clear to me that this doesn't mean they'll come back like they were and we'll be a happy family all of a sudden. I don't even expect that they will stay beyond this night.'' He hadn't really thought of that possibility before… how long-lasting was this type of necromancy? Inferi seemed to stick around until they were dismissed or killed. Connections to souls however, didn't last for longer than a couple of hours at most.
Barty gave him a small smile. ''Good to hear, it looks like I was worried for nothing.''
''Could you maybe answer a couple of things I am confused about?'' Harry asked, waving with a few pages.
Scratching his head, Barty said: ''If I can. I never got into the subject much, but I know some of the underlying theory. Necromancy never interested me much. The dead are better left to rest in my opinion.''
''So you don't know what a Veil is supposed to refer to?''
''Oh, that. I can't give you a detailed explanation, but it's supposed to be a piece of magic that protects the physical body of Necromancers as their soul crosses over to the other world or limbo or whatever it's called.''
''Black Cosmos?''
''That. Basically, to connect fully to the dead, a necromancer separates his body, soul and mind while keeping a connection to still tie them together. The body stays in the physical world while the soul and mind move further. The soul is tied to the body using pieces of the living world like the clothes of the dead or blood, and the mind is connected still because it is trapped under a Veil. Imagine it to be like a shield spell, but wrapped completely around one's body. Then in that other world, the soul and mind split again, although I can't recall what keeps those two tied together. In either case, were the Veil to be removed, the mind of the caster would be lost completely. The body would still be alive on this plane, the soul would be tied to it and soar in the Black Cosmos, but the mind would be gone and without it, soul and body cannot be brought back together either, for the caster would need to have active thoughts to reverse the entire process.''
''I find it a bit confusing that soul and mind are apparently separated. With a Dementor's Kiss, the soul is sucked out and the body remains, right? What happens to the mind though? All victims of Dementors look empty, as if they're not thinking anymore.''
''It might seem like it, but it's not entirely correct. A soul is one's sense of self, their spiritual nature if you will, and it is also there that one's magic is stored. The mind is what gives us active thought and the ability to reason. People who have been Kissed still possess the latter: they can technically still take care of their bodies: logically, they know when they need to eat or sleep to survive. But without a sense of self, of who they are, they don't care anymore for little but basic survival, if even that. All their wishes and hopes are gone, they cannot identify anymore with the memories they still possess and thus everything becomes meaningless, especially when you consider that with the soul, their magic also left. A Kissed person could technically still do a crossword puzzle, they just don't feel like it anymore.''
''That sounds so much worse than actually dying…''
''Yes, perhaps that is why most do die. A freshly Kissed person usually still goes through the routine of daily life for a while, and then just stops. Honestly, a Dementor's Kiss is merely a postponed death sentence. I've seen it far too often in Azkaban, even in that single year.''
''What do you think of the Dark Lord being allies with Dementors after your background? They appear to be drawn to him, both because he is a Dark Lord and also since he is a full necromancer.''
''I'll try to stay away from them if necessary, but I can't deny that they could be useful. So, any other questions?'' the last sentence was spoken in a slightly shrill tone of voice, so Harry figured it was best to move on from the topic of Dementors.
''One more, the author of this book mentioned blood bonds through marriage a few times now. What's up with that? At first, I thought that he maybe assumed that every mage with common sense would marry their cousins or something, but the wording is a bit strange for that.''
Barty relaxed again and shot him a grin that looked only slightly forced. ''Oh, that. Nowadays we use contracts for marriage. Back in the day, people made blood pacts. If not related already, blood was shared on the wedding day in a ritual that would actually cause the bride and groom to be related. It fell out of practise centuries back already, when blood magic was banned. For a while, some dark magicians still kept the tradition, but it honestly didn't have any real benefits and actually made spouses unable to truly harm each other. Which became a problem after the possibility of divorce came up and people couldn't take revenge on their ex-wives and -husbands anymore. Some romantic sods still used them in private, but I can't imagine it working out well. As I said, no benefits.''
''Hold on, our Lord and I shared blood!'' Harry cautiously said, a growing horror dawning upon him. ''Twice even, once in a blood sharing ritual and once during his resurrection!''
