"Harry Potter- Ravenclaw"Chapter 34: The Primordial Altar
Dumbledore was just about to speak when the black centaur lowered his bow, peering at them with uncertainty.
"Are you... the young colt favored by the unicorn?"
Before the words had even faded, Wyzett could feel the weight of every gaze turning his way.
He nodded, admitting, "That's me. Last year, when I ventured into the Forbidden Forest, I met a unicorn."
Stepping past Hagrid, he approached the black centaur and gave a friendly wave.
"Mr. Bane, isn't it? Good morning!"
"Uh... good... morning..." Bane seemed flustered by such direct conversation, stumbling over his words.
He lowered his bow and glanced at Dumbledore.
"Coming into the forest this early, I thought you might be poachers. My mistake."
"At least you gave a warning first," Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "That shows you've taken my advice to heart."
Wyzett got straight to the point.
"I'm here to find an altar, deep in the forest. I hope you'll let us pass."
"What sort of altar?" Bane asked.
"An altar that can summon thunderstorms." Wyzett pulled out his notebook and opened it to the map.
"Lumos!"
"So it's that one..." Bane slung his longbow over his shoulder. "No need to take the long way, then. I'll lead you through the herd—it'll be quicker!"
...
The centaur settlement was hidden among the trees, blending almost seamlessly with the forest itself. As Bane guided them through, centaurs wrapped in vines slipped quietly into their dwellings, watching from the shadows.
The taller stallions stepped forward, exchanging a few words with Bane in the centaurs' own tongue. Afterward, they'd step closer, curiosity in their eyes as they studied Wyzett.
Of the group, only Dumbledore seemed to understand what the centaurs were saying.
"Unicorns are creatures of purest magic," Dumbledore explained quietly. "To win a unicorn's favor is no small feat. That's why they find Wyzett so remarkable."
"These two young colts... both special," Bane added, glancing at Wyzett and Luna.
A Bowtruckle had perched itself on Wyzett's shoulder, peering at Dumbledore with bright, curious eyes. Another Bowtruckle nestled contentedly in Luna's arms, half-asleep as she gently stroked its feathery leaves.
...
Cutting straight through the centaur territory, their journey was much shorter.
Soon, a clearing opened before them. At its center stood an ancient altar, bathed in a rare shaft of sunlight.
The altar was built from massive slabs of stone, their surfaces etched with Runes—just visible beneath winding vines and moss.
Wyzett gazed at the distant altar.
"Mr. Bane, do you know anything about this place?"
Bane paced forward, shaking his head.
"In our stories, the altar's always been here, but we don't know what it's for."
"Do you know if any wizards have ever used it? Or how it appeared?" Wyzett pressed.
Bane thought for a moment.
"More than ten years ago, during a great storm, we felt powerful magic from here. But we were fighting the Acromantulas then, so we didn't come to investigate."
"As for the altar itself, it seemed to appear out of nowhere after that storm. My mother used to hum a song about it..."
He began to hum a haunting, ancient melody—its words lost to time.
Dumbledore quietly translated:
"After thunder's roar and the dance of rain, in the hush, the primordial altar rises from the mist."
"That's it," Bane confirmed, gripping his bow once more. "I should go. Good luck to you."
"Thank you, Mr. Bane. We're grateful you brought us here," Wyzett replied instinctively.
"Uh... mm..." Bane mumbled, still uneasy with such directness, before disappearing into the shadows.
...
Altars like this were made for ritual magic—something Wyzett understood well.
He drew a crystal from his pack, and following the notebook's instructions, set it into the appropriate slot.
The crystal floated in one of the altar's grooves, releasing a subtle, invisible ripple of magic—like a gentle breeze.
Just as Fred and George had warned, the altar seemed damaged. Magic pooled around it, but wouldn't gather; the Runes remained dormant.
Wyzett recalled the centaur's song.
"If 'after thunder's roar and the rain's dance' means weather magic, then the altar comes first, and the storm follows."
"The primordial altar rises from the mist... does that mean—" He raised his wand, feeling the Obscurus core within him throb violently. Ancient Magic surged down his arm, pouring through the wand and into the altar.
...
With a faint crackle, the Runes flared to life, one by one, bathing the altar in silver-blue light.
It was Ancient Magic that awakened the altar's true power.
Perhaps, since its appearance, only the Marauders had ever used it—drawing on the lingering force of Ancient Magic to conjure their legendary storm.
A spark of inspiration struck. Wyzett lifted his wand high and spoke the incantation for the storm spell.
"Tempestas!"
Above the Forbidden Forest, clouds began to gather, swallowing up the sunlight in seconds.
The creamy clouds darkened, as if ink were spilled across the sky—morphing into brooding thunderheads.
In an instant, rain poured down in sheets, the drumming roar drowning out every bird and insect.
Wyzett kept his wand raised, moving it in slow circles as if stirring the clouds themselves. He unleashed a second weather charm:
"Fulgur Tempestas!"
His Obscurus core pounded even harder. A jagged bolt of lightning shot skyward, cleaving the rain and vanishing into the swirling darkness.
The clouds turned almost pitch-black. Thunder rumbled endlessly, and lightning writhed like serpents across the sky.
Professor McGonagall leaned close to Luna, her voice gentle.
"If Wyzett is overwhelmed by animal instincts, try calling to him. Guide him back."
"I understand, Professor!" Luna nodded, hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer.
Wyzett lifted his wand toward the castle and called out,
"Accio potion!"
The potion bottle soared to his hand, crimson liquid swirling inside. His heart thudded with excitement.
He let out a long breath, pressed his wand tip to his chest, and recited the incantation he'd memorized:
"Amato Animo Animato Animagus!"
He downed the blood-red potion in one gulp.
Agony erupted—like a candle set alight, his body felt as if it were melting in a searing blaze.
And then came the heartbeats—two of them, pounding in wild, chaotic rhythm, echoing through his mind.
Thump!
Thump!
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