Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

Chapter 31: Midnight Ritual

---

"It's a rare opportunity that I get the chance to teach one of such talent as yourself, Potter," Quirrell says.

I haven't bothered to ask Quirrell to call me Harry, even though we spend a fair amount of time alone together each week. He is not my friend, no matter how much he flatters me. He's merely an enemy that I'm exploiting for my own benefit.

"What will you be teaching me today?" I ask.

"So eager to learn, and we've barely gotten started," Quirrell says. "I think we'll be doing something a little different today."

"What's that?" I wonder.

"I'm not certain that you're ready for this, however," Quirrell says. "It may be a bit beyond where you are right now."

"I'm not one to shy away from risks," I say.

"Ah, but are you willing to risk your very life for the sake of gaining power, young Potter?" Quirrell asks.

I look at him as though he's said something stupid. "Yes."

Quirrell grins. "In a few days will be the night on which dark magic is most powerful. In this day and age, it's known as Halloween, and foolishly celebrated with candy and treats."

"Do you intend to do something on Halloween this year, then?" I wonder.

"Oh, no," Quirrell says. "I'm suggesting that it would be a perfect opportunity to test your budding talents."

"I see," I say, frowning thoughtfully. "What would you have me do?" I'm a little wary about this whole business, but what's the worst thing that could happen? I die horribly? Big deal. The potential benefits outweight the risks, in my eyes.

"Just a simple ritual," Quirrell says. "But there are preparations that must be made, and it must be performed during the hour of midnight."

"And what does this ritual do?" I ask.

"It would help to attune your magic," Quirrell explains. "It would declare you to the magic of the world as a dark wizard, and allow you to cast spells of that nature more easily and powerfully." Quirrell shakes his head. "But I doubt you are ready for that sort of commitment. It takes a strong will and dedication to be capable of taking the necessary steps toward the attainment of true power."

"Wait," I say. "Isn't my magic already tuned toward dark?"

"You have the inborn potential, yes, but you have yet to make any clear choice or declaration either way," Quirrell says. "Tell me, what magic comes to you most easily? When you have performed accidental magic, what comes out?"

"Lightning," I reply without hesitation.

"Most interesting," Quirrell says thoughtfully. "Definitely a form of clearly dark magic, though. Why don't you cast a Lightning Curse for me to demonstrate?" He shows me the wand movements, and casts at a dummy, "Fulgoris!" A simple bolt of lightning cracks across the air and into his target.

"Alright," I say. I pull out my wand and mimic his movements, although I don't really feel they're necessary, and exclaim, "Fulgoris!" I push all my power into the spell, and the blue electricity splits the air with a thunderous clap. My target is knocked into the far wall, and several other dummies have been knocked over as well, and Professor Quirrell stumbles back and steadies himself on a desk.

"Impressive," Quirrell says. "You are a very powerful wizard, young Potter, but you lack control, precision, and experience."

"I've never actually cast that verbally before," I say. "It has only ever come out on its own when I'm angry and really want to hurt someone."

"Understandable," Quirrell says. "Magic is fueled by emotions, after all, and this form of magic is powered by anger, hate, bloodlust."

"I wasn't really angry when I cast it just then, though," I say.

"It was that strong while you were calm?" Quirrell asks. "I'd like to see the result if you were actually angry."

"Well, alright, if you want," I say. "But I'd rather not hurt you at the moment."

"Protego Maxima," Quirrell murmurs, and a shield shimmers into existence around him. "Proceed, if you think you can do it."

I look at the target dummy on the ground before me. I imagine it as Sedder, laying on the ground in a black cloak. The man who killed me, who killed my family, who set me on this course of hate and fear. I don't know who I might have been if I had been allowed to grow up normally, without being horribly killed and forced into this course, and I will never know now. He killed me gleefully, cheerfully tortured my cousins to death, and shattered my hopes for the future into unrecognizable pieces. When I see him again, I want to be powerful, I want to be strong, I want to destroy him utterly.

"FULGORIS!"