Barty scratched his beard stubble. ''Hmmm… I suppose you did. Well, because of that already existing soul bond and your mum's sacrifice being a hindrance, I guess sharing blood actually did have benefits for you.''
''That's not what I meant!'' he exclaimed. ''Does this mean we're related now?'' Then, an even stranger thought struck him. ''Did we enter a blood pact?'' he whispered, eyes growing wide.
Barty let out a barking laugh at first, then grew silent rather fast. ''That sounds absurd but I actually… don't know entirely. Well, it's definitely not a full blood pact, he has your blood but not the other way around. After that first ritual, he removed his blood from you instantly due to incompatibility. As for related though…. Maybe? Technically, he should have taken over some genes from your line, even if just a few. He can definitely still hurt you though… can you hurt him?''
''I wasn't stupid enough to try again.''
''That's my kiddo. That leaves us without an answer though. If you value your limbs intact, you might also not really wish to ask him about it, he is a bit touchy when it comes to anything about family…''
''I hadn't guessed,'' the teen responded, rolling his eyes. Harry chewed on one of his nails, furrowing his brow in thought. So Voldemort could be related to him now…. and through that, to his parents? If so, that could explain why the man thought he could go further than ever before with this resurrection. Harry doubted that Voldemort had ever tried to resurrect one of his own ancestors. ''Maybe I won't need to ask,'' he finally said. ''Anyways, thanks for your answers, that was pretty helpful. I really need to continue reading now, if I haven't at least skimmed all of these chapters, I'm going to find out just how much he can still hurt me.''
''Point taken. I'll leave you to it then. Good luck.''
''Will you be there too then this night?''
Barty shrugged and sauntered out of the room. ''If He lets me, count me in. I've never seen a full necromantic ritual before. Could be fun.''
Right, of course Barty's sense of fun included raising the dead. Harry returned to his book, only a few chapters left that he hadn't touched at all. He worked through them for about an hour, then abruptly came to the end. He'd expected there to be more left still, but he hadn't seen before that the last fifty pages were just a long list of ingredients that could be used in different types of the Art. Out of pure curiosity, he looked up 'Dog', since he was still wondering about why the hell anyone would need to eat canine meat.
Dogs and wolves have been common sacrifices in the Art for millennia, the first written mention of this being in a prayer to Hecate, Greek goddess of magic, crossroads, ghosts and necromancy. Devoted necromancers in Greece were forbidden from eating any meat other than dog, to connect more properly to passed souls. It is uncertain still why dogs have a connection to the dead unlike any other animal, only that they do. Both Cerberuses and Anupi guard crypts and tombs, and Grimms stalk graveyards and those who will be the next to pass on. Dog meat both helps us connect to the dead, and keeps our own soul safe from being pulled into the Black Cosmos entirely.
Stated like this, it actually made a whole lot more sense to Harry than when it had been so casually mentioned before. He tried to scan the list as quickly as possible to see if any other strange facts would come up. It was made more difficult by the fact that it didn't look like Cadmus thought much of alphabetical order. In fact, Harry had no idea what kind of order the author had been attempting to uphold, if any at all. A few terms under dog, was 'woman'.
As with all worldly temptations, no Necromancer shall look upon a female before practicing the Art, for it may cause a state of distress, leaving the Necromancer unable to either enter or return from the sacred plane of the Black Cosmos.
''Maybe you just shouldn't think with your dick,' Harry muttered to himself.
''Excuse me?'' an icy voice cut through the air. Harry jumped up, the book nearly flying from his grasp.
Feeling blood rush to his face, Harry turned. Great timing again, he'd been so caught up in reading that even Voldemort's magic strengthening again had escaped his notice. Maybe he was getting a bit too used to its constant presence. ''The… the author,'' he coughed. ''I just read his comments on women. I'm rather surprised that the only thing he has to say is that Necromancers shouldn't look upon them. What about female Necromancers? Especially when it comes to Mens, there should be many, right? The Oracles of Greece and such?''
