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ACT4CH28 - Sacrifice
🕑 Added 2024-07-21 17:33:58 +0000 UTC“FINITE INCANTATEM!” snarled an angry Sirius Black, a deluge of raw magic erupting out of his wand and crashing against the chain and manacles restraining Harry’s right arm..
He might as well have tried scolding it, for all the good it did.
Not willing to give up, he unleashed yet another volley of spells — severing hexes, blasting curses, disintegration curses, elemental charms, transfiguration, the entire list. At one point he had even cast a patronus and sent it crashing against the chains, only for the radiant ephemeral construct to disappear into fine mist.
“Merlin’s beard! What is this?” He demanded out of sheer frustration. “Just how much power will it take to overpower this enchantment?”
“Won’t work, Sirius,” said Harry slowly. Even with his animagus form dampening the effects of the pain, he could feel every inch of his body on fire. The nerve endings were cracking and bursting like balloons. The muscles on his face were about to contort into a mask of unbearable agony.
That he was still resisting from transforming into the Demon to escape this eternal torment was a massive surprise.
“How can you just say that? There has to be a way!”
There wasn’t. Magic, even Abstract magics, followed rules. Doubly so when it was regulated through a runic enchantment and conducted through a highly potent medium. And just because one was desperate didn’t mean one would shatter Magic’s own laws. And no, Sirius Black and Harry Potter were not exempt from that rule.
Inwardly, he chided his godfather for such a Gryffindorish line of thinking. That his inner voice sounded suspiciously like Daphne Greengrass made him smile.
Then he remembered his current predicament.
“...Daphne really is going to kill me when she finds out.”
He didn’t know why that was the first thing that came to mind when he realised how bad a position he was in, but he found it oddly appropriate.
“Did you get everyone to safety?”
“That’s not relevant,” Sirius began, but he paused at his godson’s gaze. “Yes, yes, I did.” He paused for a moment. “Alice, Neville's mother is safe. His father….”
He shook his head.
A terrible sadness overcame Harry. He had held such high hopes for the Greengrass Family Magic’s ability to heal. That Alice Longbottom had shown such quick developments was a complete victory. But as always, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had to spoil things.
“There was an explosion,” said Sirius. “Probably when Neville Longbottom lost control. Alice survived. Frank did not. I have gotten Augusta and everyone else I could to safety. Augusta has the sword of Gryffindor. She can use it to find a way out.”
“What?” exclaimed Harry, his tone laced with incredulity and disbelief. “Out of all the useless…. Just, just what were you thinking? You should’ve —”
“What? Left you trapped in here?” Sirius snapped. “Now shut up and work with me. There has to be a way to get you out of this thing.”
This time Harry didn’t bother with challenging his godfather. Instead, he just exhaled. “Fine. And how are you going to do that?”
“I can bring in Dumbledore,’ exclaimed Sirius. “Shacklebolt. The other hit wizards. Every single person with a wand and capable of casting a Finite. This stupid curse —”
“Will outlast every single one of them and only kill me faster,” snapped Harry, barely suppressing the scream that followed. Every time he spoke, it was like he was being forced through a low-powered cruciatus.
“You’re missing the point,” he said. “It’s not… about firepower, Sirius. The more power you, and the others… throw it, the more it will….”
He craned his neck upwards, looking at the vast mandala of crimson floating above. “It will pour more magic, killing me faster, unless I… transform.”
“Well then you trans—” Sirius began, but paused midway. Carefully, he spoke again. “If you transform, then… then you’ll —”
“Lose control. Kill. Kill everyone. Everything.”
“We —we will control you. Bind you down, until help comes. Or just beat you down physically. I don’t care.”
“You don’t care?” Harry hissed. “If I transform, Diagon Alley is gone. As will every single person in it. The Hunter will kill and kill until…”
He doubled down as his insides felt like they were turning inside out. He looked up, his bloodshot eyes flashing yellow. “Nobody, not even Dumbledore can help me. Don’t you get it? So long as I am chained to this, the Circle will exist. So long as it exists, it will draw out infinite power to match whatever you attack it with.”
Just why didn’t his godfather understand? His godfather was jumping at straws, and his false upbeat attitude wasn’t helping matters. He felt insanity stalking him, threatening to curl him up foetal, and shatter him into a million pieces. But Harry shut it down with extreme prejudice. If he failed, the end would be similar to what Ignotus had shown up back in the Prison of Possibilities.
He was not allowed to give up.
He was only allowed to solve this problem.