CRACK-a-DOOM!. Electricity rips through my body like I'm channeling the power of the storm myself. I'm blinded by the blast and knocked off my feet. Such pain. I can't see. I can't hear. I can't move. Too much. I feel drained. Just... let me... rest...

---

I wake for a moment. So tired. Bah, it's a weekend. I can afford to sleep in. I roll over and go back to sleep.

---

I wake again. I'm in the Gryffindor dorm, and the sun is already high in the sky. It looks like I've missed breakfast, but I might still be able to catch lunch. I get up and get dressed, still feeling tired, however.

What happened? I was practicing the Lightning Curse with Quirrell. And it looks like I managed to kill myself with it. Wonderful. I guess I must have really, seriously, overpowered the spell or something.

I wonder if I managed to kill Quirrell in the process.

I shrug and head down for lunch.

"There you are, Harry," Neville says. "You really slept in today."

"You must have been tired," Hermione says.

Ron and Seamus stubbornly do their best to pretend that I don't exist. They've been doing that ever since last month's incident. After McGonagall gave them detentions for it, they haven't given me any trouble, at least.

"Still am," I reply. "I'm glad we don't have any classes today. I don't think I could even cast a Lumos at the moment."

That evening, back in Quirrell's lessons again, I listen to him rambling on about Halloween, almost nodding off in the process.

"Potter, are you listening to me?" Quirrell says.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm just tired."

"Why are you so tired?" Quirrell asks.

I shrug vaguely. I'm certainly not going to tell him why.

"No matter," Quirrell says. "Can you tell me what sort of magic comes to you most naturally?"

"Lightning," I reply thickly.

"Can you cast a Lightning Curse at one of the dummies for me?" Quirrell says. He raises his wand as if to demonstrate.

I wearily push him out of the way and put up my own wand. "Fulgoris," I murmur. What comes out hardly seems like a spark compared to the storms I've summoned up before.

"Hmm, is that spell normally that weak for you?" Quirrell says.

"No," I reply.

"You just didn't put much energy into it, then," Quirrell says.

"I don't have much energy to put into it," I murmur.

"Why are you so weak today?" Quirrell asks.

"I'm tired," I say.

"Hmph," Quirrell says.

"But... I'm interested in Halloween," I say, sitting down in a chair heavily. "Tell me more about this ritual you mentioned."

"I didn't mention a ritual, Potter," Quirrell says.

"You didn't?" I say wearily. Crap, did he not mention it this time, and only the previous time?

Quirrell smirks. "Why don't you tell me what you think I was talking about, then?"

I hesitate. I've already slipped up enough. I don't want him to figure out that there's something strange about me. "Never mind," I say. "I must just be confused."

"Out with it, Potter," Quirrell says, not fooled for a moment.

"Um..." I murmur reluctantly. "Something about attuning my magic... declaring myself as a dark wizard... I think..."

"Ah," Quirrell says. "That. I see. Does that mean you are interested in such a thing, then?"

"I don't know," I reply.

"You don't know?" Quirrell says, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Bah! Why did you even bring it up, then, if that's the case?"

"Sorry," I say.

"Fine," Quirrell says. "You've got a few days yet to make up your mind. Think about it, then. If you decide to do it, then come here and meet me in my office after dinner on Halloween." He shakes his head. "I doubt you're willing to make such a commitment yet, however. You have raw talent and potential, but you are weak and indecisive. You don't know what you're doing or where you're going. You were too afraid of what your peers might think to even join Slytherin house, why should this be any different?"

I look at the floor, unsure as to what I should say.

"Bah," Quirrell says. "Go on. Go back to your foolish Gryffindor friends, if that's what you call them."

I stumble on back to the Gryffindor dormitories and just decide to turn in early tonight.

---

It's Halloween morning. The students are excited about the upcoming feast, but I have other things on my mind. I've still been debating taking Quirrell up on his suggestion. And I can't really come up with any good arguments to refuse, honestly. I'm not entirely certain just what this will entail, but anything that makes me stronger can't be a bad thing, right?

"The incantation is Wingardium Leviosa," Flitwick is saying. "Now, give your wands a little swish and flick, and send the feather floating into the air."

