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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 275 - Rites of Liberation (II)
🕑 Added 2025-11-10 13:22:11 +0000 UTCDrip.
Drip.
Drip.
Hogwarts. Deep underground, within the outer hall of the Slytherin Chamber of Secrets.
The soft sound of water droplets falling into a small puddle echoed through the still air, each drop rebounding off the stone walls like a slow, unending rhythm.
The chamber was silent otherwise, almost eerie. The air was heavy with the scent of wet stone, and a chill dampness seemed to seep into the skin, while dim light from a line of torches flickered faintly across the damp stone statues, where patches of moss and mold clung stubbornly to their surfaces.
To any outside observer, it would seem like an ancient ruin, lifeless and undisturbed; yet in truth, behind the veil of reality, existing both there and not truly there at the same time, a great struggle of will and rare magic was taking place.
Within the mirrored dimension, magic unlike any found in spellbooks stirred the air. Light and shadow intertwined, clashing in a silent battle over a single soul. Bolts of mysterious purple energy leaked from the runic symbols forming the ritual circle, and at its center, Dumbledore’s bare upper body glistened faintly. The symbols pulsed with a steady rhythm, each thrum echoing the quiet beat of his heart.
The water around his outstretched hand rippled with energy, revealing faint black veins pulsing beneath his skin as if alive. Gradually, the parasitic curse attached to his soul began to yield to the ritual’s force, pushed outward as tendrils of shadow-like smoke leaked into the air. It was a slow process, but it was working.
Rhythmic surges of magic coursed through the mirrored dimension, each pulse echoing like a heartbeat in the void, while bolts of blackish lightning continued to arc from the runes, drawing power from the rare and magical materials placed within the inscriptions.
The ritual was clearly working its miracle. Yet Dumbledore, at least from his outward expression, showed no sign of discomfort. All the while, purple light flickered across the old wizard’s face, catching on his composed features and the sharp focus in his eyes as time moved on.
Maverick, watching from above, sensed everything as he observed this mysterious branch of magic at work. It was fascinating to him, after all, this was the first time witnessing a magical ritual unfold. But at some point, his brows furrowed, and curiosity turned into caution. There was something there he could not quite identify at first, though not entirely unfamiliar.
A few years ago, he remembered feeling the same cold and repulsive energy during his battle against Morvain, after the lunatic had made some sort of contract with a mysterious entity. At the time, being new to the world of magic, he had no idea what it was. Later, however, he learned it was demonology, and the energy he was sensing now carried the same dark, familiar presence.
On second thought, it wasn’t surprising at all that Riddle dabbled in such vile magic. Like Morvain, he was also hopelessly lost to his own insanity, probably the maddest of them all.
Demonology, after all, is not something one simply studies, waves a wand, and masters overnight. It demands a price of its own—a contract, or in other words, an equivalent exchange. A soul, a life, even one’s sanity could be placed on the table for the bargain, quite literally a deal with the devil, all for power beyond mortal measure.
Riddle must have given up something of great importance to bind that curse to the ring. Knowing him, it could have been a fragment of his own soul or worse, the lives of countless innocents. Whatever it was, it could not have been insignificant, or Dumbledore would have found a cure long before now, with all his wisdom and connections.
It was only after discovering the Chamber of Secrets and its collection of precious books that the old man finally found a way out.
The old wizard had kept it to himself about that, but Maverick had known for some time now. Such a thing as the lingering aura of decay and death could not escape his keen magical senses, given how often he met the old man at Hogwarts. However, he chose not to mention it, preferring to wait until Dumbledore brought it up himself.
Perhaps he was waiting for the right time, but anyway, he knew about it, and Maverick was certain that Dumbledore also knew he knew. Besides, during the alien invasion, Grandmaster Flamal had even remarked about it in front of everyone.