''True, but this book was written in 1268, and times had changed. For the worse, in the case of women. Since the decrees of the Council of Paderborn in 785, Muggles started to explicitly fight witchcraft and necromancy, and women became their main target. In the following centuries, the magical community tried everything to escape the hunt, from fighting back, to secluding themselves. One of the many downsides was that, since women were often suspected and put on trial at the slightest hint of magic, wizards actually forbade witches from practising many types of magic that had to be cast out in the open, from weather magic to flying, and also necromancy. Not that all held to this of course, but wizards often formed societies from which witches were excluded. It was only in the 18th century, when the witch hunts became more sporadic and the Wizarding council was replaced by the Ministry of Magic, that witches were able to reclaim their rights.''
''The 18th century? I thought witch hunts were something of the Dark Ages only.''
''A common misconception. It all started in 785 and increased over time, but the actual high time of the witch hunts was around the 1600s, and they lasted well into the 18th century. Only then was witchcraft not an official criminal offense anymore in most European countries, England included. Naturally, most 'witches' who were caught were actually Muggles, but it made it difficult for actual magicians to move around, especially without a proper governmental system in place at the time.''
''I'm glad that at least in some cases, the Wizarding world was able to get progress going. I can't imagine going to Hogwarts without Hermione there, or Ginny even...'' then, he laughed. ''I think those Muggles and exclusive societies can be glad that Hermione wasn't born a few centuries earlier, she'd have ripped them apart to achieve equality and education.''
''Since she is a Mudblood, she'd first have had to tear apart the restrictions that would confine her in that society before tackling ours,'' Voldemort reminded him.
''She'd have found a way,'' Harry shrugged.
''You seem to think awfully highly of miss Granger,'' the Dark Lord hissed, sounding and feeling absolutely displeased.
Harry sighed and closed the book, putting it next to him. ''Of course, she's one of my best friends. I would probably be dead twice over if it wasn't for Ron and her helping me. I mean, you know how smart she is.''
Voldemort only scoffed, which Harry chalked up to the man still not being a fan of Muggleborns outsmarting purebloods. ''Come with me, it is time. We shouldn't dawdle. Unless you have questions still?''
Harry considered it for a moment. ''Barty dropped by and cleared a few things up for me, but I still have a couple. For one, all of these rituals are always performed by a single Necromancer. So will I just be watching or...?''
''I have adapted the regular ritual. Since these are your parents being raised, I find that it would be beneficial for you to partake in certain aspects of it, such as the vocal connection. When it comes to the actual spellcasting though, I will of course not leave that in the hands of a teenager who is utterly untrained in Necromancy and skimmed through a single book about it.'' In contrast to the words, Voldemort didn't actually sound very condescending, which made Harry feel a bit better.
''Okay, I'll try to follow instructions this time… So, how long will the result last for?''
''It depends. There is a limit depending on the exact type of resurrection: bodies can be raised indefinitely as long as the caster is alive. Anything that possesses either a soul or mind is trickier, although there are accounts of it working better again when parts of the same individual are used. Blood ties also play a role. The absolute minimum I could normally hold it for has been a few hours, the longest about a week. That does not take into account several factors that will be added this time, so my calculations can be inaccurate. Naturally, I can send them back at any given time.''
''Good,'' Harry whispered. It was comforting to know that Voldemort could control when they'd leave in case he felt like he couldn't handle it anymore. ''I think that was it then.'' He stood and followed Voldemort, holding up his wand to shine a bit of light in the dark corridor. The Dark Lord didn't make a habit of turning all lights on in the house. Harry had a theory of the man having developed night vision.
The night was just as dark as the interior when they stepped into open air and Harry dimmed his wand, only the stars giving off a cold brightness far above. Harry shivered, the heat of the day had made way for a cold breeze, which reflected in the way the crickets' cries had become scarce. Whenever he could, Harry had often fled under the cover of darkness during summer, to escape the Dursleys. Stalking through the night meant safety for him, not being found, being left in peace, so even when he entered the field and saw two coffins lying amidst the tall grass, he still couldn't shake the feeling of tranquillity that night time brought.
Voldemort walked through the narrow opening between the coffins, then turned around and kneeled at the wider, upper part. The white hands stood in stark contrast with the wood of the lids as they were placed flat upon either. A bright light flashed, a rumble sounded, and the lids slid off and tumbled down sideways with loud thuds. Harry crept nearer with held breath, afraid of what he was going to see. His heart skipped a beat when he gazed down on the corpses.
