Chapter 18: Soul
A/N: Sorry for not being able to upload, as an apology Triple upload today!!!
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The concept of a "magic book" might initially conjure an image of something that a wizard would handle. However, in reality, only books infused with constant magic can rightfully be termed magic books. These aren't mere recordings of magic within their pages; rather, they possess an inherent magical quality that sets them apart.
Genuine magic books are often orphaned creations, as their production proves exceptionally challenging. The extended production cycle, formidable expenses, and intricate craftsmanship make them unattainable for regular wizarding families. These coveted volumes typically originate from ancient and capable lineages with a history of crafting such works.
The spellbook revealed by Salim to Snape didn't bear a name on its cover, but those acquainted with it often referred to it as the "Book of Blood" or "Selwyn's Book of Blood." Opening this book required Selwyn's blood—whether given willingly or extracted forcibly.
A drop of Selwyn's fresh blood onto the heart depicted on the cover's artwork acted as the key, with the opening time determined by the quality and quantity of the blood. Salim personally experimented, allowing the heart on the cover to fully manifest.
When the heart's colour reached its most vibrant, the book could be read for half an hour. Salim's grandfather mentioned that Selwyn's blood had thinned over the centuries. Consequently, a future generation might need to undergo the sublimation ceremony, contingent upon the availability of the necessary materials.
For a brief interlude, the occupants of the desk remained silent. Salim's introspection was stirred by the book's reminiscences, while Snape appeared intrigued, perhaps even a touch exhilarated.
Undoubtedly, Snape possessed innate wizarding talent. Nevertheless, certain realms remained out of reach due to his background. The Council of Elders tightly controlled advanced magical theories, potent spells, and vast resources.
Ordinary wizards were confined to the boundaries dictated by the Council's decisions. Even gifted individuals who encountered taboo and advanced knowledge independently were either absorbed into the organization or suppressed.
Those who dared to surpass these boundaries were acutely aware of the imposing shadow cast over them, understanding the tactics to safeguard their interests.
What Snape had witnessed was forbidden knowledge beyond the reach of most—knowledge that delved into the manipulation of souls.
"Professor, do the revelations trouble you?" Salim broke the silence, emerging from his introspection.
The look in Snape's eyes contrasted sharply with his usual reserve, indicating that the encounter had significantly impacted him.
"Perhaps Muggle death row would be preferable, Professor. Unless it inconveniences you…" Salim suggested, aware of the potential consequences that might accompany Snape's agreement.
"No need," Snape responded, cognizant that acquiescing would demand a price, and his student wasn't one to endure such costs.
"Very well," Salim acknowledged Snape's refusal without surprise. "As for the means of soul collection… is it truly necessary?"
Snape, despite his exceptional abilities, lacked the means to collect souls. His knowledge was constrained by the wizarding world's boundaries, designed by the Council of Elders.
Snape's rejection left him without the means to collect souls. This situation bordered on awkwardness.
Observing Snape's reticence, Salim offered a wry smile, seemingly oblivious to Snape's discomfort. "Professor, since you have the means to gather souls, what about preserving them? Bringing along superfluous souls won't serve you in the long run."
"I'll bring the individual," Snape responded, his tone matter-of-fact.
"Well," Salim mused, "that's certainly an option."
Directly bringing individuals along was indeed a method. It negated the necessity to devise ways to collect souls or to safeguard them afterwards. The convenience of abducting people was undeniable. Yet...
"Is that appropriate? Within the confines of Hogwarts? Under Dumbledore's watchful eye?" Salim considered, recognizing the need to account for Dumbledore's stance. The headmaster would surely disapprove of soul-taking from innocent individuals for malevolent purposes. Such wicked deeds couldn't be absolved, even through the most compelling arguments.
"Who stipulated that this must occur within the school?" Snape gazed at Salim with a hint of derision.
Indeed, there was no requirement to engage in such activities within the school's premises. Dumbledore might remain blissfully unaware.
"Perhaps the blood was somewhat excessive earlier, clouding my thoughts… Ahem! I haven't fully gathered my wits yet," Salim admitted with a touch of embarrassment. "Prepare yourself. I'll inform you once I've secured the necessary materials."
Snape contemplated for a moment before inquiring, "Your book elucidated the method of using souls, but why do you require them?" Although Snape was drawn to dark magic, he maintained his ethical boundaries. This question had lingered within him for some time.
After absorbing Snape's words, Salim pondered for a moment before speaking up, "First and foremost, I want to clarify that for certain wizards, the soul is actually a relatively common material for spellcasting.
Naturally, Professor, I'm not referring to ordinary wizards. Let's set aside the topic of the soul for now. Before we continue, let me pose a preliminary question, Professor. Apart from face-to-face communication like we're engaged in now, how many methods exist for wizards to communicate?"
