Well sh*t. I posted the wrong chapter, sorry about that Lady's and Gents, lets try this one.
Sorry its late, I'm burnt out at the mo, and had work.
Also heads up, this is a intense one. It took me hours and hours to write and tweak the bones of the ritual itself without Harry in it before I even started writing Harry actually experiencing the ritual, then another 2 weeks to do the meat of the chapter and get the whole thing just right so I hope you like it!
Side note: the ritual in this chapter is intense, as it should be.
Loads of end notes:
Harry scouted out the inns that Bill recommended first. He wanted to go to Gringotts straight away but needed to pick a place to sleep first. He was exhausted from being up all night, as well as from the emotional toll of being with his 'relatives.'
It was easy enough to find the inns, once he worked out that most were in the same general area. Interestingly enough it wasn't just the inns that had merely humorous or just lame creepy and morbid names. 'Cobb & Webb's Coffin House,' 'Dystyl Phaelanges; and 'Tombed to Fail' were just a few of the ones he looked at as he searched. The most popular inn seemed to be the White Wyvern. It was also full at this time of year, and the most expensive. But the ones Bill had mentioned all had room, but were outside his meagre budget.
To his annoyance, even the seedier inns were not cheap enough for him to afford. He was also just too tired to feel brave enough to haggle for a price or bargain a trade labour in exchange for food and board. The streets then, he sighed. He'd done it before. He could do it again. At least he had magic and a trunk here. He'd have to scout out the alley first properly, though.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he could feel someone watching him. He didn't stop walking but focused his senses outwards, searching. A hand brushed against his bag flap pressed, against his body. The bag's wards pinged in the back of his mind, and instincts from his time on the streets before Hogwarts flared back to life in an instant. His hand shot out and latched onto a bony wrist.
He recognised the pickpocket. Not because he'd ever seen the kid before, but because 'it takes one to know one.' This one had been stupid enough to get caught. Harry was probably a bit rusty from not having used the skills since he'd got his letter.
Maybe it was time to polish those skills again.
He looked a the pickpocket. Thin, 13, taller than him, glaring at him defiantly, trying to jerk away. Harry just tightened his grip and twisted just enough to be uncomfortable, to get the kids attention to show him that Harry meant business.
He could feel himself being watched and wondered if it was the Alley guards Bill had mentioned that protected the locals from auroras and outsiders.
"Don't." Harry said to the kid, softly, but harshly, "just don't."
He knew not to present a weak front on the streets. It was easy to slip into the old, colder bravado, the old air of menace necessary to survive on the streets of London as a child. It felt like putting on an old familiar jumper, like coming home as he spat at the street rat, "No-one pickpockets, a pickpocket."
The kid scampered as soon as Harry let him go. But Harry had memorised his face, his walk. Harry skulked around the alleyway, watching and scouting, looking for a good place to stash his trunk and set up for the day once he was done at Gringotts.
He watched the people, spotted the guards lurking, and was sure there were more he wasn't seeing. He spotted others sleeping on the streets. He spotted the street rats (the street kids,) wizards that came in every so often from Diagon that screamed of 'dodgy' and 'outsider.'
The shops had turned their lights and their music off, closing windows, shutters and curtains. Nocturne was quieter during the day. Interesting. It didn't all completely go to sleep, some left a mere skeleton crew in the stores that were closer to Diagon, in Knocturn.
Not conducive to sleeping in doorways. And there weren't really bins here, not when rubbish could just be vanished. So no sleeping behind them either. Bugger. He'd have to watch the patterns and routines, to scout out how things worked and where would be safe to sleep. He melted back into the shadows of an alleyway that he'd been watching from only to bump into someone.
Someone who's magic he hadn't felt. Someone who hadn't been there before, who'd snuck up on him. He went for his knife and his wand in one movement turning to face them.
An old woman. At least he thought they were a female. They seemed to be female in shape, but their face was covered by long scraggly hair. He wished there was a polite gender-neutral term on respect. Honestly, Sir or Ma'am was so restrictive!
"Sorry ma'am," he murmured politely, hoping to defuse anything before it started. The lady(?) just cackled at him and went to touch his face with one clawed hand. He jerked out of reach and met her other hand with his knife tip as she went for his face again.
"Oh-ho, lady am I? Polite too. You must be new my pretty. Don't belong here. Must be lost."