I stare at my feather, not casting anything just yet, and just listening to Ron mispronouncing it. I don't see why I bother to hold back at this point. It's not like they haven't all seen me casting things more complicated than this regularly. It's just a Hover Charm, after all.

"No, no, you're saying it wrong," Hermione tells Ron. "Wingardium Leviosa," she says, waving her wand at her feather and sending it drifting upwards.

"Oh, very good, Miss Granger!" Flitwick says. "Five points to Gryffindor!"

"Bah!" Ron says once Flitwick walks away. "You're such a show-off. At least Potter tries to hide the fact that he's better at this than the rest of us, but you always get up in everyone's faces about it!"

"Ron," I snap. "Stop."

"What?" Ron says. "You know it's true!"

"Stop," I say firmly. "Say whatever you like about me, fine. But do not speak ill of my friends."

"Or what?" Ron says. "You'll hex me?"

"Harry, don't," Hermione says.

"I'm not going to hex you," I say. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Ron's robes flap up into the air and tangle themselves around his arms and face, revealing the Muggle shorts he's wearing underneath. "Gah!" Ron says, struggling with the charm.

"Sorry!" I say with false sincerity. I'm not nearly strong enough with this spell to actually lift Ron off of the ground. But clothing isn't that heavy.

"Finite Incantatem," Flitwick says, and Ron's robes flop down around his body again. "Be more careful about your targeting, please, Mr. Potter."

"Harry," Hermione says to me in a quiet warning tone.

"Purely an accident," I say innocently.

Seamus is snickering. "Nice pants, Ron."

"What?" Ron says. "They're comfortable! Muggles make the best underwear."

Hermione just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. But at least she isn't running off to cry in the restroom. If a troll should happen to somehow get into the castle tonight, she'll be safe, at least. I don't know if it will still happen with all the changes I've made, but I don't even know how it got in last time, so I'm going keep my eyes open and my wand ready for an Incendio, just in case.

We get through the remainder of today's classes, and go to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. There's so many delicious things to eat tonight, and while sitting next to Hermione and enjoying them, I can at least forget about the horrible things that happened on my previous visit. And despite myself, I find myself growing excited in anticipation of tonight's ritual.

"Harry," Neville says. "Are you free to help me with my Defense homework tonight?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, Professor Quirrell wanted me for something this evening. Why don't you ask Hermione?"

"Alright," Neville says. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing, then."

"Ugh, don't tell me that," I mutter to myself as I head off to Quirrell's office.

"So, you came after all," Quirrell says, looking at me appraisingly as I enter.

I give a nod. "What do you need me to do?" I ask.

"Come with me," Quirrell says. "We have preparations to make, but this isn't the place for them."

I follow him out of the office. "Where are we going?" I ask.

He doesn't bother to reply. Something in the back of my head tells me that I should be more wary, and think that this situation is dangerous and alarming. But it's quickly overridden by excitement. I really want to see where this is going, and what will come of it.

We head down into a little-used section of the dungeons, and Quirrell leads me into an empty room that I might have thought was an unused classroom if it weren't for the manacles and chains. There's an empty cauldron in the center of the room.

Quirrell casts several spells over the door, and then turns to me. "I'll begin drawing the runes," Quirrell says. "You start the fire and get some water in that cauldron."

"Yes, sir," I say.

Once the cauldron is taken care of, Quirrell glances up from his work and asks, "How good are you with potions, Potter?"

"Not very good," I reply.

"Can you at least chop some ingredients?" Quirrell asks.

"Yes, sir," I say.

He hands me a bag and knife, and says, "Finely dice the black leaves, cut the red leaves into thin slices, and crush the fangs into powder."

"Alright," I say, taking the ingredients and proceeding to carefully get to work on that as Quirrell continues with the runes. I don't recognize the leaves, but I'm pretty sure these are snake fangs. At least I'm sharp and alert tonight, and my hands are steady.

Once I finish with that, Quirrell comes over to examine my handiwork, and nods approvingly. "Acceptable. Now, I want you to scrub down the area around the cauldron. Make sure it's immaculately clean."