Fiery red hair was spread like a halo around his mother's pale face. In the other coffin, a slightly older version of Harry lay, hands folded around a wand on his chest. ''They look so…'' he croaked, trying to search for words. Logically, he knew that these people had been dead for almost as long as he lived, yet here they lay in front of him as if they were merely slumbering.
''Wizards perfected preservation, didn't you know that? No matter how much some of our kind wish to try and live an as 'normal' life as possible, the difference in how we are shown in death is striking. Decay will never touch them as long as the spells hold.''
''I hadn't expected that,'' he whispered, staring at them still. Only now did he fully realise just how young they had been. Hell, his dad's stubble even showed that he must have had trouble growing facial hair since it was quite patchy. Taking a deep breath, he tore his eyes away and took a step back again. ''What do I have to do?''
''For now, nothing but watching. Sit in between both coffins, that is the only place where you won't get caught up in the spells I set up. Do not touch the corpses. Also, you will need to be patient, most of this ritual will be done in a different dimension where you cannot reach, so it is well possible that it will look for you as if nothing is happening for extended periods of time.''
''What if something goes wrong?''
''Since you will not be able to judge in this what is an acceptable part of the ritual and what is not, I instructed Barty to look out over the field to keep watch from above. Now, sit.''
Harry did as he was told, sitting down exactly in the middle between the coffins, facing Voldemort so he could watch the Dark Lord as the resurrection rite was performed. The man raised his wand, and a sudden, strong gust of wind blew over the field, flattening the grass. Now his eyes were used to the darkness, Harry realised that the long blades of grass were cut short in wide lines across the field. From his position here, he couldn't make out exactly what had been done, but he was certain that, if he would have joined Barty and looked down from above, he'd see the geometric symbols that he now connected with Necromancy. As if accompanying the wind, flames started to flicker on the edges of the field, slowly at first, then speeding through the paths that had been created, in conflict with any physical law that Harry knew about the behaviour of fire. It wasn't entirely surprising: while most fields of magic utilised and bent the laws of nature, necromancy tried to break them, the reason why geometry was the primary tool of the Art. The shapes seldomly appeared in the visible natural surroundings, and only connected to the physical realm on a level often invisible to the naked eye.
With fascination, Harry watched as the fire burned its way towards the centre, a storm of flames spiralling around Voldemort, wrapping around the tall figure, who became a living torch with showers of sparks dancing across his robes and skin. The seams of his waving robes glowed a deep red, yet didn't burn to ash. Was this the Veil that would protect the Dark Lord's body? It was hard to imagine all necromancers relying on such a dramatic display of magic during their rites. Cadmus' book had described rituals to take place under the cover of darkness in cemeteries and on moors, where such an inferno surely wouldn't have been welcome.
Voldemort rose his arms, the long sleeves blazing with tongues of fire that curled around them, for a moment giving him the image of a phoenix on its death day, a picture that Harry found both fitting and hilariously disturbing when taking the man's history into account. Here was the one person alive who literally resurrected himself, and it was the same person that a group under the banner of a phoenix fought against. Harry shoved the hilarity of that thought to the back of his mind when all of a sudden, the Dark Lord collapsed, sinking to his knees and curling up against the ground. Only the wizards' previous words of staying put prevented Harry from instantly jumping up and running towards the huddled figure that resembled a burning pile more than a human being now. After the first moment of panic, Harry felt that Voldemort's magic hadn't wavered in the slightest, and he eyed the other with relief at that assurance of that he wasn't watching another corpse.
A rushing sound filled the air, which became louder and louder to the point of annoyance. Harry shook his head and blocked his ears against it, only to realise that it wasn't around him at all. The rushing came from within, as if it had wormed its way into his ear. ''What the…'' he spoke, rubbing his left ear violently, the rushing now accompanied by a vague, irritating buzzing undertone. As he was busy with that, the light shifted, strange hues visible from the corners of his eyes. Harry looked up and fell silent, hands dropped to his side as he stared up to the sky with open mouth. The stars had disappeared, an inky blackness in front of him, a starless canvas that spread far beyond where the horizon had been a second ago. And that light from the side… Harry carefully turned his head and stood, trying not to panic about the fact that he wasn't really standing on anything anymore.