He moved back out of her reach and shot a stinging hex at her as she reached for him again. She hadn't felt dangerous, and his instincts were normally good, but he didn't want her touching him.
"Touch me again, and it will be more than a hex," he promised coldly, "you have me mistaken ma'am. I am no-one's plaything. I'm not lost."
He'd be damned if he was going to be seen to be weak by anyone here. He must have had the air of a newbie, so people thought he was an easy target. He straightened his spine. He had to prove he wasn't. He had to prove that he was tough enough not to be messed with.
And here, away from Dumbledore, he was safe enough in the darkness and shadow that he could be himself. He could defend himself without any risk of Dumbledore overpowering and stripping him of his memory and his free will. He didn't have to play 'nice Gryffindor golden-boy,' here.
He smiled coldly, and she stubbornly, stupidly tried to pat his shoulder again. He batted the offending appendage away with his knife. It got her across the palm, and she hissed at him, showing jagged teeth. No, not human at all.
She went for him again, and he shot out a hex and lashed out with his knee this time as she dodged. He caught her across the forearm with his knife again, and she retreated with a hiss and a grin.
But she didn't leave. She just ran a finger over the cut on her hand and the bleeding gash on her arm. He watched with hidden awe as the gashes healed before his eyes. She licked the blood off her fingers and arm with relish and stepped towards him again.
He didn't step back this time but took a step forward until his wand was a foot away from her neck and his knife was at her gut. Not a threat, a promise.
"Leave me alone, or I'll cut off your fingers at best and gut you at worst," he said, his voice cold.
He'd been touched enough, felt up enough, used as a punching bag enough. He didn't know or care what she wanted, but he wasn't interested. And besides, she'd pushed enough, and he'd been lenient enough, had given her more than enough warning. If she pressed him again, he really would cut off her hand or gut her. He'd had enough. He wasn't the Gryffindor golden boy anymore. He never had been.
She cackled and said "oh-ho! It bites," in a pleased sort of gleeful tone before melting back into the shadows.
He narrowed his eyes at the alley she was still lurking in, watching for a long time before he lowered his wand and knife. A watcher then. A test. She wasn't human, that was for sure. Her magic felt too different, not goblin or werewolf... A Hag maybe?
Deciding to avoid the lower streets, Harry climbed some crates in one of the side alley's, up a few drainpipes and managed to clamber up on to the roof of an inn. The rooftops here were close together. He could probably find plenty of places to hide and sleep. It would certainly be easy to travel over them, too. He peered around, moving from slanted rooftop to slanted rooftop.
Yes, behind a chimney was a kid-sized lump under a cloak. So other's slept here too. He sighed. It would do. He scuttled back down to the floor of the alley and headed back to Gringotts.
*
The goblins didn't even blink as he crossed the threshold of the bank still hooded. He crossed to the nearest free teller but pulled his hood back just enough to show his face. He met the goblin's eyes and said nothing. The goblin blinked, grinned sharply, and after a long, long moment eventually said, "well met Wizard."
Harry smiled just as sharply and said, "well met, Master Teller."
Harry slid his key across the desk, "I wish to see Master Rodgrip if she's free."
The goblin nodded and lead him once again to Rodgrip's office door and knocked. A harsh word in goblin tongue, then a reply, before Harry was ushered into the office. Harry lowered his hood and met Rogrip's eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment before Rodgrip said, "well met Mr Evans-Potter."
"Well met, Master Rodgrip," Harry said, practising the Goblin tongue he'd been teaching himself out of Flitwick's book. Bill had demonstrated some of the sounds for him. But the muscles in this throat were not accustomed yet to the unfamiliar shapes of the goblin's hard vowels or the harsh sounds of the sharp consonants. Harry feared it sounded less like goblin tongue and more like a garbled mess.
Clearly, Rodgrip thought so too if her sneer was anything to go by.
"Kindly refrain from butchering my mother tongue, young wizard," she said, before adding, "well met," also in goblin, as if to show Harry how it was meant to be done.
Harry winced and blushed scarlet, "sorry. I have a book. I'm trying to learn, but it didn't come with that great a pronunciation guide."
She snorted and said, "If you want to learn, use a potion or a tutor, Curse breaker Weasley's Goblin isn't too bad."
Harry nodded, "I'll do that."
She muttered something unsavoury about wizards in general and Harry being odd, before she peered at him closely, somehow not looking directly at him. She narrowed her eyes and made a pinching motion in the air in front of him. Magic crackled lightly around him. It did not really make a sound, as such, but it felt like it. Her magic tugged at him. He winced but allowed it. It wasn't as bad as it was last time.