Researching Abstract magic — hell, any magic really, was all about solving problems. However, you couldn’t solve them all at once. There’s always a larger, overarching question—the big target. But if you obsess over the sheer enormity of it, you would lose focus.
The key was to start small. Focus on solving problems he could answer. Build some dry ground to stand on. And after he had put in the work, and if he was lucky, the mystery of the overarching question would become knowable. Like stepping slowly back from a photomontage to witness the ultimate image revealing itself.
He needed to separate himself from the fear, the paranoia, the terror, and simply attack this problem as if he were back in the Lair—one small question at a time.
Build some dry ground to stand on.
Calming himself down, Harry forced himself to take deep, steady, controlled breaths and focus his thoughts. Focus. Forethought. Reason. Sound judgement. That was what was going to get him through this.
Fact One. Sirius was right there and unwilling to leave.
Fact Two. Harry was hurt. Maybe badly. Maybe forever. Even the efficient resilience of a wizard’s body had its limits, and constantly having to channel Death like this to fend off the raw power of the Anima flooding through him would have aftereffects quite likely beyond what could be healed.
Fact Three. There was no help coming. Maybe Albus Dumbledore could use the Prison of Possibilities to find a way out, but there was no saying how long it would take, or if Harry could even last that long.
Fact Four. Unimportant compared to the rest, perhaps, but Hermione Granger had been kidnapped. Again, for reasons that defied him.
Fact Five. Neville’s transformation. He still didn’t have any idea about what it was, except that it was wrong, and currently protected inside the Protego Diabolis. If anything destabilised the orb, it would lead to him escaping and that would be bad.
Fact Six. Voldemort, in all likelihood, had gotten his hands on the Prophecy, because Albus fucking Dumbledore had kept silent about it. Also, the dementors were causing an insurrection, which meant that the Inner Circle members of the Death Eaters were either escaping or had already escaped.
And finally, fact Seven, so long as the runic circle was active, Harry couldn’t escape. Couldn’t even use Summer. Couldn’t rely on Death energy to keep him awake for much longer either.
And there were only so many options open to him.
He took the least terrifying one. Or the most. He wasn’t sure which it was. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and slowly began transforming himself again. Human skin morphed into scales, shining a metallic black, while his eyes morphed into the usual putrid yellow. It wasn’t exactly his animagus form, but it was the closest he could without losing his speech.
“Pluck a scale.”
Sirius blinked. “You — what?”
“Pluck. A. Scale.”
“Harry —”
For Merlin’s sake, Harry cursed. “Morty.”
The Snitch zoomed, and slashed against his skin, snapping several of his scales off. Harry took a moment to congratulate himself for having the insight to craft an enchantment, empowered by Death, to keep the snitch from being destroyed by spell fire, or worse, accidentally erasing it from existence. The tiny protective barrier of Death protected the snitch from everything, including Death itself. Obviously the enchantment couldn’t last long, but so long as it was in Harry’s presence, it could replenish its reserves.
“Sirius,” he said, his voice gaining a metallic undertone. “Schulz and Voldemort… they planned this. Voldemort has the prophecy now, and he’s attacked Azkaban, I believe.”
“Harry—”
“LISTEN TO ME!”
That shut his godfather up.
“Listen,” said Harry slowly. “Neville has transformed into something… wrong. I have a shield keeping him restrained. Make sure he’s undisturbed until you have a way of getting him under control.”
His godfather looked like he wanted to say many things, and was struggling to keep himself in check.
“Give the scales to Dumbledore. He will… know what to do.”
“Harry —”
But Harry wasn’t listening. He had already closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and began to picture a set of runes in his mind. Schulz’s trap was perfect in every way that mattered, but like all great traps, it had a serious loophole. It was designed to channel as much Abstract magic as was necessary using Harry as a medium. But that trap did nothing to prevent Harry from channelling the energy for himself.
Magic that he could use to conjure and craft every single thing he had in mind.
His eyes glowed.
Fenrir Greyback’s body began to spasm sporadically, as blood was churned out of him, followed by Lucius Malfoy, and every single body in the area. The agony threatened to overwhelm him as Harry kept muttering under his breath, but pain was an old friend. One after another, every single body was exsanguinated, the collective blood gathering in the form of one large bubble, levitating in mid-air. A single tributary erupted out of the stored mass and began drawing a circle on the floor. It took a while to picture it all in perfect detail, as rock solid to his imagination before the construct before him could replicate the mental image into reality.