Snape regarded Salim with his characteristic emotionless gaze, offering no response. He held a distinct distaste for individuals like Salim who seemed to beat around the bush. If it were Dumbledore, he might tolerate such behaviour due to his esteemed position, but why should he endure such antics from someone as young as Salim?
Thankfully, Salim promptly recognized his misstep. He wasn't in the process of imparting a lesson to Hermione and Neville; he was addressing his own dean.
Returning to Salim's initial question, aside from in-person conversations, what other means of communication existed between wizards? The most prevalent method involved sending letters via owls. Additionally, wizards could utilize fireplaces by tossing in a pinch of Floo powder, enabling them to communicate with someone on the other end.
Wealthier individuals might opt for a double-sided mirror, a prized possession comparable to a gadget from the 1980s or 1990s in the eyes of common wizards. Members of the Order of the Phoenix could even communicate directly with the headmaster using small notes provided by Dumbledore. On the flip side, Death Eaters employed a similar method through the Dark Mark branded by Voldemort himself.
Nevertheless, excluding owls that relied purely on physical attributes to traverse space, the other techniques relied on magic to overcome spatial constraints. Floo powder contained inherent magical properties.
When the magic within it depleted, one could either ingest a bit of ash from a fireplace or add a dash of Floo powder to rejuvenate its magical essence. The double-sided mirror, on the other hand, harnessed the magic of the wizard using it.
One wizard channelled magic into the mirror, and a corresponding mirror elsewhere would respond, enabling communication between distant locations. Discontinuing the magical output would sever the connection established by the mirror. Dumbledore's note-based communication and Voldemort's Dark Mark also transcended spatial barriers through magic.
The common thread in all these methods was breaking the spatial barrier to simulate face-to-face communication. Whether it was a fireplace, a double-sided mirror, or another medium, wizards accomplished this by expending magical energy. Similarly, muggles employed electricity to achieve comparable outcomes, using devices like phones and computers.
However, Salim highlighted that communicating with the deceased introduced subtle distinctions. This contrast extended even to communicating with ghosts, as they existed in a state between life and death.
Communicating with those who had truly passed required a more formidable force to rupture certain constraints. Ordinary magical energy proved insufficient, given that human wizards possessed limited magical potency.
Channelling potent energy through the incineration of the soul was a proven approach. Conventional magic paled in comparison to this raw power, analogous to the contrast between a coal-fired power plant and a nuclear reactor. Although fundamentally similar, their strength, quality, and duration remained incomparable.
Somewhat reluctantly, Snape started to accept Salim's explanation. The concept of the soul eluded Snape, a subject he had never encountered nor had the opportunity to explore. Books on soul analysis were nonexistent in the market, let alone any instruction on utilizing the soul.
Envy crept into Snape's emotions as he regarded his student: a privileged background, affluence, and talent, qualities he once longed for, all embodied in the young individual before him. Moreover, Salim had effectively harnessed these advantages and knew how to leverage them.
"Professor, let me clarify upfront. While it is possible to communicate with the deceased after a certain price is paid, there's a stipulation—namely, that the departed hasn't transitioned to the realm of death." Salim prefaced his statement, offering Snape a form of preparation. Given Snape's profound fixation, any deviation could potentially result in complications.
Snape's brow furrowed as he observed Salim. "Explain. This diverges from your initial assertion."
"I didn't disclose this earlier because I lacked the means to articulate it to you," Salim admitted, his hands gesturing in surrender.
"Previously? And now?"
"Now, I'd rather spare myself the effort of explaining. I suggest you peruse it on your own, should you grasp the concept." Salim produced another book from within his robes and placed it deliberately on the table. "This originates from nearly fifteen centuries ago, a rare manuscript presumed lost to time."
Snape glanced at the cover and discerned the situation.
Old English referred to the language spoken from 449 AD to 1100 AD. Stark differences in pronunciation, spelling, vocabulary, and morphology set it apart from modern English, necessitating specialized study for comprehension.
Furthermore, the Old English period comprised four primary dialects, contributing to inconsistent spellings of identical words across variations. Few contemporary wizards possessed the linguistic competence to decipher it.
Salim, however, had evolved beyond this limitation. Thankfully, his English proficiency lacked any discernible accent now. Remarkably, during his early childhood attempts at speech, his innate accent bewildered his family, who suspected a speech impediment.
Observing Snape peruse the book's pages before promptly closing it, Salim realized Snape, too, couldn't fathom its contents. Modern wizards communicated in modern English, rendering Old English texts virtually indecipherable.
"Rest assured, Professor. I'm preparing for a worst-case scenario," Salim assured, retrieving the book and slipping it back into his robes. "The ancient spell on Potter remains intact. You need not worry."
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