She peered at him again, "you're healthier than you were. You don't look like half starved, dead roadkill this time."
Harry snorted in amusement, "thanks."
"That house-elf is doing a good job. Though you could still use fattening up," she said with a glare.
Harry snorted again, "I know. I'm working on it, but you can't see every bone in my spine any more, and my ribs and pelvis aren't so pointy."
She hummed unhappily and handed him a knife. Knowing what she wanted, he let her run the tests again before she pulled out a large file and started flipping through it.
"Some of the bindings have continued to degrade. This is good. It will make it easier." Rodgrip said
"I have the potions. They're a bit thicker than they should be, but it's the best I could do."
"Good. Now we have looked into how to structure the ritual. We have agreed we will need to layer several rituals together on top of the purging potions. It will need a cleansing component and a banishing component," the goblin explained.
"But while we can break the magic on you with the purging potions with the rituals we have brainstormed, I do not know if it will work for the Soul Shard. They are tricky to remove ordinarily, and we have not had one created in a living being before. Possess one, sure, but we have never removed one from a person before, goblin or human... I do not know if it will work. And there is the chance it will take your mother's magic with it, leaving you vulnerable to the Soul Shards.
Harry swallowed. If the normally adamant goblin was unsure, it must be complex.
"What are my options?"
"I would suggest taking a potion to heighten your magical perception and a temporary power boosting ritual to see if you can manually unbind things. Then you can take the a purging potion. That may not clear it out, though. In fact, I don't think it will. It will just take some of it.
I think both purging potions will be necessary, but it will still require a lot of hard work on your part to untangle it. I think we will need a Mage Sense Heightening rune circle, on top of a blood banishing ritual. Add that to the purging potions, and that is your best chance. But it may leave the Soul Shard behind. It may also banish your mother's protection, and leave you more susceptible to the Soul Shard."
"What will that mean?"
"We are not certain. We suspect it will probably forge a mental link between you."
"It already does. I have dreams."
"Well, you won't be any worse off then. Occlumency will be equally important in that case, but ultimately, not effective enough. It will shield you, in that it will stop Riddle feeling you. But you will still get some leakage of his emotions and mind, I think, if he does not occlude. We do not know."
Harry's shoulders slumped a moment before he lifted his chin stubbornly. "Your advice would be? How do I best get rid of it?"
"Kill you." She said succinctly, "but first we shall try the purging ritual before we do something so dramatically wasteful. Then we can look at killing you and bringing you back without resorting to necromancy or leaving you a squib."
Harry took a breath to delay the panic building in his gut, waking him up.
"Let's do it then, and get me as free as we can. I'll deal with the Soul Shard afterwards when it becomes a problem."
"Right then. Let's plan it," Rodgrip said, pulling out notes and diagrams and they got to work.
"The dark moon would be the best time for it, but that would not leave any time to start healing you before you go back. The Full moon also would be good but is too far away so we will have to leave the moon out of it and adjust the runes and ritual schematics to compensate." Rodgrip said, "how soon do you want to do it? I suspect you will feel rather awful afterwards. So we should plan it as close to the dark moon as we can.
"If we can't use the moon other than the phase we can use time," Harry suggested, feeling wide awake again. "I'd like to do it as soon as possible. Tuesday is the day for nastier spell work, or maybe Saturday, which is for banishing. But I'd rather not wait that long. How soon can we do it? Can we do it today? Sunday are not as ideal as Saturday, but it is a day for success. And Midnight is the time for new beginnings," Harry said consideredly.
"You have been learning," Rodgrip said surprised, with a hint of approval. "Depending on what we settle on, Midnight tonight could work. Normally you lot expect us to do everything."
Harry snorted, "I've been reading mum's books. She had lots of books on ritual magic, blood magic and darke magic. She was fascinated with it, particularly with the darke. I've been trying to find things that would help."
"Ah good. This will offer us more options. Illegal ones. But helpful ones. Illegal for you lot anyway. What did you find?"
"Well, I read about war water. It's used for heavy protection magic or for harsh hexing or cursing rituals. I was wondering if we could take its sharp potency and it's harshness to help in some way, to force away some of the outer magic." Harry said, pulling out his notes from his bag.