He imagined the entire thing without ever moving his body. There were no props, so instead he crafted the entire thing through pure arrogance, or as McGonagall would have termed it, viciousness. Normally, he would never have attempted this, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be without props. Blood Magic was powerful, yet volatile, which was why it was banned from being taught at Hogwarts. But desperate situations called for desperate measures, and Harry had never been this desperate before.
Done, Harry closed the Circle. The power surged through him in vast deluges, empowering the Circle within. And then, when all was prepared, when he was sure he was done everything perfectly, he slid Power into his voice and called quietly.
“Luna Lovegood, come forth.”
According to the Philosophy of Concordia, any two existences, living or otherwise, that had been in contact with each other, no matter how long or short a time duration, established a link between themselves. The greater the significance of their existence, or the depth of their connection, the greater was this link. The discipline of Contagion was based on utilising these links to perform magic on a distant scale, both to craft protective enchantments and curses alike.
Luna Lovegood had claimed that Harry was her destiny, and her doom. What greater connection could exist than the ones joined by Destiny?
“Warden of the Prison of Possibilities. Dunamantist. I bid you come forth.”
The circle flared to life instantly, as green lightning began to crackle all around it. What HHarry was doing could be technically termed Summoning, but it had less to do with using one’s magic and will to summon a broom from far, and more to do with forcing an entity against their wishes to arrive within the barrier he had concocted to hold them in place. In modern terms, it was the equivalent of what Voldemort had done on the night of the Third Task, only he had known where Harry would be, set a trap, used a portkey, and had a powerful barrier constructed separately.
Harry didn't have any of those. Instead he was performing a Summoning like the way they did back in the old days. Draw on the power of the world around them, or use powers granted by the Abstract, or by blood magic and sacrifice. Usually, this was done to invoke powerful spiritual entities that were less like humans and more like demons.
There were certain fundamental precautions necessary to success while trapping something dangerous. A good bait, something to draw the target in. A good trap, something that worked and worked fast. And, once the target was in the trap, you had to have a net or a cage strong enough to hold it.
Get any of those three elements wrong, and you probably won’t succeed. Get two of them wrong, and you might be looking at a result far more disastrous than mere failure. Especially because the spiritual entity could do anything from attempting to smash through the cage, or worse, attempt to end your life.
There was a reason why the more esoteric forms of Summoning and Demonology weren’t taught at Hogwarts anymore.
But Harry went on. He couldn’t stop now, even if he tried.
“Avatar Of Fate and Destiny, I, Harry Potter, Death’s Vessel, summon you. Come forth.”
The third repetition of her identity hung ringing in the air, and a deafening silence came after as he awaited the response. Barely two seconds later, a pillar of green magic as bright as the killing curse surging out of the Circle on the floor, and rushing to meet the sky. The light widened in width and what appeared to be lightning crackled inside it. Sirius stepped back, anxious and afraid, his wand out and shaking.
“What the hell is going on?” Sirius bellowed.
I told you,” said Harry firmly, his gaze never leaving the Circle. “The runic circle above can be used to summon things. I never said that only Voldemort and his pals could perform the summoning.”
One moment, the greenish blue electricity was threatening to overcome the barrier he had constructed using blood magic. The next moment, a dirty-blonde girl with very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes stood in the middle of the Circle, an aura of distinct dottiness all about her.
She let out a shrill little scream, like a trapped rabbit, and tried to run out of the Circle only to smack her nose into something as solid as a brick wall, grunted, and fell onto her butt on the earth.
“I should’ve known!” exclaimed Luna in a high-pitched squeak, like a little kid. I should’ve known it wasn’t a Snorkack. They can’t draw circles and oh, it’s you, Harry Potter!”
“That’s —” Sirius began.
“I know,” said Harry softly. “Hi, Luna. Sorry to summon you like this. It was… important.”
“That’s a lot of wrackspurts around you, Harry Potter. I thought you drove them away.”
Harry shook his head slightly. “You know how it is with wrackspurts, Luna. But I need your help.”
“Of course, Professor.”
Despite his pain, he smiled. “Not you, but the other you, Luna.”
Luna scrunched up her expressions once again. To Sirius, it probably looked like an ordinary, albeit dotty school girl pouting, but to his enhanced sight, her power looked magnified into something so tangible and intense that it shone like light flowing out of her skin. One that had so much scope, so much depth, that it made him feel dwindling, insignificant, and very, very temporary. It was like experiencing his first broom flight, his first patronus, or seeing upon the grandeur of Hogwarts for the first time.
He felt something click inside the girl, and her tone, her accent, her disposition, everything about her changed. A radiant silhouette of a certain diadem appeared on top of her head.
