The Triangle Ritual

Chapter One: Sealing a Friendship

The trio was slowly ascending the stony path from the harbour to the fortress surveying it. On the steepest part of the path, small steps had been carved into the rock long ago, which over the centuries had been worn out by uncountable feet of gunners and musketeers. It was a shortcut; the official and paved road wound several times on its course to the top of the rock.

He looked upwards. The fortress stood guard over the bay with its natural harbour. Once a medieval citadel erected on ancient foundations, it had been expanded and rebuilt several times. Today it was an impressive bastion, equipped with long rows of heavy guns to fend off any hostile vessels.

They walked in silence, every one of them lost in their own thoughts. Like he himself, the others were probably musing about their part in the rite. They had been discussing the whole thing for half a year. The evening Mujahid and he had arrived on the isle, Ra'id had started a slowly but steady process to convince the others of his idea.

They had both been Ra'id's apprentices decades ago. The elder had still been a young man when he had taken them under his wing. And now Ra'id had made this offer to him, visibly a stranger in the Islamic world. Even worse, he was one of the European invaders, who had suppressed the Ottomans for half a century now.

On the other hand, he wasn't - he had never been - one of those men, even if he had needed several years until he realised his true nature. The isle was still in the hands of the Turks, most of whom eyed him suspiciously, but the crew complement of the bastion had accepted him as companion of Ra'id, the official mage of the fortress.

The trio reached the main gates where the watchmen saluted at the appearance of their mage and his guests. The number of wizards on official duty for the Ottoman Empire decreased steadily. Ra'id was one of the last and it was told most members of the naval high command didn't even know that there were mages protecting some of their bases anymore, or even that there were wizards at all.

Ra'id taught him branches of magic almost forgotten by European wizards, if they had ever truly known them. The Turks knew how to use wands and staffs but they were specialised in other kinds of magic, skills not entirely useful during fast-paced battles, but invaluable in securing established dominance. Runes were one base instrument of Ottoman mages. Engraved runes charged with magic were able to enhance structures like the bastion and could ward even large areas against invading enemies. Runes and rituals were used to manipulate the elements. While it was impossible to actually control weather, certain rituals could call for rain and even storm. Once, this knowledge had been an important basis of the Ottoman Empire, but now it declined as steadily as the number of mages decreased.

Ironically though, the ritual they would perform was an ancient Roman rite, the incantations spoken in Latin, passed on by Christian monks copying ancient texts without comprehending the content. Ra'id would have to secure the ritual chamber. The musketeers trusted their mage, but the watchmen's suspicion would be raised if Latin chants were overheard.

The trio crossed the courtyard and entered the north-eastern tower, the tower with the best overview of the harbour. They needed several minutes to climb the hundred-and-forty-five steps of the spiral staircase to the top platform, where one of the guards handed them a brass long glass. At the horizon they could barely discern a heavy armed vessel, probably Royal Navy, patrolling the waters around the isles. Down in the harbour a 74 was tied to the pier - the 74-gun ship-of-the-line which would take the man back to Europe.

He noticed the elder discussing something with the guard, or more likely giving him a command. Eventually Ra'id turned towards his former apprentices and with his left hand motioned them to approach. In his other hand the elder held out a white marble orb, his Transphere. They touched it and in the blink of an eye, they were whisked into a dungeon deep below the fortress. Today was the last chance to perform the ritual; in two days he would board the ship and leave the continent for at least several years, not knowing if he would ever return.

He blinked. Moments before they had stood in bright sunlight and now they were in a dimly lit room. They had entered a Romanesque vault, perhaps an ancient catacomb. It was lit by six blue flames, which hovered over six stone columns placed on the corners of a hexagon. He blinked again. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark. He noticed several figures painted on the stone floor, small and large circles, triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons, runes and symbols of unknown languages and cultures.

"Shall we begin?"

Ra'id, the eldest of the three men, stepped forward and with his staff he touched a hexagon, marked out by the six flamed columns, a triangle, specified by every second pillar, and a circle, surrounding the other two figures. With Ra'id reciting an incantation, the three geographic figures started to gleam as if they were made of gold. In the centre of the figures stood a triangular, pointed stone pillar Ra'id had prepared some days ago. The three wizards positioned themselves around the column, each man facing one of its sides.

He was by far the youngest of the three. Nevertheless his companions had chosen him to join in their friendship and to participate in the ceremony. He knew witches and wizards all over the world; he had many acquaintances of different kind, but the friendship of these two men, their friendship, was special. These two had opened his eyes to their world - to his world - a long time ago. He was a sixty year old wizard; he had experienced a lot, had seen even more while travelling all over the world. In his life there had been many remarkable moments, but this was special.

Ra'id started to murmur. "Omnis anima nobilis tres habet operationes ..."

He surveyed his side of the column. One symbol was engraved, the T'hoy - a vertical line, halved by two horizontal bars, which were connected by a vertical half-line on the left. The symbol represented the eager traveller and enquiring explorer researching and studying various, strange forms of magic. They each had chosen their symbols themselves. The runes represented their strength; the aspects of their soul they would share with their friends. His companions had chosen the Kharr - the symbol for the elder mentor instructing and leading his friends - and the Arji - the symbol of the combatant.