Left and right of him were four moons of varying sizes that each spread out different hues from oddly compressed halos, their enthralling light calling to him from all sides. Harry raised his hand, only it wasn't his, familiar pale fingers spreading out and pointing at the smallest moon, which was almost hidden behind the hazy green ribbons that spread out like foggy tentacles from Fear.
Strange, raspy sounds came from Harry's -no, Voldemort's- mouth, and he could only decipher them through their shared minds. ''I call upon you, Glory, to aid in my conquest of restoring the wisps of the taken.'' The words boomed through the empty space, chains of odd shapes appearing out of thin air. ''For blood spilled in fight, bloodshed in night, blood shared through rite, I call upon my right: Lilium Aenean Filius Heredis Terrae, Supplantator Figulus, I proclaim ownership. My pursuit ensues. Glory, grant me amorphousness.''
The moons shifted, their massive bodies moving in a wide arch as the chains rattled and sped away. Pain started to build up in Harry's head and with a scream, he came to again in the field right before Voldemort's soul and mind split apart from each other.
Trembling and sweating, Harry sank down again in between the coffins, continuing to watch the flames that still swirled around Voldemort's form. It felt as if hours passed as he sat there. He was privileged to have witnessed something so deeply magical, but preferred to have his own feet on real ground again. Flying on brooms was one thing, soaring amidst an endless universe without aid was on an entirely different level of scary. All the Gryffindor courage in the world wouldn't make him want to experience that again if not absolutely necessary.
The wind swept up again, tousling his hair and making it hard to see as the black strands reached just past his eyes. An unworldly chill descended over the field, the flames dying down at long last, and Voldemort moved again, rising up from the ground. Beside him, two bright dots of silver light hovered, which had Harry hold his breath. Realisation hit with a shock. This light was familiar, he'd seen it once before, trailing from Sirius' open mouth as a horde of Dementors descended upon the man, attempting to Kiss him…
Souls. These were the souls of Lily and James Potter. Voldemort had done it.
Said Dark Lord moved towards him with deliberate, slow strides, one opened palm hovering over each soul as if holding them in place. Which perhaps he really was. Voldemort's eyes were glowing, though instead of the fierce red they usually had, the irises were a bright purple, the colour of all death magic. Upon reaching the coffins, the souls lowered, slipping into the corpses, which thrashed for a moment before lying still again. Harry waited for something more to happen, but it looked like that was all for now. Uncertain, he turned his attention to his Lord again.
~Evan, rise, the time has come for your participation.~
With unsteady legs – he'd been kneeling for who knew how long and with every move it felt as if a thousand needles stung his feet now – Harry stood, glancing down at the still face of his father, who lay to his right. Bony fingers curled around Harry's wrist and tugged at his arm. A quick flash later, blood dripped from a shallow cut. The droplets slid down his hand and fell, Voldemort having positioned Harry's hand so that it landed on the centre of James' forehead. ''The soil you came from and returned to, the line that stretches in future and past, the cores which chose you, and the bringer of your doom, we beckon and bind. Your freedom is mine.'' He repeated the action with Harry's left hand, and the Gryffindor stood entirely still, preferring to focus on Voldemort instead of his parents now, since he didn't think he'd be able to predict his own actions if they suddenly came to life.
Voldemort released him and took an abrupt step back, irises returning to normal. Or as normal as they would ever be. ~Draw your wand~ Harry did as told, firmly gripping the beloved holly stick, and at a gesture of the other, he moved to a designated spot, feeling tentative as he was left facing Voldemort. He'd often dreamed of a situation like this, standing opposite of the Dark Lord somewhere outside during the night, but those had always been nightmares in which Harry had been left bleeding to death.
~I will harm you,~ Voldemort spoke, his tone so neutral that it almost sounded as if he didn't care one way or the other. ~Defend yourself, attack me.~
What? Harry panicked, entirely unprepared for something like this. What was happening, why did Voldemort suddenly demand to duel him?
