I created a stationary beam of light with a spell almost directly overhead to see what I was doing and began the preparations. Although this spot had a small clearing without trees, and few bushes, autumn reigned all around with all its consequences. I started with the most necessary thing — leveling the ground. With precise, focused wand movements, I carefully cut away everything superfluous, removed large stones, rotten leaves, twigs, and other debris, ultimately creating a more or less even, but still living, area about three meters in diameter. Magic must flow along a smooth channel.
For safety, as an additional power contour, along all the lines of the future star, I drew a chalk line. This way I could create a double contour: the main one inside, chalk on the outside. This method could serve, if necessary, as both a weak (though main) contour and an insulator, concealing the emanations emanating from the ritual.
Next, I took from my bag the silver ritual knife with runic engraving on the handle and proceeded to the main task — I began drawing the primary ritual circle. With the tip, I cut deep, clear lines into the packed earth — I'd even call them grooves — of a seven-pointed star inscribed within a circle. I made sure the lines were perfectly straight, the angles as if measured with a compass. In this, I was aided by the precise chalk copy, which I had redrawn many times, both here and at school, while preparing for this undertaking. Now it was easier with the chalk copy; after all, one wrong curve might not have disrupted anything, but I wanted everything done with maximum precision.
The next stage was creating the contour and anchors. Along the freshly cut grooves of the pentagram, I thickly poured silver powder.
Inside the circle, directly along the border of the central, inner ring of the seven-pointed star, I carefully laid out the prickly, bony branches of hawthorn. They formed an inner barrier — a kind of ring separating the sacred space from the outer world and protecting against the unwanted influence of the Plane of Death. Their thorns caught on my dragon-hide gloves, as if unwilling to be placed, but I insisted.
At the seven points of the star and directly in its center, I placed smooth, polished-to-black-mirror-gloss obsidian stones. Each felt pleasantly heavy in the hand — they were intended to hold and focus magical flows.
The most complex part was the runic formulas. Around each obsidian anchor, with a fine brush and black, oily ink (based on soot and snake bile), I began to draw complex block-schemes from the Elder Futhark runes. These were coherent sentences of runic words, forming complete formulas. I did this with maximum concentration, feeling the magical tension in the clearing increase with every line applied.
Phrases emerged from the runic symbols, which with each second filled the seven-pointed star with an increasingly dense semantic field. From each vertex of the star, where the block-schemes were located, a chain of runes also led to the center, connecting through isolated branches with the inner circle where I was to stand. Everything passed through this isolation thanks to the stones with runes engraved on them, which connected the structure into a whole and acted as conductors. They bore the following runes: "Hold," "Focus," "Transition," "Death-old," "Birth-new," and "Silence." The runes on the stones (which were actually various rare minerals) I had carved myself, well in advance.
And even now, after studying the entire ritual from start to finish so many times, I didn't fully understand its entire mechanism. I had more or less mastered runes, thanks to which I was beginning to understand part of the phrases and the principle of their connection, but it was far from enough. I was even afraid to imagine how difficult it had been to compose these whole formulas for precise action and correlate all the components into a single, working scheme.
My role, for now, was that of a cautious student, precisely following instructions. Instructions that I had and with which I double-checked myself after each action, despite having memorized everything, literally learning every line by heart in an attempt to understand.
I also prepared offerings and sacrifice. As gifts to nature, next to each obsidian anchor, without touching the runes, I laid out modest but symbolic gifts for the spirits of nature and death: a handful of dried forest berries, nuts, slices of black bread, a bunch of dry healing herbs, dried scarab beetles (a symbol of transformation), and fallen leaves of oak, ash, and elder. Each item was chosen not by chance; each was a word in a dialogue with the magic, which could be said to act as a kind of translator with the forces the ritual intended to challenge and hoped to appease.
As signs of transition from life to death, on the four cardinal points outside the main star, I placed small, cleaned crow skulls — messengers between worlds and guardians of the threshold. Their empty eye sockets seemed to look somewhere deep, through the night darkness.
All that remained was to connect the ritual circle with myself. I cleansed the knife with a spell and took it in my hands again. The blade gleamed coldly in the moonlight. Without hesitation, I made a shallow cut on my palm. The burning pain didn't particularly bother me. Had my pain threshold increased?
The bright scarlet blood had to touch each obsidian anchor. I passed my bloody palm over each stone, feeling the magic of the scheme respond with a light, barely perceptible hum. Then I clenched my fist, allowing drops to fall into the very center of the pentagram — the point where I was to stand. Now my life force, that is, my essence, was woven into the ritual's scheme.
In the moonlight, the star's contour of silver powder began to shimmer with a dim, cold light. This was the first sign of the scheme awakening when using silver for the inscription.
