18 Ritual
By the end of the summer, it became very clear that the resurrected Dark Lord was nothing but a faint shadow of his previous self. Many of the Death Eaters started ignoring his summons, as even if subjected to Crucio, it gave them less pain than a headache and lasted only a fraction of a second. Voldemort actually stopped using this curse after a while, as it seemed to not work for him any longer. He resorted to humiliation instead of physical pain, only it didn't seem to have much effect either.
Voldemort was not content. Just like his followers, he was sure that whatever went wrong with his resurrection turned him into a weakling, not at all like his original form. For the first time since he could remember, he didn't feel sure about what to do. Evidently, staying in this form was not an option, unless he wanted to become the laughingstock of the wizarding community. Yet changing it was not something he could easily do, as he was already trying all the potions and spells that he could find, to no avail.
His only other option was to destroy this badly formed body and try another resurrection. While that could help him resume his powers, assuming everything went according to plan, it also meant practically dying again, and relying on others to help his resurrection. Dying was not something to be lightly tackled, as he had already experienced that. It also meant relying on his followers. He couldn't honestly say that he could rely on any of them. Most of them were selfish bastards, just like him. The few who were fanatically loyal were not quite sane and were currently residing in Azkaban, which wasn't known to improve sanity. Besides, to set them free, he needed a functioning body. He just didn't know what to do.
–..–
The open letter from Hogwarts was published a few days before the start of the term. Umbridge was called to the Minister's office first thing in the morning.
"Are you trying to destroy us? What kind of nonsense are you trying to advance? Didn't you read the Hogwarts contract before trying this nonsense?" Cornelius was fuming. He didn't mind Hogwarts either way, but he knew enough Math to see that the Ministry could not claim Hogwarts legally. The original contract made sure of that. While it may have been possible to buy Hogwarts back for the authorities that predated the Ministry during the first few decades of its existence, the sums accumulated for centuries grew just too large to make it possible. The contract was also written in a way that made it impossible to replace it with another, more convenient for the Ministry unless it reached its end by paying the heirs. The involvement of the Monarch was even more troublesome since any breach would be appealed at the Royal Court. That would make all the outdated practices stand out, forcing a major change in the way the Ministry acted. That would render the old pureblood families powerless, politically speaking. They would take their revenge, of course, and he would be their primary target. He couldn't afford that.
"I read the contract. The price there was not very high. We can afford it, even if my law doesn't pass," she simpered.
"Did you pay attention to details?" Cornelius wasn't one to pay attention to details, but the open letter forced him to do just that. He didn't like what he found. "The sums there are in gold, ounces of gold, not Galleons. Then, the interest to be paid is about thirty times as much. The Ministry doesn't have that kind of money, or are you willing to pay it all from your vault? I doubt you have enough for that."
"We can pass the law…" she tried.
"That would be an act of war, forcing the Monarch to intervene. Do you want the Muggle Queen to check on us here? Could we stand their scrutiny, and keep to their standards? Would you like Her to order you around?"
Dolores straightened her stance. "Of course not! She's merely a muggle, you know."
"Then take that proposal back and shove it where it will never be found. If you try to do anything against Potter or Hogwarts, I'll have you clean the floors at Azkaban!"
She had never seen Cornelius so furious. She mumbled, "I'll do as you say, of course," and found her way out of the office.
When she reached her own desk, she found a letter of resignation there, ready for her to sign. It was clear that her political career was coming to its end, at least until something changed.
–..–
With his powers diminishing at an alarming rate, Voldemort could no longer postpone his decision. With no known way to regain his powers in his current body, he needed a new one, preferably a body containing magic to start with. With so few of his followers still somewhat loyal, he couldn't trust them to find and kidnap somebody to "donate" his new body. Well, he could use one of them, instead. Once his soul got free from his failing body, he could possess the body of one of his followers. Luckily, "Imperio" still worked well enough for him to overcome their feeble willpower, and the killing curse didn't need much power either.
Just to be sure, he cast Imperio on some followers, causing them to act a bit weirdly, but not enough to draw attention. He was glad he could still do it.
This time, he wouldn't trust Wormtail with the ritual. Almost any of his followers would do, as long as they were able to follow instructions correctly. He liked Lucius for that, especially since he could then enjoy his wife, who was still young and attractive.
"I need you to go on a mission for me," he told Lucius at the mid of October. "Tell your wife you'll not be back before Halloween, possibly even longer, and come here tomorrow after dinner."
Despite his reluctance, Lucius just couldn't disobey. "Of course, My Lord. I'll come here tomorrow, as soon as I finish dinner."
Until then, Voldemort had Wormtail collect some paints and brushes for the ritual and draw two concentric circles in the largest room of Riddle Manor.
When Lucius arrived that evening, he barely started bowing when he was hit with Imperio.
For the next two weeks, Lucius worked almost like a house elf, drawing runes and other symbols on the large room's floor, walls and ceiling. He ate only enough to keep him going and slept less than four hours a night, driven mercilessly by the unforgivable curse. Voldemort was a cruel master, forcing him to remove any rune sequence that looked even slightly misshapen and draw it again until it seemed perfect.