~Trust me~ the Dark Lord hissed, words Harry barely had time to register before the first curse was sent flying his way. Instinctively, Harry dodged as if it had been a blugder. From the exploding ground behind him, it had the same impact as one. He felt like he was back in the arena, avoiding dragon fire. Only, Voldemort wasn't as fast as the dragon, or as relentless for some reason. Instead, he waited for Harry to get back on his feet before sending the next curse, in a straight line that was incredibly easy to dodge again.
'Trust me', the man had said. 'Defend yourself'. Harry exhaled slowly, then stood up straight. This was no nightmare in which he had to run from evil itself, this was a ritual designed for higher magic than Harry could ever hope to perform by himself. Voldemort did nothing without a clear purpose, and by now, Harry really should know better than to judge the man by actions alone without recognising that there was a deeper thought behind it. Voldemort would never sabotage a rite like this to backstab Harry. Thus, when the next curse was sent, Harry stood up straight and countered it with the most powerful defensive spell he knew: a reflection arrow that was supposed to not only block incoming spells, instead sending it straight back at the opponent. Voldemort had given him permission to attack, after all.
The spell did not work as intended. Upon making contact with the unfamiliar orange spell that had been hurled at Harry, the reflection arrow seemed to explode, tendrils of bright gold shooting through the air like fireworks gone wrong. It took Harry all strength he had to keep his wand steady, which had started to tremble violently as if almost cracking under the pressure of the collision. Electricity raced through it, coming from a thread of spun light that had formed in mid-air. Beyond the golden light, Harry could see Voldemort, a mad grin spread across his face. The shaking increased, and Harry gripped the handle with both hands just in case, he couldn't imagine what would happen if this connection broke off. The brightness brought forth by the spell expanded as something on the thread seemed to splinter, fractures of shimmering something spreading out to form a cage over the both of them, with at its core a ball of spinning, intense light. A core from which music rose which deeply touched Harry's soul: a mixture of the unearthly song of a phoenix and the deep chants sung by Voldemort himself last Lughnasadh. It filled him with strange longing, the music tugging at his heart.
The centre decreased in size, taking the shape of sizzling droplets of pure radiance that started to travel across the beam that connected his wand and Voldemort's. The closer they came, the hotter his wand became, and Harry feared that he might drop it after all. Since he'd been given no further instructions, he kept fighting back, trying to channel all of his willpower through the wand. And it worked, the beads came to a halt before sliding into the opposite direction, ever closer to the tip of the white yew wand. Its owner was serious now, Lord Voldemort's eyes fixating on the beads of light and the trembling wood in his hand… the droplets connected, and a screeching sound was emitted from the wand, like a living creature being tortured. Harry saw shock and fear cross the other's expression for a moment, this was clearly not the expected result.
Then, smoke rose from the tip of the wand, taking shape in mid-air, forming bodies and faces. A large, bearded man that Harry didn't know, then Frank Bryce, the old Muggle caretaker of Riddle house. Barty Crouch Senior was next, looking as stern as if he were still alive, a young woman whom Harry had never seen before followed him. They started talking to him, words of encouragement as if they thought he was truly fighting Voldemort. Harry ignored them, waiting with bated breath. And then there they were. James appeared first, followed by Lily, and Harry stared at the grey, smoky figures of his parents, who smiled at him sadly.
''Harry… we've wanted to see you for so long,'' Lily spoke, her voice much stronger than he'd expected somehow. ''But why like this?''
''Mum,'' he breathed. ''Mum, dad…. Do you know what's going on, why you're here?''
James was the one to nod solemnly, while Lily turned her face away. It was like a stone sank in Harry's stomach. He needed to make them understand…
Voldemort broke the connection then, the already fractured light splintering even further. The ghostly forms thickened for a moment before most of them disappeared. Only his parents remained, crying out as golden ropes bound them tightly and Voldemort dragged them towards the coffins. Harry stayed behind, not wishing to interfere negatively, as much as his heart broke at the sight. The struggling spirits or whatever they were, were pushed inside, and the Dark Lord held them there, one hand on the forehead of each corpse.
''Come closer, Evan,'' the man spoke, looking over his shoulder. With numb feet, Harry followed the order, stopping at the side of James' coffin. The corpse inside was no longer lifeless now, trashing as much as those smoky shadows had. Abruptly, Voldemort made a circular movement on their foreheads, and they fell still again. For a moment, that was. Blinking slowly, James sat up, his light brown eyes coming to rest on Harry. Eyes full of life and astonishment. Behind him, Lily sat up too, rubbing her arms.