"... omnium quaedam sunt in quibusdam per modum quo licet ut sit unum eorum in alio ..."

He placed the palm of his left hand on the symbol. It tingled. To sense magic was an ability he had learned long ago. Over the years he had perfected his perceptivity, so he was aware of his magic aura connecting with the column or rather with the symbol. Ra'id had explained the effects of the ritual some weeks ago. During the ceremony they would chain their magical spheres. If there was something like a magical sphere or aura, he thought. Several cultures and their theories negated its existence. Some even believed in a magical core, centred in every single beast and being.

"... omnis virtus unita plus est infinita quam virtus multiplicata ..."

The area around the column started to crackle, just before a dark green flame ignited, hovering inches above the peak of the column, while six golden lines appeared on the ground, connecting the centred column with the edges of the surrounding geographic figures. The sensed tingling increased; it was as if someone tapped his magical aura, as if the ancient symbol aspirated his magic.

"... virtus prima regit res creatas omnes ..."

The tingling changed into a tickling and crawled along his forearm. Even if he would have tried he would have been unable to withdraw his arm ... the tickling reached his upper arm ... another voice infiltrated his perceptions ... the vision became blurred ... a female voice was whispering something into his left ear ...

"Wake up, sleepyhead and come in. Dinner's ready."

Ronald Weasley opened his eyes and blinked. He lay spread-eagled on the meadow behind the Burrow, his red hair glowing in the sunset. Ginny, his little sister, was kneeling at his side, broadly grinning and caressing his left arm with a blade of grass. Ron's freckled forearms were scarred with welts, some barely visible anymore, others still deeply engraved, mementoes of their adventure in the Department of Mysteries a month ago. A human brain had entangled him with tentacles of thoughts and had left not only the scars but had also implanted strange dreams and memories into his mind.

By now Ron was trying to discover these new memories inside his head. Hitherto they had appeared at random, as flashes or visions and frequently as dreams and nightmares. This must have been memories of a Muggle-born wizard, born at the dawn of the nineteenth century. The man must have travelled quite a lot - the memories included passages on age-old sailing ships, foreign cultures, and strange landscapes. He had never attended Hogwarts or another wizarding school, but had learned magic from Arabian and African medicos and sorcerers, a different kind of magic than that wand waving they taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I'm coming."

He was glad his family hadn't chosen to spend another summer at Grimmauld Place, the former London mansion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Instead they would stay at the Burrow for their whole holiday. De-gnoming the garden was way better than fighting jinxed objects of a lunatic household. Two days a week he and Ginny were even working at their brothers' joke-shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which earned both some extra money for the rest of the year.

Life at the Weasleys' had become much quieter since the twins moved into a flat above their shop in Diagon Alley. Bill, the eldest child, had moved to a flat in London, together with his French girlfriend Fleur Delacour. Both were working for Gringotts and Bill was an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, so they seldom visited the Burrow. Mostly only Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny joined for dinner, sometimes together with Arthur Weasley. Only on weekends most members of the family were together and a few times Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks attended, or even Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Percy Weasley, on the other hand, was never seen at the Burrow, but no one spoke about him anymore. He still had a hand on the family clock, changing between 'travelling', 'work', and 'home'. The latter was an indication or even proof that Percy didn't call the Burrow 'home' anymore.

The magical protections around the Weasleys' home had been reinforced by Albus Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody and later tested by Bill, an experienced curse breaker. None of these protections would completely ward off an attack of Dementors or Death Eaters but they would stop any aggressor in their tracks long enough for the inhabitants of the Burrow to flee either by Floo Powder or by Portkey. Now the Burrow was safe enough for Dumbledore to allow Harry Potter to stay for the rest of the summer and they would pick him up at the beginning of August.

"There's a letter from Hermione, dear," said Molly Weasley, when Ron entered the kitchen. His face lit up when he took the envelope and recognised the handwriting of his friend. He was surprised by how thick the letter was, so he carefully felt the envelope. Ah, a book. What else? Probably Transfiguration or Charms or even Potions.

"Did Hermione send you her homework for copying?"

Noticing the nosy face of his sister he reluctantly decided to open it later, in his room, without ruffle. Hermione's letters were mostly quite long, often partly boring, but always special. The past year their relation had become much closer, during the summer at Grimmauld Place and later at Hogwarts, particularly when Harry had been on the warpath against everyone and everything.

By contrast, Harry's letters were mostly short notes, containing not much more than 'I'm fine,' especially this summer, after the death of his godfather Sirius Black. The notes proved the contrary, their author was definitely not 'fine'. But how could Ron help his friend other than by writing letters? Dumbledore had insisted that Harry stay with his awful relatives, at least until the beginning of August.

"What were you doing outside?" Ginny asked while setting the table.

"Nothing," replied Ron absent-minded.

Expectedly his sister wasn't satisfied by the answer. "Another vision?" she demanded, curiously.

