The wizard gasped in obvious pain as he reached for the cup. It was a simple thing, a small, wooden cup, dark and dusty with age, yet power seemed to overflow from it endlessly. The man touched it for an instant, power filling his entire being. A moment later, the air around him charged with power, and he was flung backwards towards his opponent.
Mocking laughter filled the air. "Fool. The Grail is not for humans to touch, not even the purest of wizards." The opponent, a young man of eighteen years, sneered down at the first, who was even now convulsing from pain on par with the Cruciatus.
"I would eliminate you now, but there is no need. Victory is already within my grasp. Your Servant has been defeated, and... Zakar! There are no obstacles remaining. Take the prize."
The Servant slowly approached the Grail, tossing aside a staff heavily carved with runes. It bounced once, twice, then clattered noisily against the cobblestones. The cup began to glow.
"My wish..." the victor murmured, unholy glee filling his eyes. "My wish is for a resurrection."
The Grail began to pulse in response to those words, as an overwhelming amount of power filled the air around it.
"The resurrection and return to power of one who has been missing for sixteen years now."
Gasps began to sound from amongst the audience, as the smarter ones realized what this man, whose alliances were well known, would be wishing for.
"The return of the Dark Lord Voldemort! The resurrection of Tom Marvolo Riddle!"
The Grail shimmered, its Power concentrated enough to finally enter the visual spectrum. Panic began to spread amongst the watchers, even as Aurors apparated into dueling zone to apprehend the victor. But it was already too late.
"Zakar! Wait for me. When my Lord arrives, this world will finally be purified!" Maniacal laughter ensued.
The aurors closed in. It was a useless gesture, as the wish could no longer be stopped. Only, perhaps, reversed. Worse, the upstart who had made the wish could not be punished - at least not for the wish he had made. Other charges could be found, however. Other charges would be found. But as for preventing the return of the Dark Lord that had so terrorized Britain and caused havoc all over Europe... there was only one hope.
Only a wish granted by the Grail could overturn another such wish.
Her ritual circle was unlike those of her classmates. Rather than use the standard circle most of her classmates were using, Hermione Granger had designed her own. It had taken her months of work to properly design one, and many more to ensure that it had been properly crafted. Of course, there were others who had their own personalized circles. She scowled, thinking of the various heirs to Pureblood families who had their own pre-made ritual circle, passed down through the generations. The worst of the lot was Draco Malfoy, who had purchased his with an obscene amount of money. Nothing less than the best would do for the wealthy Malfoy heir, unless work on his part was required. Rumors stated that Malfoy's ritual circle had been crafted by three specialty mages, who had worked on it for five years. The amount of money and connections that would have been required for such a thing...
"Ridiculous," she spat out, even as she continued to work on her own circle. After the design and verification of the circle came hours of painstakingly slow work. Mistakes that were made while painting each and every individual rune could be erased and fixed, though scrubbing away the ink was time consuming. When the ritual was to be performed, however, there must be no mistakes remaining. In the past, sloppy work had proven to be, if never quite fatal, deleterious to the reputation, magic, and livelihood of the ones affected.
She snorted again, thinking of bloody Draco Malfoy. The wanker had bought his way past this stage of the ritual as well, and was relaxing rather loudly while the rest of his classmates were toiling. It wouldn't even have been so bad, except for the fact that he had been bragging about it for the last week. As if being spoiled enough to waste a fortune on this were something to be proud of!
"I see you've chosen to include both Paulson's Bridge and Magellan's Cage in your circle. Excellent work as always, Miss Granger."
The voice startled her enough that she smudged the rune she had been working on. With a sigh, she set to erasing the ink, as she replied, "Thank you, Headmistress."
"My apologies if I've disturbed your work. It has been a while since anyone has attempted to use both of those sets within the Familiar Ritual Circle. I trust that you are sufficiently confident in your solution?"
"I am," Hermione responded, trying to put as much certainty into those words as she could.
"Good," the Headmistress responded, and favoured the student with a small smile. "I look forward to seeing the results tomorrow, then."
With those words, Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwart's school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, strode out of the ritual chamber and left behind a rather pleased student.
The Familiar Ritual was a tradition deeply entrenched into the lives of wizards and witches across Europe. At the end of their sixth year of education, all students had the opportunity to perform the only blood ritual that was deemed non-Dark by the Ministries. It was only through this ritual that bright, young, aspiring wizards and witches could obtain that symbol of maturity and magical power... the familiar.