"The best time to perform this ritual is at Halloween, when souls can move easier than at other times," Voldemort told Wormtail. "You should wait in the basement, where you'll stay protected from the side effects of the ritual. I'll call you out as soon as it completes."
Wormtail was somewhat surprised by the mild tone but didn't dare question his luck. "Of course, Master, I'll be waiting down there until you call me."
With no other witness, Voldemort forced Lucius to the centre of the ritual circle, where he made him lay on the floor, making sure not to hurt the body that he planned to reside in. He then moved to stand between the two circles, where he started chanting the long incantation needed for the process, to prepare the receptor of the soul, the body in the centre.
It took quite a few minutes to repeat that chant thirteen times, as needed. He then finished that part of the ritual by casting the killing curse on the body, to remove Lucius's soul, so it won't fight with his own.
Voldemort then turned his wand to himself. He was quite reluctant about it, but he couldn't let anybody else do it for him. "Avada Kedavra!" he said clearly. The green beam stroke his chest and he knew no more.
–..–
Halloween at Hogwarts was peaceful. No troll roamed the corridors, no petrification occurred, nobody tried to force his way into any dorm and no goblet spewed surprises. The feast was very good, as expected, and the giant pumpkins gave the right mood. Harry, though, was very tense, despite trying to hide it from his wives, quite unsuccessfully. Hermione and Padma just made sure to hold his hands reassuringly.
Harry relaxed some when they returned to their lodging, along with the rest of the students. He still didn't feel completely relaxed. Since first coming to Hogwarts, each Halloween had some unpleasant surprise. Why should this one be any different?
Some time later, just after they retired to bed for the night, Harry felt like some burden had been removed from him and replaced by a wave of happiness, and it had nothing to do with the view of three naked girls in his bed. Harry just shrugged it off and turned his attention to his wives, making sure to sate each before they finally fell asleep.
–..–
Wormtail waited… and waited… and waited… and fell asleep. The cellar had no windows and its only door opened to the entrance hall, adjacent to the ballroom, where the ritual took place. With the house kept mostly dark, even during the day, Wormtail didn't know how long he slept, when he finally woke up. His body needed some release, but in his animagus form he could do that without leaving much mess, and he could then also vanish that well enough, despite his lack of real power. Some time later, he fell asleep again.
When he next woke up, he was thirsty and hungry and still unable to see anything. He tried to find something in the cellar by smell or by touch but found nothing edible, not even for a rat. Still, after witnessing Voldemort's reaction when not fully obeyed, especially before the resurrection, he didn't dare leave his place without a specific order. At least he found a small puddle of water near the back wall. It was undrinkable for a human, but a rat wasn't as choosy.
It took a few more cycles of sleeping and waking before his hunger and thirst forced him to take the chance and leave the cellar. When he first tried to leave, he found the door locked. No unlocking charm he knew could unlock that door. He could probably use "Bombarda" to blast the door open, but he didn't dare do something that would surely attract attention. Instead, he used a series of piercing charms to perforate the door around the lock, weakening it enough to allow him to pull the lock in without making much noise.
Once out of the cellar, he transformed into his rat form and scurried silently around, trying to see if there was any danger. He found no sign of danger, but something much more troubling. The smell brought him to the ritual room, where one cadaver, already starting to rot, was in the centre of the ritual circles, wearing Lucius's robes. Another robe, quite recognizable, was found between the two circles. At first glance, it looked empty. Only when he dared to come near and check it, he found a few bone fragments, some blood and what he could identify as the remains of his own hand.
Wormtail wasn't able to move fast enough. Despite his empty stomach, he still retched within the circle. He didn't know if it would affect him in any way, but he just couldn't control his reaction, after seeing that. Evidently, the ritual had failed and Voldemort couldn't call him out. Walking hesitantly backwards, he bumped into a desk near the wall. An old tome was still open on the desk. Wormtail couldn't hold his curiosity and read a bit. It was the description of the ritual. He turned a page to read it to its end. There was a clear warning there. "The person who uses this ritual to move his soul to a new body should make sure that another person kills him, as casting the spell to kill its current body by himself would negate the purpose of the ritual, destroying not only the soul in that body but also any pieces stored elsewhere."
Evidently, Voldemort had been too impatient to read it to the end.
Wormtail didn't know what to do. There was no food in the house since everything had been consumed in the last two weeks. He also had no money to buy food. He had used all that Lucius had carried with him during the first day when buying food for three people for two weeks.
He tried to raid the kitchen, but there was nothing there to eat, not even for a rat. There were a few old dust-covered bottles of wine, though. At least he could drink his fill.
He sat on a chair and tried to think about how to proceed. There was no point in staying there, of course, but where else could he go? Planning and thinking had never been his strong points. They were actually tiring him, and the wine was starting to affect him too.
Before he could make any plan, he fell asleep on the chair.