"Mmmh," mumbled Ron shortly. The answer caused his mother to fuss about him. During the first week at home he had told about his dreams or visions, but considering his family's reaction, and especially his mother's, he kept things private. Now the only person he talked to - actually wrote to - about his mental adventures was Hermione. The girl had advised him not to inform Harry, as it would upset him even further.

Smirking widely Ginny whispered, "Mum's afraid you'll gradually go insane."

Ron knew that already. She had wanted him to visit St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries when she had learned about his visions. "Mum, I'm not going insane."

"How do you know?" answered Mrs. Weasley anxiously. "For all we know, you have strange memories implanted in your brain. How will you cope with them?" She started to handle the dishes, her way to cope with worrying events. "We should consult a professional healer."

Ginny grinned broadly. "You might even share a ward with Gilderoy Lockhart, assisting in signing his autographs."

"Shut up," Ron answered and in response his sister showed him her tongue.

Just when they were going to eat, the family clock chimed once and then twice, when Arthur Weasley's hand switched to travelling and moments later to 'at home'. Soon he entered the kitchen, greeting his family while settling himself at the head of the table.

"You're late, dear."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Further problems with Fudge," he reported. "He still denies the seriousness of the situation, but at the same time he requests a guard of at least ten Aurors for himself and his family."

"But what about Malfoy and the lot?" Ron asked. "Haven't they been questioned? With Veritaserum?"

"Fudge is delaying everything," his father responded. "I assume he fears their testimony. Imagine, Lucius Malfoy admitting he's been bribing the Minister for years!"

He paused, while chewing on his stew.

"Some department heads are fed up with this stuff and started a campaign. Tomorrow there will be a big article in the Daily Prophet, calling for a vote of no confidence."

"Any bad news?" Ginny asked innocently.

"There had been another nasty attack on Muggles," her father answered, "without the Dark Mark."

"Arthur!" Molly Weasley exclaimed. "The children!"

Ron sighed. His mother tried everything to keep the war away from them, ignoring the fact that her children had captured more Death Eaters and faced more dangerous situations than most Aurors during a lifetime. Since their first year at Hogwarts they had confronted teachers possessed by You-Know-Who, Death-Eaters impersonating teachers, convicted criminals chasing other criminals, various dragons, Blast-Ended Skrewts, Acromantulas, and all that. He knew his father didn't share her opinion but didn't dare to oppose her either in this case. Thus the conversion turned towards some less dangerous subjects - like gardening.

Later that evening Ron lay on his back in his bed, a paperback on his chest and Hermione's letter in his hands.

Dear Ron,

As you probably expected, I haven't heard anything else from Harry, only that 'he's fine'. He's definitely not, so please write to him as often as possible. It is easier for you than for me, because you, well, you have your own owl. I want to send him some postcards from Austria, but I'm not entirely sure if a happy family's holidays wouldn't unsettle him further. Besides I don't know if his relatives are intercepting his mail.

They could buy her an owl for her next birthday, Ron mused. All three together: Harry, Ginny - and himself, of course. With his job at the joke-shop they should be able to afford one.

During the last two weeks, I have read a lot about post-traumatic stress disorder; there are several Muggle books covering the subject. I should have done that a year ago. We would have been able to understand Harry and even help him to handle his memories of Cedric's death and the encounter with Voldemort. The book I sent you covers several aspects and can help you too, to cope with the events in the Department of Mysteries. Even if you don't understand everything, you'll read it, won't you? You might be able to help yourself and Harry as well.

He shook his head. The first thing which came to her mind to sort out everything: Books.

We are leaving for Austria in three days. If during the next two weeks you intend to send Pigwidgeon, you have to tell him neither to wait at the reception, nor to deliver the mail during mealtime. Your owl IS cute, but he's quite disturbing sometimes. He should probably deliver the mail directly to my hotel room. I'll make sure I keep a window open. But maybe you don't want to send Pig at all, because it's a long way to Austria for such a tiny bird.

I have thought much about your visions. You should record your visions and dreams, like the dream diary you once had to keep for Trelawney.

Ron snorted. To practice something suggested by that old fraud was downright weird.

You also should contact an Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries; they know more about the wizard whose brain affected you. Perhaps they will even appreciate your co-operation. When I'm back home, I will do some research on brains and transferring memories or personalities for you, if you like.

I hope you have already begun with your homework? I have just finished my Arithmancy essay on the significance of the number seven.

I doubt that Mum and Dad will allow me to come over to the Burrow this summer, they already complained about not seeing me often enough. Maybe we could meet up in Diagon Alley this summer? Somewhere around mid-August?

Please take care of Harry.

I miss you. Both.

Love,

Hermione

Contacting an Unspeakable? His Mum would indeed place him in a padded cell with Lockhart. And homework? They hadn't even received their O.W.L.s yet. How should he know which essays he had to write if he didn't know which classes he would attend? Fred and George had only achieved three O.W.L.s each - Ron doubted that he himself had passed more exams than the twins. Naturally Hermione would have passed all O.W.L. tests as best in their year.

Sighing loudly, Ron took the small book and read the title. "Posttraumatic Stress Disorder"