“I was wondering when I’d get this call,” said the Avatar of Destiny.
The sudden shift in her tone alerted his godfather, who immediately raised his wand at her face, but a quick nod from Harry made him reconsider.
“You know what’s happening, then?” asked Harry, as if talking to a peer.
“Technically, I know everything that’s happening,” she clarified, with perhaps the slightest bit of impatience in her tone. She looked around and frowned abruptly. “I do not appreciate being summoned like this, Harry Potter. For someone claimed by Death and stalked by Summer, you are quite brazen. Really, blood magic from hosts tainted with necromancy?”
She leaned forward slightly, peering at Harry. “One would’ve thought your experiences in the Anima had taught you better. Clearly, I was wrong. How off-putting!”
Harry carefully fortified and maintained the Circle in his mind.
“Please, Harry Potter,” said Luna with a most unangelic snort. “It is a very nice Circle, but you can’t honestly think it’s any kind of obstacle to me.”
“It isn’t,” Harry admitted. He was already starting to see double. There was no telling how long he could keep this up. “But I’ve got something that will keep you from stepping out of it.”
“Oh?” asked Luna, her features twisting into a condescending leer. “Will that be by channelling more of my power through your failing form? Can you even afford to keep your eyes open past the next minute?”
As if to confirm her statement, Harry’s world turned into a curtain of white agony that centred on his eyes. Nothing had ever hurt so much. He fell down, but he wasn’t lucky enough to hit his head and knock himself out. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream.
“Harry! Harry!” Sirius grabbed him, trying to help him up, but without avail. Frustrated, he raised his wand and pointed it at Luna’s face. “Stop it! Stop it I said.”
But Luna paid him no attention, like he wasn’t even present.
“STUPEFY!” said Sirius, but the crimson jet of light splashed against an invisible wall and disintegrated away.
“Whatever your past, whatever your future, know this: I am Destiny,” said Luna. “Nothing escapes my gaze, nothing survives my wrath. Your ancestor thought differently, and look where he is. Entrapped in the icy caverns of Tartarus, manipulating future descendants into releasing him from his self-inflicted fate.”
The pain receded to something merely torturous, and Harry clenched his teeth down hard over a scream. He could move again. He flinched away from her, scrambling, covering his eyes, and struggling to control the pain.
There was a wetness on his face, and upon touching, he found that there was blood in his tears. He stared at her for a second, still half-dazed from the pain and once again deeply, sincerely, and wisely frightened.
“The seasons turn and turn,” he said slowly, agonisingly. “But you and I will keep dancing till the end.”
He looked up at her through blood-filled eyes. “That’s what you said. That I can be your destiny, or I can be your doom.”
Luna’s expression broke, but only just.
Harry was now on the last traces of his strength. His vision was going monochromatic. “I cannot continue. Not for any longer. If I give up, if I perish, our dance shall forever remain undone. And if I give in, I will become Death, and annihilate everything. Your precious garden will vanish. All life, all colour, all wonder shall cease. I will become your Doom.”
Luna took a backstep. “You would hold yourself hostage to force my cooperation?” She tilted her head, as if not at all bothered. “Truly, you are a reckless fool, Harry Potter.”
“Desperate.”
“Your desperation borders on hostility,” the Avatar chided. “But alas, your prayers remain unanswered. The Abstract is me and I am it. The only thing one cannot fight is itself. You of all people must know this, Harry Potter.”
“But,” interrupted Sirius. “There has to be a way.”
Luna studied the man’s face for a moment and then nodded. When she looked at Harry again, her eyes felt deeper than time. “Indeed. While Death has but a single path, the ways to Destiny are endless and ever-forming. You know the truth, Harry Potter, do you not? Death might have claimed you, but it does not possess you. Summer would not have stalked you otherwise. Those that lie waiting, would not have made overtures.”
Something about her eyes made Harry think back to that event back in his Defense classroom, when he had used the Glacius Diabolis against Sue Li’s twisted creation. He remembered the words the ice drake had whispered before dissipating.
“It’s only the first,” Harry whispered. “The first of… what?”
Luna smiled. “What indeed? What is it about Harry Potter that Death wishes to claim him so badly? That the Family Magics are in turmoil inside the Anima? Beyond the name, beyond Death, beyond Summer, what are you?”
Surprisingly, the answer came to his lips instantly, as if he had known it all along.
“An owl.”
Luna smiled. “An owl. A traveller between realities. Between this world….”
She looked up at the massive runic circle floating in the sky.