"I also thought maybe it could be used in conjunction with some kind of a blood ritual cleansing. It would really fucking hurt, but if we used it to strip anything not me, from the blood maybe it would help support mum's protection. Maybe we can invoke the ancestors in some way. I don't have a connection with a deity yet, so I cannot call on one to do that kind of cleansing, but I have ancestors. I may not like dad, but mum gave her life to protect me, and I still have her magic protecting me. Maybe I can invoke the magic of her line in some way and invoke my ancestors to help get rid of this crap.
"Blood magic, old blood magic. Unorthodox; but it may work," Rodgrip said, "A Black candle circle for vanishing and a salt ring for purity. A bloody pentagram, like the other one. It will cleanse the body and the soul, inviting aid from the ancestors of your blood and invoking the protection of your mother. That may help keep it and contain the Soul Shard if it does not come out. Yes, this is progress."
Rodgrip paused for a moment thinking on Harry's suggestions and then nodded, "not so stupid for a wizard, are you?" She muttered, before getting out a quill and parchment.
*
They spent the rest of the day and well into the evening in Gringotts going over the ritual and the healing he would need afterwards. It was complex and daunting, but it was exhausting enough that it kept his mind off the Soul Shard in his head. The strong pepper-up potion they gave him helped him stay awake and focused, too.
"Yes, this will work," Rodgrip said eventually.
"Good," Harry said in agreement, sitting back in his chair with a yawn, "can we do it tonight?"
"We shall, now, go away. Return at half 11."
He nodded and left the bank. Stores were open now and people filled the alley. It was as if people were sliding back out of the woodwork, now the alley was awake again. Green, purple and red lanterns are being lit, lighting patches of the street with an eery light. It didn't light the alley fully, but it did give it a warmer, if still somewhat mysterious air to it.
It reminded him a lot of the dirtier seedier side of London, he'd lived in on occasion as a child. He slunk through the alley avoiding another pickpocket, deftly. It felt familiar. He liked it. And there were people everywhere and dirty children, some in rags running around, but it felt comfortable, familiar and predictable. He slipped into the crowd, his hood over his head, heading down the alley, to find his chosen rooftop.
He sat huddled in his cloaks on the roof of the Hung Drawn' n' Quarters Inn overlooking the dark heart of Nocturne. He didn't sleep, didn't feel safe enough yet. Not when he didn't yet know the patterns of this place. He was also still awake on the goblins strong pepper-up potion.
So he watched. He watched the street rats running around, stealing and pickpocketing. He watched the children playing and hitting each other and generally getting underfoot. He spotted and noticed the locals watching for, testing and scaring away outsiders. He watched the locals, the shoppers and the people who worked in the alley. He watched the patterns and noticed the shadows and the dangers and the corners.
*
At the appointed time, Harry headed back to Gringotts.
They were not in the same ritual room as before. In fact, they took a cart down, far deeper into Gringotts than he'd ever been before. They stopped outside a dark cavern lit with floating black candles. There was another carved Pentacle sunken into the rough stone floor, similar to the last ritual.
Harry stripped without needing to be asked this time. He carefully put his glasses, necklaces, clothes and things in his bag. Then, at the gesture of one of the attending goblins, he put it into a shielded nook in the wall. He lay in the middle of the circle, his body spread inside the Pentagram.
Bill was there, and smiled at Harry, but stayed focused on laying the black salt circle around the edge of the Pentacle. A white candle at the top point for freedom, a black for banishing, a purple for kinship and boosting psychic power, a green for new beginnings and an orange for breaking barriers. Each candle was at a different (and carefully calculated) point of the Pentacle.
The black floating candles were interspersed with other colours now and floated in a circle above the ritual circle.
Goblins were moving around with pale grey hooded robes, holding braces of smoking rosemary, chanting as they cleansed the room, with the banishing herb.
Inside the circle, runes and sigils were painted in an ink of pokeweed berry juice and blackthorn ash. They would help boost his magical awareness and heighten his magical senses.
Harry needed to cast the circle as it was his ritual. Rodgrip, Bill and the other Goblin Sages were merely providing support, power and stability; holding the circle. He'd read about it, and Rodgrip had coached him on what he needed to say when they were planning the ritual. But he'd never done anything like this before.
He gripped the Athame that Rodgrip handed him, and channelled his magic into it as best he could and prepared to cast the circle. The circle was cast starting in the east, drawing a pentacle in the air in front of him, at each cardinal point. He rotated in a sun-wise direction as he did so. Each pentacle was connected to the other by a fiery line of magic to make a full circle around them.