I nod, and get to work on that while he continues to draw runes along the edges of the room. This must be an awfully complex bit of magic. After a while longer, Quirrell comes over to me again. Looks like he's finished up with those runes.

"Nervous, Potter?" Quirrell asks.

"No, sir," I reply.

Quirrell chuckles. "You always find some way to surprise me," he says. "Now, we have some more preparations to make. Strip. I need to draw runes on your skin."

"You want me to get naked in front of you, sir?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Quirrell snorts softly. "There's no need for prudishness, Potter. But you may retain your pants if that makes you uncomfortable."

"Alright," I say, pulling off my robes and setting them aside.

I hold out my arms and stand perfectly still as Quirrell draws runes all over my body. I don't know what sort of ink he's using, but it feels hot to the touch, almost as though it's already burning into my skin. By the time he's finished with the complex, intricate patterns, it's almost midnight.

"There," Quirrell says. "This will have to do. The hour approaches."

"You would have done more, given the time?" I wonder.

"I would," Quirrell says. "I would prefer everything to be perfect, rather than merely sufficient. But there is only so much that can be done given the circumstances and constraints."

Quirrell starts brewing the potion, carefully putting the ingredients I prepared into the cauldron. I stand by, waiting patiently and quietly. I shiver unconsciously. It's cold down in this dungeon, despite standing near the bubbling cauldron and having these weirdly hot markings on my body. The constrast feels strange.

"Now, come over here, Potter," Quirrell says. "Take this ritual knife and cut your left palm, and allow the blood to drip into the cauldron."

I nod, and take the knife, and wince a little as it bites into my skin. As my scarlet blood runs into the potion, Quirrell chants arcane words that I can't quite follow. I'm starting to feel a little dizzy. As he finishes the incantation, the runes over my body begin to glow in vibrant green, and burning painfully like acid.

"Rejoice, Potter," Quirrell says. "On this night, the Dark Lord shall be reborn!"

I collapse to my knees in pain. "What..." I murmur.

Red light erupts from the cauldron, and my vision blurs. I'm not sure whether the room is getting darker, or my eyes themselves are fogging up. And Voldemort... Voldemort is laughing.

"This is what you intended?" I rasp. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did," Quirrell responds. "Would I seriously expect you to go along with this if I had been less vague?"

"Maybe," I murmur.

"Even at the cost of your own life?" Quirrell asks.

"Maybe," I repeat.

"Why?" Quirrell asks.

"If it were worth it," I slur. My body is getting heavy. I can't keep my eyes open, so I let my eyelids slide shut. "You've taught me a fair bit already. You've paid the price for this life. But it's the only life you get."

"What are you talking about?" Quirrell wonders.

"No... something is wrong here," Voldemort's voice says.

"What is it, my lord?" Quirrell asks.

"This blood, it's all wrong!" Voldemort hisses. "It's not Potter's. It's not even human! What sort of trickery is this?"

"What!?" Quirrell says. "How can this be? I watched him drain the blood out of his own hand!"

Now it's my turn to laugh. "Is this ritual not even going to work, then?"

"It worked," Voldemort says. "But look what it has done to me!"

I open my eyes, and grin at what I see. Before me stands a dragon-man, a draconian humanoid, with sleek black scales. "Well, if it means anything, I think you're magnificent."

"Who are you?" Voldemort demands. "What are you?"

"I am Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer, the Stormseeker, Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood," I reply.

"How?" Voldemort asks. "How did this happen? Where is the real Harry Potter?"

"I think... that's all the strength left in me," I murmur, almost deliriously. "Thank you for letting me see your glorious new form before I die."

I slump over and let my eyes slide shut again, and slip into the darkness.

---

I wake slowly, very much drained and exhausted. I'm back in the Gryffindor dormitory, and it's morning. I could really, really use a Wideye Potion about now. Screw it, I get dressed and head down to the hospital wing to see if I can get one.

"What's the problem, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey says as I enter.