And just weeks earlier, Dumbledore had asked for Maverick’s help in locating a crucial ingredient for a “special ritual,” or so he had said. It was also then that the old wizard finally shared everything with him. Beyond that, Dumbledore also recounted some of his past attempts to find a cure, even revealing that he had sought the Sorcerer Supreme’s assistance.
At first, Maverick was a little taken aback upon hearing that the Sorcerer Supreme herself was unable to offer any assistance, and he even inwardly raised the threat level of old Voldy by a couple of notches. After all, if Riddle was able to cast curses that even the Sorcerer Supreme had no solution for, then that meant the man was truly a monster.
Locating the ingredient Dumbledore had asked for proved tricky at first, since it had apparently been considered long extinct for many centuries.
He tried using the connections he had, but had no luck. Finally, he thought to turn to the Sorcerer’s side. After all, the Sorcerer Supreme herself had said he could come to her anytime, and if anyone could track down something thought extinct, it would be her. At the same time, he also wanted to verify whether Dumbledore’s claims were true, or if there was another piece of the story he hadn’t been told. It turned out there was.
First, he got the item Dumbledore wanted in almost no time. The Sorcerer Supreme had simply opened a portal, disappeared to who knows where, and returned moments later, as if she had just stepped out for a quick errand, casually handing him the ingredient.
A bit anticlimactic, really. She didn’t even ask for any favor in return. And it wasn’t a small piece she gave him, but anyway, he had more than enough, with even more left over for who knows when it might be needed in the future.
And with that taken care of, he finally asked her about the curse leeching on Dumbledore. Once again, he was left uncertain, for the Sorcerer Supreme only gave a knowing smile.
“Ridding Dumbledore of the curse would have been simple,” she said casually. “I could have fixed him in no time.”
The next question, of course, was why she didn’t. To answer that, the woman gave him a strange look and an even stranger curl of her smile before saying, “Aren’t you helping Dumbledore save his life now?” In other words, she could have saved him, but apparently she wanted him to be involved, which, as it happened, he now was.
Did she see the future back then and decide not to help Dumbledore herself? Or was it a future even further ahead, beyond now, that showed her something which influenced her decision? Or perhaps she saw that helping him would alter both his and Dumbledore’s future too much. In any case, he didn’t know, and frankly, there was no point in wracking his brain over it.
He didn’t ask any more questions. He simply thanked her for her help with the item and left on the spot.
Nearly half an hour had passed. The magical fluctuations radiating from the ritual had reached their peak, though they were still nothing Maverick couldn’t contain. He could feel the ritual nearing its climax.
The dark veins on Dumbledore’s hand had nearly vanished, evaporated into smoke. Again, a bit anticlimactic, honestly. Even Riddle’s horcrux, when it was consumed by fiendfire, had at least let out a wail.
The old man also did not appear to have experienced any pain from the beginning until now, maintaining the same solemn and focused expression. Perhaps he was suppressing any discomfort, or maybe the ritual itself was simply that powerful and efficient.
Maverick made a mental note that he definitely needed to read the book Dumbledore had mentioned.
A few minutes later, Maverick heard Dumbledore utter a single, strange syllable, sharp and resonant, and subsequently, the water around his hand exploded into motes of golden light before vanishing entirely. The glow from the circle also faded, as if the runes themselves had exhausted their power, until finally, only the faint torchlight remained.
Silence fell once more, and sensing no lingering magic in the air, Maverick lowered himself to the ground as well, waving his hand while also dispelling the mirror dimension.
Dumbledore exhaled deeply and lowered his hand. The hand that had once borne the curse looked whole again, the skin smooth, pale, and unmarked. He flexed his fingers once, and perhaps involuntary, a smile curled his lips, his eyes calm and faintly amused.
“Congratulations…”
“Thank you,” Dumbledore replied with a smile, rising to his feet. His robes materialized, and with a few flicks of the Elder Wand, the signs of the inscribed circle, along with the remains of the materials, vanished—all in a single breath.