As he moved around the circle, the unlit candles lit up and started to float above their heads. As cast, he chanted:
"Air guardians of the east, I call upon your knowledge and intelligence. I honour and welcome you,
Fire guardians of the south, I call upon your strength and power. I honour and welcome you,
Water guardians of the West, I call upon your purity and wisdom. I honour and welcome you,
Earth guardians of the North, I call upon your strength and stability. I honour and welcome you."
He then drew a pentacle above them and below, making another circle of brightly shining magical light.
He chanted, "Mother Earth and Father Sky I call upon your love and devotion to aid and watch over your children tonight. Mother Earth and Father Sky, I honour and welcome you."
The second circle joined the first making a sphere of bright transparent light that grew around them and sank into the floor making a magical dome over them, humming with potent magic.
Next, Harry turned his focus inward, "Blood of my blood, I call to you. Ancestors, my beloved dead! I call upon you to aid your blood's child. Lend me your strength and guidance in breaking these bindings and banishing this magic, not of your own."
Something shifted, something grew. He couldn't see them, he couldn't hear them, and could not see any change, but he felt it.
Then, almost compelled he went on, unplanned, and added, "Hekate! Queen of the Witches, Goddess of the Darkened Crossroads, Goddess of my Mother, I call upon you and beg your aid. I beg of you to help your child's child."
There was a humming in the magic surrounding them. Though not physically loud, it somehow, just felt louder, stronger; filling the room. And as one, Harry, Rodgrip, Bill and the other Goblin Sages cried out, "The circle is cast, so as I say, so mote it be."
Harry handed the Athame back to the closest of the Goblin Sage's who stowed it into the belt of his ritual robe. Harry lay back down on the Pentagram. As planned, he sank into himself, meditating deeply on his magic. That was the most important thing now. He had to find and feel his magic. Rodgrip, Bill and the other Goblin Sages started chanting, magic thickened and built. But Harry did not even move an inch when they each moved forward from their point to cut his wrists and ankles, letting his blood fill the pentacle channels like last time.
They were still chanting. The candles on the floor light up, glowing red and everything got loud. Magic thrummed around him building as Rodgrip, Bill and the Goblins started chanting at the edges of the circle. The power built and swirled. It burned around him as every sense heightened. Harry delved deeper into himself, as the magic grew. The magic of the room was almost blinding now. He could actually see it! Rodgrip, Bill and the Goblin Sages; their magic felt so loud. He could feel what they felt! It was overwhelming. Even the room itself was strong; so loud. The earth vibrated with power, and he could feel his circle! It was so much! Too much.
He sank into himself looking and looking, feeling for the writhing mess of magic within him. The goblin magic pressed in on his every side. It built as they chanted; building even more power.
A potion phial was pressed to his lips. He opened his mouth and drank it, then a second. The purging potions were like drinking thick, gluey tar. It was salty, sharp and burned on the way down. He was nearly sick from the texture alone. It had his stomach cramping immediately. He tried not to think about it, remembering the slugs, vividly. He felt sick. But slowly he started to feel his magic, started to make sense of it, as if a fog in his mind was clearing. He tried to focus on his magic instead of the vile aftertaste.
He polled over onto all fours as his insides heaved. He would have been mortified that they were seeing him vomit! He was feeling too sick to care. It just kept coming out.
He screamed. Burning, his world lit up in flames.
His mind, his body; burning. An ocean of icy fire was his sky, and the earth was a molten sea of ice cradling him as he froze and burned from within and without.
Pain
Magic
It consumed him. Endless and eternal. And still... he clung to it. Still, he held onto that pain, proof of his continual existence, of his ability to survive anything, the proof of the depths he would go to to be free. Finally.
His magic burned.
It was his beginning and his ending. His whole world. He revelled in it as he despised it; his righteous punishment for daring to exist, to continue, for daring to be free, to survive. It was all he knew. He was consumed by it, eaten alive by it, as it crescendoed and he thought his mind would snap with the weight of it all; drowning under its weight...
*
He was kneeling in a filthy pool, covered in his own muck. He heaved again, shuddering. Black sludge spewed from his mouth. Just like the book had said the purging potions would. It hurt as much coming out, as they did going in. His arms trembled as his body tried to expel the foul magic, not his own.