"I didn't sleep well last night," I say. "Could I possibly get a Wideye Potion to get me through today's classes?"

"You'd be better off actually sleeping, you know," Madam Pomfrey says.

"I'll go to bed straight after dinner, I promise," I say.

"Alright, alright, so long as you be sure to do so," Madam Pomfrey says, pulling out a potion and handing it to me. "But don't make a habit of it."

"I won't," I say, drinking down the potion. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

It's not perfect, and I still feel magically drained, but at least I'm less physically tired now. It should be enough to get me through today's classes, if nothing else.

I spend breakfast eating absently and thinking about how I died. The Dark Lord made such a beautiful black draconian. I know I should be more horrified about what happened. He tricked me and lied to me, used me and sacrificed me for his own resurrection. I'll get him to spend the rest of the year teaching me whatever he can to make up for it. At least I was the only one he hurt, that time, so far anyway. And he might never find out what happened to the real Harry Potter. That'll drive him crazy.

Charms class. Flitwick's teaching us how to cast the Hover Charm. What's the point in even pretending? "Wingardium Leviosa," I murmur at my feather. It doesn't hover. It flicks end over end and falls off the desk. I sigh, and say, "Well, it was close?"

"You cast it exactly right," Hermione says. "I don't know why that didn't work. Wingardium Leviosa," she casts at her own feather. It floats into the air obediently.

"Well done, Miss Granger!" Flitwick says. "Five points to Gryffindor."

Ron is mispronouncing it again. Hermione says, "That's not how it goes. Say it like this: Wingardium Leviosa."

"Don't help me!" Ron snaps.

"Why not?" Hermione says, looking hurt.

"Leave her alone, Ron," I say, stepping between them.

"Or you'll do what, Potter?" Ron says.

"I'm sick of this," I say. "Do not mistreat my friends for no reason other than because they're my friends."

"I'm not," Ron says. "She's such an insufferable know-it-all though!"

"Leave her alone," I say firmly.

"Harry..." Hermione says.

"You stuck up for me, Hermione," I say. "I'll stick up for you."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione says quietly.

"Is there a problem, students?" Flitwick says, approaching our part of the classroom again.

"My feather fell off the table instead of floating into the air," I say. "I'm just going over to pick it up."

"Carry on, then," Flitwick says.

I can't get the spell to cast correctly for the remainder of class, but I'm less than concerned about it at the moment. Once classes are over for the day, I head off to enjoy the Halloween feast, take two. I don't really mind doing this one twice in one day.

As I eat, I think on what to do about Quirrell. Should I just go straight to my dorm, or visit his office to tell him that I'm backing out first? Notifying him would probably be the polite thing to do, I suppose. But I really shouldn't let him have any chance to figure out why. And why am I worried about being polite when he just betrayed and killed me?

And yet, I find myself heading for the Defense office after the feast regardless. "Ah, there you are, Potter," Quirrell says. "I was wondering if you were going to come."

I shake my head. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to do it," I say.

Quirrell's lips thin. "I see," he says. "Decided to back out after all?"

"My apologies," I say, giving him a short bow.

"I didn't think you had it in you, anyway," Quirrell says. "You're still weak and full of doubt. But we will keep working at it. Perhaps at a later time, you will be ready for it."

"Yes, sir," I say, smiling enthusiastically. "I look forward to it."

"You're so eager to learn, yet you back down at this?" Quirrell says.

He should be glad that I'm willing to listen to him at all. I won't fall for his tricks again, however. I will make him pay in knowledge for the life he took.

"You are a very strange boy," Quirrell says. "Sometimes I could swear I see murder in your eyes."

I smile coolly at him. "I wouldn't think that you would be bothered by that."

"What, are you seriously plotting to kill me?" Quirrell wonders, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not," I reply.

Quirrell looks at me thoughtfully for a long moment, before replying, "Good. Come back Sunday for your next lesson."

"I look forward to it," I say, and head off to sleep.

I think I will plan to kill him if he should try to kill me again, though. I've no hope of taking him on in a straight fight, though. But I'll think of a way. Somehow.