Harry Potter : Chapter 18: Ritualistic Interlude I

On the same day in which I had received my Hogwarts letter, in the safe confines of my room, my hands were shaking as I lowered the fountain pen that I had been using to plan the summer project that I didn't actually want to accomplish.

My plans to immediately travel to the continent and to Albania in order to find Ravenclaw's diadem had to be put on hold since Hagrid's father's health had taken a sharp dive for the worse in the year that I spent at Hogwarts, forcing me to remain at home, lest he died alone.

Not that I wished to see a man die, but I was feeling guilty enough about having taken the place of his son, letting him to die alone sounded like a massive dick move. 

And he could be useful... I banished the thought from my mind with a snarl of rage, forcibly calming myself down before looking at 'my father' s gift to me.

I understand why canon-me brought with him a baby Acromantula in a school full of children. My finger briefly caressed the pale grey sphere that rested on one side of my desk: it was roughly the size of an ostrich's egg, and had I not known any better I would have immediately removed the stasis charms that rested on its base in order to see what would hatch.

I really don't need a giant, talking spider following me around like a dog. I shook my head, not only for the responsibility that I frankly didn't want, but mostly because I was quite worried at the idea that story would follow canon and have me expelled because of Riddle's need for a scapegoat.

Ignoring the wet cough that echoed across the small hut that I shared with Hagrid's father, I sighed deeply, my mind returning to its previous musings and calculations.

My eyes returned to the tomes I had stolen from the library, and then moved upon my own notes: the idea of ripping my own soul apart in order to not die was plenty disgusting. Never mind the fact that my metaknowledge showcased clearly how Tom had turned insane by the end, the whole process was heavily reliant on the concept of 'violence'.

While one of the other books I had freely lifted from the Library, titled The Theory of Rituals: The Magick of Sacrifice, had allowed me some kind of wider insight on the whole matter.

The whole system of Ritualism could be approached by several angles, very much like any other kind of magic I had met this far.

In any case, it was a form of magic that predated the Roman Empire, it was in fact one of the first form of magic, period. Wands came into being rough with the Roman Empire, Potion-making was apparently born as an off-branch of ritualism, and I could see why.

Before anything, when the first wizards were the shamans of the roaming tribes of mankind, there were rituals to bring fortune to the people: giving to the world so that the world would keep giving back. Life of the elders that were cast outside of the tribe so that the young could survive the harsh environment.

While I appreciated Slughorn's words that described each potion as a Story, it appeared like an understanding born from hindsight: like a coat of paint over the truth of the material underneath.

I could see how seeing Potions under the filter of 'story' made them much easier both to understand and to use, but at their base potions were magical results obtained in exchange of the sacrifice of ingredients.

In the book, the matter wasn't explored in such a dry and cut manner, not even remotely, but my talent with potions proved enough to at least give me a perspective wide enough to have my own ideas somewhat confirmed by the words in Old English on the faded parchment.

Rituals are more often than not permanent, but they take as much as they give. I resumed my conclusions in the relatively safe boundaries of my own mind.

Rituals that took a life were the only ones with any hope of creating a permanent effect, be it an enchantment, a curse or whatnot. Giving a life, or lives, in order to 'give life' to a piece of magic. That was the basic idea around which Ritualism was born.

There was a multitude of limitations and rules that dictated what counted as an appropriate sacrifice.

I couldn't slay a unicorn and use its death to power up a blessing for example: no, the nature of the process, from the choice of the ingredients of the potion that would be used to revive Voldemort to the way in which they were collected was important.

In the same way a dried-up herb affected a potion instead of a freshly cut branch from a tree, the history of every single piece that contributed to any given ritual must be taken into account. From their own inherent nature to the symbolism that the user applied to them, to how they were collected, everything came to an end within the ritual.

With Magic Most Evile and Secrets of the Darkest Arts, I managed to have a rather solid example of the concept of Ritualism in the creation of a Horcrux.

Creating a Horcrux in fact, started with an act of violence, a pure act of violence, one not shaped by necessity, one not brought forth by instinct, and thusly 'against nature', to use the words of Slughorn. After all, murder was a part of nature: didn't predators eat prey after killing those? But as I had recently discovered, the reasons behind the action gave it context and thusly meaning.

The murder of an innocent, of someone that represented no threat to you in any way, shape, or form. The murder had to be premeditated and carried out with the purpose of creating a Horcrux clear in your mind. It was an action that had to have meaning only in the context of the Ritual.

The anchor that was to become the new house of the split soul had conditions that defined its suitability too. Again, something that revolved around the concept of 'violence'.

Not any random thing could become a Horcrux, otherwise even the megalomaniac Riddle would have seen the merit of turning a single grain of sand into one, making it indestructible and letting it float in the ocean for eternity.

No, just like the splitting of the soul was a mutilation of the 'self', the anchor had to be something that you took from yourself. If it belonged to you, you had to no longer be able to 'use' it, and if it didn't yet belong to you, it had to be obtained violently, only with the purpose to be turned into a soul-anchor.

A diary created as only escape, as your only 'support' while in Hogwarts, proof of your learning years, years in which you became something worthy of self-respect. 

I thought as I tried to fit my understanding of the ritualism to Voldemort's yet-to-be soul-anchors. With that point of view, turning the diary into a Horcrux had been violence against himself.

The ring was taken from someone you later framed for the murder of your own kin. I thought, imagining to be talking with Voldemort himself.

Isn't Parseltongue basically an Imperio upon snakes? I wondered distractedly as I tried to place Nagini within the frame necessary for Horcrux-making. The violence there was inherent, even more so if what I knew from the movies Fantastical Beasts was true.

The cup and the locket are obvious. Again taken through both murder and framing. The diadem was taken by betraying Helena after having played her around. The trio of Founders' artifacts, along with the method that canon-Tom had used to obtain them easily fell within the necessary parameters.

As for Harry Potter's scar-Horcrux... there was much to unravel there, something that included the fact that Harry's parents didn't defend themselves after defying Riddle 3 times.

Neither James nor Lily had used their wands, and the redhead had been clamored to be the brightest witch of her generation.

In the end, to avoid death through the Horcrux method was to violate the natural order in the most abject and complete way possible. With the initial purpose, that set you apart from the rest of the world, which kept turning towards an eventual and unavoidable 'end'.

With the choices of the elements of the ritual, which had to be made with the same abject violence that defined the initial purpose. With the methods used to obtain the elements necessary for the ritual.

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