"Now what?" He croaked weakly, when it had stopped. He didn't have even the energy to lift his head. Everyone stayed where they were. The chanting had stopped.
"Now you wait," Rodgrip said.
"Now the magic continues its work, and we hold your circle," Bill said.
Now that the potions had worked their way through him, purging what they could, and loosening the rest, Harry remembered suddenly, he had to free his magic. It wasn't just enough to let the purging potions go through him. He and the ritual magics still had to do the work.
"It's safe?" Harry asked weakly, feeling something running out his nose as he struggled to hold back the tide of magic rising in him.
He had to be sure, first. He had to be sure before he was swept away with it all. He wiped at his nose with a finger. He wanted to be sick again. The magic twisted in side of him.
"Gringotts ritual rooms are the safest," Rodgrip said in a firm voice that bore no argument. Harry thought there may have been worry on Rodgrip's face, as she continued, "even if your circle should fall, which it won't, the ritual circle embedded into this cavern, set before you came, shall hold. All is well, Warrior."
The chanting began again, different this time, for the second part of the ritual. He glanced at Bill, at the head of the circle, who nodded reassuringly, not stopping his chanting.
Harry could still feel the circle around him, still sense the presence of his family, his mum, not quite there, not quite a ghost, but an echo. A hint of her magic, and something older, stronger and bigger than him. Harry took comfort in that.
He let go.
He was falling, sinking deep into his own magic.
Slowly it started to make sense. The sickly ball of magic in him, felt bigger and bigger, and he could almost reach out and touch it. It bit at his skin with sharp savage teeth, but he ignored the burning and bit and clawed back at it just as savagly. He would not let it will. He would not let it chain him any longer. He would fight it with everything he had, as it did not belong, was not wanted, and it would go. He would make it go, if it was the last thing he did. Tears leaked from his eyes and he yanked at it. It burned, but he kept going. This was the only way.
He kept pulling, untangling the knot, tearing the sickly black mess from his own bright magic. He was starting to feel it now, his magic. Starting to see it now. A warm, soft, green glow in his mind's eye, in his heart. It pushed him on, giving strength to his bleeding hands. He pulled harder, tearing away the horrid black stuff from the warm beauty that was his own magic.
His magic felt even better than he thought it would. It made the glimpse he'd had of Hermione's magic, a mere shadow of the real thing. This was his. This was all him. It was home, and safety, and family, and warmth, and love all in one. And it was the best thing in the world. It was glorious and he revelled in it...
He'd never felt it before, but it got stronger and stronger the more black sludge he pulled away. Warm and alive. Goddess, how he'd wanted it. It was vibrant and strong, singing in every cell of his being, louder and brighter than any other magic he could feel. Getting louder and stronger, overpowering the burning black sludge that had poisoned them. It numbed the pain, and he pulled harder, yanking off great globs of the sticky tar-like sludge that was fighting back.
His magic was worth fighting for...
It was new and raw. But it was his, and home, and worth fighting for; he couldn't not. Even if it felt like he was tearing himself apart to free himself. The black sludge fought back, making him work for his freedom. This, he would never give up. Even if he could feel the exhaustion pulling at his bones, making him want to give up and sleep forever. To stop...
He pushed onwards, he couldn't give up on his magic. He could feel something around him, something warm and familiar and strong, like a loving caress, lending him strength. He wondered if it was his beloved dead, his mother, her Hekate. It felt bigger and older than him, but he was grateful to it. For there was one last bit of sludge clinging to him trying to tear away bits of his own. He reached out blindly in panic, to the warm presence around him.
His ancestor's, his blood, his beloved dead. They lent him strength and he drew on that gratefully; unashamedly. They lent him the strength to force almost all of the black sludge out. It floated around him, discarded and severed, inert, waiting to be banished.
But there was a tiny bit left, a tiny bit in his head surrounded by a glowing gold ball of magic that felt like his mum. The Soul Shard.
He had to get to it. Even if he had to give up his mums magic. He had to move the shard. He pushed, and pulled and yanked, putting everything he had into it. Ignoring the wet feeling coming from his ears, eyes and nose from the strain of it.
Begone, begone, begone! He cried out in his mind, drawing on the last of his strength, something shifted, he almost had it...
Darkness.
Nothingness.
He woke up with a gasp to murky water being poured over him. Buckets of it. He coughed and spluttered as he jerked curling into a ball. It stung his eyes and his skin and tasted like rust and salt.