“...And the next.”
“No,” snapped Sirius, interrupting both of them. “That’s not happening! You are not sending my godson through that portal into Merlin knows where! Absolutely not.”
“Sirius!” Harry grunted. Why was the man being so stubborn? “I am… owl. I can… I can…”
He fell down again, vomiting blood.
Blood oozing down his eyes, his nose, his ears, his mouth, it was a macabre sight. Harry raised his head, barely, and looked up at Luna. “I summoned you. Send me into the —
Drip.
Something wet fell on Harry’s face. It trickled down his face.
He looked up.
Drip.
Another drop. Crimson. Dropping from his godfather’s hand, slashed open in the middle of his palm.
And then Sirius spoke.
“The Bloodborne, the Protected, the Saved, the Cursed….”
Both Harry and Luna looked to their side at Sirius in surprise. That chant, it couldn’t possibly be—
“The Marked, the Swayed, the Tools and the Fools…”
As the man spoke, a strange power was thrumming around him. No, not just around him. Harry felt the power around himself as well, only instead of supporting or invigorating him, it was binding him, restraining….
“Listen to my call. My order. My command. My will is the Will of House Black,” said Sirius. “Toujours Pur, for I am Sirius Orion. The Lord of Black.”
“Siri —” Harry began, but speaking was difficult. The Magic that belonged to the Black Lord, magic as black as his name, magic that was just as old and esoteric as Death itself sprang into existence. The runic circle above him transformed from bright crimson into a hollow ring of intense purple.
And then Lord Black spoke.
“TEZCATLIPOCA!”
Harry had barely been able to register what Sirius, no, what Lord Black had just stated, and the next moment, a titanic purple shadow engulfed his world. He gasped and recoiled, but words escaped his mouth, like they were being dragged out through his teeth.
Words that he would never have spoken.
“I am Tezcatlipoca. I serve and obey.”
Tezcatlipoca. The Jaguar. The Smoking Mirror. The Herald of the Nocturnal Sky. The God of Night and Sorcery of the darkest sort.
And most importantly, the Black Family Magic.
“BIND HIM!” snarled Sirius.
Harry was physically lifted, as restraints of purple encapsulated him from all sides. All he could do was stare at his godfather with growing anxiety, desperation and fear.
Sirius turned towards Luna, and met her gaze unflinchingly. “Harry Potter is bound by the Black Family Magic. He cannot control this Circle, for that power now belongs to me. Tezcatlipoca grants me that power. So, girl, Destiny, whatever you are, how about you and I do a deal?”
Luna’s eyes sparkled. “You would repeat your godson’s reckless deeds?”
“No,” said Sirius, shaking his head. “I just have one request. And if you are truly Destiny, surely you know what I want.”
Luna turned to look at the restrained Harry Potter, who was trying his best to free himself. “It is his choice.”
“Not any longer, no,” Sirius put his foot down. “I am his godfather. I gave an oath when Lily and James made me his godfather. I have failed to keep him safe all this time, I’m not making that mistake again. Shift the shackles onto me. Let me step into the Other side.”
“It will be painful like you’ve never imagined.”
Sirius smiled. “I’ve been in Azkaban for twelve years. Pain’s an old friend at this point.”
He dropped his wand, and held both hands open.
“I’m ready.”
Harry tried to yell, to scream, to shout at his godfather for doing this. It was like Time itself had slowed down, every second stretching into an eternity, as the inevitable approached. Luna raised her hand, and the next second, the enormous deluge of impossible power flowing through his veins vanished, and his godfather, the proud, gallant man that had just sacrificed himself to be the Anima’s prisoner in exchange for Harry. His heart pounded impotently in his chest, yet not a single word escaped from his petrified lips. He wanted to scream, wanted to shout out Sirius’s name, and plead with him to turn back.
But he did nothing.
For he could do nothing.
It’s time,” said Luna, and Sirius Black, now reduced to a wreck of a man in a few seconds of exposure, looked up in Harry’s direction.
And then he spoke.
“Until your Lord returns, I command you to entrench yourself within his blood. Strengthen him, protect him, for he is my heir. And one day, perhaps, he will bring me back.”
It took Harry a moment to register that Sirius wasn’t exactly talking to him, but to the Black Family Magic.
A wide grin tore through the man’s lips, as he said.
“Mischief Managed.”
And then, he was gone.
Comments
dragongod0117
Sirius you damn dog! Why you gotta make me cry like this 😭
Joe Neal
A pissed Harry vs Umbridge.