“How does your magic feel?”
“Good,” he nodded. “Better than good, in fact.” He tightened his grip on the Elder Wand, and raised his arm with quiet confidence. “I can no longer sense even the faintest echo of the curse.”
Then, closing his eyes, he drew in a slow breath and released it just as calmly. “It has been far too long since I have felt this… unburdened.” Opening his eyes again, he turned to Maverick, smiling with undisguised appreciation.
“You have my deepest gratitude, Maverick. Without your help, I fear this old man would still be quietly counting his remaining days.”
“I barely did anything...”
“No… the Chamber of Secrets, the library, all of it. Without your hand in fate, I might never have found my way to it.”
“Okay, okay.” Maverick waved his hand quickly, cutting him off. “I get it, so please, spare me.” He really didn’t want to have this conversation, it was awkward as hell.
Chuckling, Dumbledore nodded and let the matter rest. They were familiar enough by now that not everything needed to be spoken aloud. Besides, this wasn’t the only favor Dumbledore owed him.
“I’ll conduct a diagnosis as well... so lower your magical defenses for a moment.”
Dumbledore nodded. He had already done one himself, but more eyes were indeed always better. And he trusted Maverick completely, so he complied without a thought, drawing back his magic, both the passive and active layers guarding his body and soul.
Minutes passed before the orange sparks coursing along Dumbledore finally disappeared. The diagnosis spells, both from the magical system and the sorcery, had done their task.
From what Maverick could tell, the ritual had been thoroughly successful, perhaps a little too successful, as he was momentarily taken aback by the feedback he received.
First, nothing remained of the evil curse, no lingering traces, no injuries to the body, and even his soul appeared unharmed.
But how? Dumbledore should have borne some damage to his soul, having had the curse drain his life energy all these years, shouldn’t he? Even if the curse had been removed, the injury should still have remained—it should have taken time to recover.
The spell he had used to examine Dumbledore’s magic was highly advanced sorcery, at least in the field of diagnosis and detection. It was capable of revealing even subtle abnormalities in a person’s life energy—possession, leeching, missing fragments—but he detected nothing of the sort. In other words, Dumbledore’s life energy... seemed completely unharmed.
Therefore, the only reasonable conclusion was that the ritual had not only cured him entirely but had also restored the life energy the curse had drained.
Incredible, he thought.
"Headmaster, you’re... completely recovered." Lowering his arm and wearing a thoughtful expression, he finally spoke. "Physically and magically, you’re fine."
Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle. “Ah, from that look on your face, I see you have questions,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Let me venture a guess… you’re wondering how my injuries healed so completely?”
"Yes..." Maverick admitted plainly.
“Understandable,” Dumbledore said, inclining his head. “Ritual magic is a subtle and demanding art, studied by very few.”
Well, the old wizard wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t a popular subject of study, not even publicly taught. The main reason was that much of it involved steps far darker than most would dare to attempt. Nine times out of ten, the process required binding, manipulating, or sometimes even consuming something vulgar—flesh, blood, or the like. Essentially, rituals tampered with the natural order of things, carried immense risk, and could even inflict lasting damage on one’s own soul.
Of course, high risk often meant high reward, but not everyone was willing to pay such a price. There was perhaps only one magic of that sort taught publicly throughout the magical world, and that was the Animagus ritual. But even that was taught under extreme supervision, because if the ritual went wrong, the witch or wizard could very well become permanently trapped in the form of the animal, their mind and soul warped beyond repair.
“Come,” Dumbledore beckoned Maverick to follow. “Let us continue this conversation in the Ancestors’ Library...”
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Author’s Note:
Sorry for the late update... it's been a super busy week at work. 🙏
Thanks for your patience!
Comments
Mohamed Rayyaan
Yes
André Lange
Rituals are such a cool art, would be cool to see more of that
Pixie
Should probably be drip instead of dip right at the beginning of the chapter.