War water.
Potent war water. Alive and bursting with furious magic, washing away everything he had cast out; protecting him. More was poured over him, cleaning him and the ritual space of all the contaminated mess the purging potions had forced out.
He'd have been relieved to have it gone, or embarrassed at being so sick in front of everyone if he was not so exhausted and sore. Even his magic hurt. It was like every nasty flu he'd had as a child all at once.
He blinked slowly. His magic. He smiled weakly. He was too tired and wrung out even to cry. He could feel his magic or what was left of it. It felt depleted, almost gone.
He was still in the circle. They were still chanting. He felt completely empty, rung out and rung dry. It was a horrible feeling. He had to finish it, though.
He clambered weakly to his feet but only managed to make it to his knees, before falling back to the wet floor. He tried again and eventually made it up. His limbs were shaking like leaves and he felt weak as a kitten. He wasn't sure how long they would hold him, so he forced out the closing lines of the ritual as the chanting died.
"Hekate, Queen of the Witches, Goddess of the Darkened Crossroads, Goddess of my mother. I thank you for your aid and help. Stay if you will, but go if you must, Hail and Farewell Hekate."
Then he added, "I thank you for your presence, Great Hekate, goddess of my mother and I." He swayed on his feet and forced himself to finish.
"Blood of my blood, my beloved dead, I thank you for your strength and guidance. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again; stay if you will, but go if you must. Hail and Farewell in love and peace."
He was shaking so badly now he thought he'd fall on his face. But he thought he felt something caress his face and something blessedly cool press momentarily to his burning forehead. It gave him a little bit of extra energy, to make it through the last few lines:
"Mother Earth and Father Sky, I thank you for your love and devotion in aiding and watching us this night. Hail and Farewell,
Air Guardians of the East, I thank you for your knowledge and intelligence. Hail and Farewell,
Fire Guardians of the South, I thank you for your strength and power. Hail and Farewell,
Water Guardians of the West, I thank you for your purity and wisdom. Hail and Farewell,
Earth Guardians of the North, I thank you for your strength and stability. Hail and Farewell,
The circle is open but never broken, so as I say so mote it be."
And the circle opened. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Harry fell to the floor as the weight of the completed ritual pressed down on him.
Goddess, Harry thought dimly, that had hurt. He was vaguely aware of being levitated. Being wrapped in a blanket and carried a Gringotts cart, probably heading off to the infirmary. Hekate help him, how much further did he have to go?
He wasn't sure if he'd manage any healing now. He didn't think he had any strength left.
End Notes:
There is a real place in London called the The Hung Drawn And Quartered, which I passed the name, The Hung Drawn 'n' Quarters off. And Yes I know gramaticly it should be hanged. Hung just sounds better.Again, there was once a place called, The Unhinging Of Doors, it was in near Liverpool but is now no more.I made up Murder mile motel though.
Lots of this stuff can actually be used for 'muggle' banishing magic, (pagan witchcraft)http://www.witchipedia.com/herb:pokeweed
Pokeweed for its 'violent purging' properties used in exorcisms
https://www.druidry.org/library/trees/tree-lore-blackthornhttp://www.witchipedia.com/mineral:black-salthttp://www.witchipedia.com/printer--friendly//table:color-correspondencesNot the most scholarly source but it is pretty accurate, as someone who does practice the craft.
That and intent, can make up for a lot in the craft.
http://www.witchipedia.com/table:days-of-the-week
This circle casting is based heavily on an amalgamation of a bunch of different pagan magical traditions but mostly reclaiming. I'm a sothoutn hemisphere witch so if I've made any mistakes its because we do it a in the opposite direction down here. When in doubt do it sunwise! Because widershins is a different direction down here from up there!
The reference when he invokes Hecate to your Childs child is implying that lily worshiped hecate, and was therefor one of hecate's children and harry is Lilys child, ergo Harry is the child of hecate's child (lily).
The last line of the circle closing.This line is normally (in ritual circle casting) the circle is open but unbroken, merry meet Mary part and merry meat again, but this is a magic ritual with a super-specific intent. Its not a public ritual or a celebration ritual to bring people together or use by a coven, they are basically making a specific spell with the ritual so they end it the traditional ending of a spell, 'so as I say so mote it be.' Instead
Pentagram is the five pointed star, pentacle is the pentagram, inclosed in a circle.
And if you haven't already guess, yes I really like magical theory.