Finally, I decided to bring closer to myself the creature I would sacrifice today. I approached a special portable cage covered in dark cloth and took out a live crow.
The bird, like, by the way, all the other components and records for this ritual, had been obtained from the Black family house-elf, Kreacher, in Hogsmeade. The crow was completely ordinary, that is, non-magical. It was calm, almost in a trance from a special potion I had mixed into its water. Its black, shiny little eyes looked at me without fear, almost.
Now, only waiting remained. The preparation was complete. I stepped back, surveying my creation: a seven-pointed star, shimmering with silver and chalk, covered in runes, surrounded by gifts and "guardians." I periodically checked the time with the Tempus spell and compared it with the position of the moon, slowly sailing between the bare branches.
While the agonizing wait lasted, my thoughts returned to the essence of what lay ahead. This ritual from the Vassat chain was the fifth in order. It was called "The Bath of the Natural Cycle." Taking advantage of the approach and separation of the Plane of Death and our world on Samhain night, it drew energy from the magical forest and nature, as well as the favor of nature spirits, giving them gifts in exchange. The ritual filled the conductor with diverse energy, which, instead of collapsing, was harmoniously absorbed by the body. This was extremely powerful, as, in general, death emanations mixed very poorly with the natural spectrum. So, my renewed respect for my ancestor.
This ritual served as healing after the rather harsh previous stages of the chain, which had caused micro-damage due to strong stress effects. The natural energy of the forest allowed healing from them. And the energy of death, whose crumbs were added to the overall magical balance of the world for only one day, helped balance everything. The gifts were a payoff, allowing one not to sacrifice one's own magical essence and strength in return.
In the end, I could expect a good increase (a couple of percent) in my predisposition to the death and nature spectra, as well as restoration of the magical body after minor damages, especially helpful given the harsh purifications from previous rituals.
Of course, restoration didn't happen instantly — it was a medium-term effect that would manifest in the magical body only after a couple of months, like the increased predisposition to the spectra. But the most delightful thing was that the ritual was partly based on another, ancient druidic rite, long lost or hidden, according to what was written, by Vassat Black.
That rite filled and helped preserve magical energy of a natural character in the wizard's body for an entire day. For a whole day, one could walk around with a pretty decent buff, which, thanks to its effect, not only provided a temporary boost, somewhere around twenty percent. The most pleasant thing was that due to the stretching of the magical reserve, the ritual sharply increased its volume. Not the potential, but precisely the current reserve, which, after the expansion experienced, did not return to its original size but remained slightly larger.
True, this method could only be used once a year, no more, to avoid harming oneself, and only by drawing magical energy of the natural spectrum. Otherwise, the consequences would be catastrophic. In my version, the effect was slightly weaker, but the energy was drawn from two spectra, not just the natural one. The downside was that it could only be performed on Samhain day, in the forest, or by creating a very specific magical background.
The increase, again, was only a few percent and depended on one's initial potential, but I'll say this: every extra drop of magic in my body made me better than others. Any crumb, as I had already felt many times in my short life, could provide a monstrous advantage in the long run. In the records, by the way, there was also a simplified version that could be performed outside the chain at least once a year, giving a small boost and a day-long buff. It was a shame that this reserve enhancement would be smaller each time, but the temporary enhancement would, in any case, remain a considerable help.
Soon, flashed through my mind. Soon the magic of the forest, death, and my own blood would merge into a single stream. And I would take another step towards the power that would allow me never, NEVER again to be that boy, so helpless and beaten in that dark cave.
I took a deep breath of the frosty night air and prepared to meet midnight. We had left after dinner… poor guys… but never mind, let them know that being a member of the Slytherin Council wasn't just about power!
It was amusing to watch how, as time passed, the guys gradually got used to the night forest, its sounds, and even started exchanging words, clearly bored. Only Blackmore seemed immune to such concepts. I think he could have stood here for a day without communication. As for Graham, I don't know — although taciturn, he liked being in company. But Nox and Cassius chatted among themselves and drew everyone else into conversations.
While I indulged in calm reflections, the time came. Yes… it was already midnight.
***
Not long before, a light breeze on the small clearing, surrounded by dense forest, appeared as if from nowhere. Bypassing the ancient trees, it spiraled towards the center of the ritual, where, in the middle of the seven-pointed, silver-glowing star, stood Arcturus Malfoy. At that moment, it seemed as if he were speaking with nature itself. With each second, it responded more: the wind lifted from the ground and tore from the trees the rare, almost fallen leaves, swirling them around the one performing the ancient ritual, one that hadn't been performed in a very long time.
It was as if the forest whispered with the platinum-haired wizard, who, eyes closed, continued to whisper incomprehensible, Old English words — those that had long since changed or become foreign to Britons. Words in an ancient, almost forgotten dialect were mesmerizing.