''It's cold,'' she muttered. ''So very cold.'' Her head made a strange, twitching movement, but then she too looked at him, and the woman's eyes widened. ''Harry… Harry, my baby.''
Harry stood entirely still as his parents clambered out of their coffins and reached out, strangely cold hands grabbing his. He had to remind himself that this wasn't real. But they looked so genuine. Instead of answering their quiet muttering, he turned a questioning gaze on Voldemort, who was watching his creation with fascination. ''Did it work as you intended?'' he asked.
''Better,'' the man muttered. ''Much, much better. Naturally, we retrieved the real bodies. I also found the correct souls and was able to properly claim them, which is already further than I ever went in necromancy when it comes to resurrection. More than that, I retrieved an echo of their Mens. The results is… unique. Since you asked, I will not claim that these are your real parents. Their minds are but a shadow of their original ones. Still, they have memories, and awareness of what is going on around them.'' He strode closer, and both Lily and James stepped away quickly, taking a defensive stance, eyeing him with suspicion.
''Voldemort,'' Lily breathed. ''You monster, I know what you have done. For your own amusement, you have even twisted the deepest wishes of the child you orphaned.'' She whirled around and faced Harry. ''My son… this creature, this thing is not your friend.'' The desperation in her words was real. Everything about them was real. His lungs refused to work anymore as he stared, stared in the eyes of those who had given their lives for him to live.
''I only wanted to speak to you again,'' he whispered. ''Leave him out of it. If you really know something about what went on in the world around you during your death, you should have realised that I'm not a prisoner here. Please understand, I needed to see you.''
James returned to Harry's side and put both hands on the teen's shoulders, a searching gaze in his eyes. There was something in the depths of hazel, a warmth that the dead should never possess. In that moment, the barrier that Harry had built up for this moment fell away completely with the realisation of who stood in front of him. Trembling, he reached up and hugged his father tightly. It didn't matter that James was cold, it wasn't even anywhere near the iciness of Voldemort, and he was alive.
The Dark Lord walked towards the very edge of the field, and while Harry imagined that it was only to gain an overview of the situation and observe better, he was glad for the privacy it gave them.
''We don't have long, I can feel it,'' James whispered in his ear. ''Already, this body is rejecting the impossible. This dark magic goes against the nature of all things and tramples on the order of life. But Harry, I want you to listen to me well. I remember being James Potter. I also remember being dead. You're my son, there's no doubt about that. I wish things had been different, that we would have been able to be there for you. Considering how life treated you, I'm amazed at how kind and caring you still are.'' Another hand landed on Harry's shoulder while his father's words tumbled out of James' mouth with a speed that betrayed his anxiety. Harry loosened the embrace slightly to look over his shoulder, taking in the sad gaze of his mother.
''James is right. I got a bit carried away. When alive, we chose our path, just like your godfather did. Now, with the knowledge of the beyond, I realise that it may not have been the right one. But beware Harry, the greater good can cost terrible sacrifices that are not always necessary to make, even if those you trust claim it is so. Dumbledore learned that a long time ago and is still blind to it, take care that the man you chose to believe in does not fall into the same trap. Never follow uncritically.''
''You say you have knowledge from the beyond…'' Harry hesitated, storing their advice to ponder on later.
''Vague feelings of knowing things that contrasts my memories,'' Lily spoke, her voice sounding further away than before. ''The soul moved on, the memories remained on this plane, both are fighting for dominance now. I did what I thought was right as a young girl, standing up against violence and tyranny. My soul has touched upon magic beyond this dimension though, and knows what Magic and her Lords want, what our kind needs here and now.'' She gently turned him around, small hands cupping Harry's face, a hint of a smile on her lips. ''Do what you think is right, Harry. You struggle between wanting to grow and thinking you'll disappoint people if you change. Don't forget that people always change, they have to, to develop. So seize the opportunities you have and become great. Just promise me to not forget to be kind.'' He nodded mutedly, his vision becoming blurry with tears. He'd never even known how much he needed to hear this.