Isabel Nox, although she understood she shouldn't be distracted and generally shouldn't look at someone else's ritual, couldn't overcome her natural curiosity and, mesmerized, watched the unfolding spectacle. The thing was, the ritual was far more colorful and powerful than any she had known or seen in her life. She didn't notice how, from behind her, straight from the dark forest clearing, something enormous, the size of a large dog, silently crept out. It was a young Acromantula, apparently attracted by the powerful vibrations of magic. Its numerous eyes glinted dully in the magical light, and its abdomen twitched convulsively, preparing to pounce on the girl's unprotected back.
Fortunately, the fact that Dexter Blackmore occasionally stole glances at the dark-haired girl worked in her favor. He was the first to notice movement in the darkness. Without hesitation, he thrust his wand forward and sharply cried out:
"Depulso!"
The powerful blast of the spell struck the arthropod's convex abdomen precisely. The spider, with a quiet, nasty hiss, flew into the bushes, its legs twitching in convulsions. But this shot, like a signal flare, shattered the fragile serenity of the teenagers, who, for a couple of hours, had rightly feared the darkness of the night forest.
Meanwhile, Arcturus drew the silver knife from under his robes and sacrificed the crow, holding it high into the sky. Scarlet blood streamed down the dark bird's dead body and dripped down his raised arm, falling into the center of the circle and onto himself. He continued whispering the ritual words, and at some point, placed the body of the dead crow on the ground.
Into the clearing, attracted by the light, magic, sounds, and the smell of blood, other inhabitants, who had wandered into this celebration of life, began to crawl and run.
At that second, a terrible, soul-chilling screech and otherworldly whisper were heard — whether from the depths of the forest or from the otherworldly plane itself. It was so fleeting and hard to hear due to the growing noise of the wind and rustling leaves that it could be taken for a trick of the imagination. But everyone felt goosebumps run down their spines.
And then the young ritualist placed the lifeless body of the crow on the central obsidian stone at his feet, dipped his finger in the still-warm blood of the dead bird, and drew a complex, archaic symbol on his forehead. And then he began to chant the ritual words louder and louder.
Although he didn't show it, he had noticed what happened. He also saw that a slight panic had begun among the Slytherins, who had never before faced real dangers. This was already dangerous, but he couldn't interrupt.
As the ritual reached its peak, several more Acromantulas of similar size "visited" them, their shadows stirring among the trunks. The four young wizards repelled them with the appropriate spell against arachnids — Arania Exumai — from which the attacking spiders hissed painfully and flopped back into the bushes. The teenagers were in shock: where did Acromantulas come from in the Forbidden Forest?! This was too much even for these parts, where, deep in the forest, one could encounter fourth-category danger creatures, like forest trolls or various forest spirits.
Several tree-like monsters also tried to approach unnoticed — similar to the one Arcturus had halved four hours earlier. Their tentacle-branches carefully and silently moved aside bushes and branches.
If all four hadn't immediately begun to close ranks, retreating to the very edge of the ritual circle, they wouldn't have been able to defend themselves properly. They fought back from all sides, trying to protect Arcturus, who seemed oblivious, immersed in a trance-like state.
"We won't let them break through to the circle!" Blackmore commanded. His voice was sharp, but he was composed, unlike the panicking Nox. "Stun and cut everything that comes through! Just no fire!"
With combined efforts, showering the attackers with a hail of stunning and cutting spells, they managed to kill or drive off a good dozen creatures. The air filled with the smell of something acrid and putrid. And the wind blowing towards the center of the ritual star intensified, as did the glow of the silver powder serving as the contour of the seven-pointed star. Apparently, there was some error in the ritual circle made with chalk. The insulating circle had clearly not concealed the emanations of various types of magic.
Something had gone wrong. The ritual, which should have ended with the sacrifice, was not subsiding. Fortunately, the last part of the ritual chanting was precisely what needed to be repeated until everything quieted down.
Without realizing it, due to the accidentally wandered-in spiders, Arcturus had prolonged the sacrifice phase, and the magic was trying its best to "satisfy" the generous gifts that kept coming. It was at this moment that the young ritualist realized a tiny but fatal error in his calculations, due to the incorrectly drawn insulating contour.
And he had double-checked so many times…. The death emanations were dangerously outweighing. The balance, which was supposed to bring healing, threatened to bring something bad. Of course, this small error promised even super-efficiency from the ritual, but only on condition of immediate termination. Each subsequent second of monstrous pressure carried a risk. Five minutes at this pace, and channel rupture, overload, or death could become a realistic outcome.
Concentrating all his will, Arcturus tried with all his might to stabilize the magic flows, simultaneously speeding up the final words to turn the tide of the ritual.