''He can be lucky to have you at his side,'' James muttered, hugging him tightly again. ''As much as I personally want revenge on him for killing my wife and so many others, there is too much at stake, and you'd get hurt in the process. Stay safe, son. And don't let others manipulate you.''
''I have his soul in my head,'' Harry whispered to the both of them. ''I try not to think of it too much, pretend that it's nothing more than strange magic that binds us, but I have the soul of your murderer in my head and I still don't know how to deal with that, even after seeing how he really is.''
Neither of them spoke for some time. Then James said: ''He may be our murderer, he's also far more than that, loathe I am to admit it. As long as you are in control, it will be alright. Also, he may not know it, but this link and Lily's sacrifice also worked against him.'' Harry raised his head and looked at his dad, frowning.
''What do you mean?''
''Love is the strongest magic there is. He tore his soul apart and put it in cold, unfeeling things. Until a piece latched onto you, a baby protected by the love of its parents. A baby that grew up to become so very different from the one who this soul once belonged to. This sliver of Voldemort's essence changed with you son, it received all the emotions you have, for the first time truly feeling. Just think on the consequences and possibilities of this now that you share minds and he has your blood. He's not the same man as he was thirteen years ago. He even did not hesitate to entrust yet another piece of his soul to another living being by using his familiar. A move that would have been unthinkable before.''
''I don't think you're completely right,'' Harry objected. ''I've seen some of his memories and heard of his background. I've been in his head a couple of times. He could feel before all of this happened.''
''To an extent, not on the level he is now. You are good for him Harry. Be careful to not make him realise that too soon.''
''Why not?''
Lily sighed. ''Because Tom Riddle always became obsessively possessive of anything that could further him in any way. You have seen the good sides of Voldemort that many never will: he is patient, passionate and can even be caring to a certain degree. Do not let it distract you from the fact that he is also still selfish, arrogant, and cruel. Both our souls and minds have gathered much knowledge about him, and if I have deduced anything, it is that you should beware of his ugly sides. He will use you if it suits him. It is a mercy that until now, his plans are agreeable enough for you to go along with them of your free will.'' Harry found it rather odd that his dead parents knew so much about Voldemort. On the other hand, the man had killed them, so maybe the dead liked to keep an eye on their murderers. Or maybe they had worried about Harry. Asking was of course an option, but what if the answer was one he didn't want to hear, one that would remind him too much of just how far gone Lily and James really were?
''I'll remember it,'' he promised, more to please them than anything else. If Voldemort had wanted to use him, he'd have had the opportunity to do so a dozen times over. That didn't mean that Harry wasn't wary of the Dark Lord, but not for this specific reason. Voldemort had even offered an out of this mess altogether, it was Harry who had insisted on helping. Now he got what he gave.
''It's time, dear,'' his mother whispered, her hand cramping on his shoulder for a brief second.
''Already? It's been only minutes!'' he exclaimed.
''It is… strenuous to keep together and of clear mind,'' she admitted. She looked like it too, her face wrinkled in a grimace of pain. She grabbed one of his hands tightly. ''Give this to Severus, please. Tell him it is a reminder that I am always watching, and he had better fear my wrath if he does not move on from bitterness. Be brave, my Harry. I'm so proud of you.'' Harry's words of goodbye were left stuck in his throat, as Lily already collapsed, the drops of blood on her forehead glowing and expelling the bright light that was her soul from it again. Strands of now shapeless grey smoke drifted towards the sky. A corpse was all that remained once more. A corpse, and a half-gilded lily in Harry's hand.
''We love you,'' James murmured, and Harry clung to his father, terribly afraid of the inevitable now.
''I love you too,'' he said, or tried to. Barely more than muffled sobs came out. ''Will I see you again?''
''Not like this, our memories were stored in Voldemort's wand, and will dissipate now. I do not know if we can ever speak again to you. I am grateful that-''
The body slumped in Harry's arms, and he carefully sank to the ground with it, shaking with tears of sadness and rage.
He cried out into the night, having lost his parents a second time.
Sorry for the feels?
If you have any questions about the ritual, I will happily share the sources I found and there will definitely still be a talk about everything that was going on in the next chapter. Also, Harry's birthday is coming up. And Lughnasadh. So much to do!
Please Read and review,
xx GeMerope