Usually, Ritual Day was a day of celebration. A day of excitement and anticipation. But this year, the mood was sombre throughout most of the Great Hall. Conversations were hushed; the usual boisterous chatter reduced to mere whispers. Throughout the Hall, there was only one topic of conversation.
"But isn't that impossible?" One Ravenclaw girl asked of another. "Everything I've read about the Grail states that it is benevolent in purpose. If that really was his wish, the Grail wouldn't have chosen him in the first place! Perhaps he's been influenced by some external dark force?"
The other student shook her head. "No, that wouldn't happen either. The Grail does act to prevent external interference - remember the contest of 1875, when someone attempted the Imperius on a contestant?"
"There could be other spells, or potions, that might be able to get around that."
"It would have to be more powerful than the Grail to fool it."
At the Slytherin table, others were seeing recent events in a rather different light.
"It's obvious," Draco Malfoy stated. "The Grail is a benevolent object; therefore the resurrection of the Dark Lord must be a benevolent action. For Dmitri, the youngest contestant, to succeed, defeating six others on the way, and surmounting such odds... it must have been the will of the Grail."
Of course, no one there mentioned the unusual events that had occurred in the last contest - the strange traps that had removed two contestants, the poison that had claimed a third, and the borderline Dark curses that had been used against the others by Dmitri. All those acts had been legal - anything that violated the contract with the Grail resulted in harsh penalties - but it was obvious that the spirit of the law had not been respected.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger sat alone, ignoring the conversations around her. Despite being as worried about recent events as everyone else, the ritual that would be taking place after breakfast was of a greater concern to her. There was nothing she could do about You-Know-Who's imminent return - only the use of the Grail could reverse the prior wish, and she had absolutely no chance of achieving that. She had looked through the records, after all; over the last three centuries in which the Grail and the contest had been active, there had never been a single muggle-born to hold the position of Master. Over four fifths of the contestants were purebloods of distinguished lines. Perhaps there was some validity to the notion of pureblood superiority.
As soon as that thought entered her mind, she scoffed. Purity of blood had nothing to do with it. Most likely those purebloods of distinguished lines had done the same thing Malfoy had done, to improve their chances of summoning a Servant instead of a familiar. Perhaps there was some secret behind it all, one that was known amongst the elite of Wizarding society, but not to new blood like her. It didn't matter. A Servant, while powerful, was only useful for the duration of the contest. After it had ended, the Servants that survived never lasted all that long. A familiar, on the other hand, was a permanent companion, could serve as a magical focus to increase the potency of her spells, and some had unique powers.
As breakfast came to an end, Hermione quickly left for her assigned ritual room. Despite the large amounts of time and effort she had spent on it, the ritual was rather simplistic for most people. The ministry provided a base ritual pattern, crafted from the magical signature of the wand used by the witch or wizard, and most of the work involved was painting the ritual circle, locating a magical object that would 'tune' to the desired familiar, and reciting a long and rather dull incantation.
Gazing at the feather she held, Hermione wondered what type of familiar she would receive. Certain facts could be taken for granted. The gender of her familiar would be female. By using a phoenix feather, she was guaranteed a creature that was capable of flight. The two added rune sets should triple the power draw and efficiency of the ritual, with the effect of increasing the power of the familiar exponentially.
She gave the feather another glance, and sighed. It wasn't her first choice of magical focus for the ritual, but it was a necessary component for maintaining the stability of her custom-crafted circle. The downside, however, was the likelihood of getting a bird as a familiar. Birds, for the most part, were horrible as familiars. This was partially because of their lack of intelligence in general (though certain species, mostly owls, were of above average intellect), and partially due to their smaller mass, which meant a lower magical capacity. Of the few magical species that were purely avian in nature, few were considered above average for a magical familiar.
The arrival of her supervisor startled her out of her contemplation. Katie Bell gave her a tired smile, obviously exhausted from traveling back from Beauxbatons, where she and the other students had spent their seventh year.
"Wow," she exclaimed, noting the complexity of Hermione's circle. "Your design is pretty impressive."
"I designed it myself," Hermione replied, beaming at the compliment. "It did take a long time, but I was able to get it to count as my term project for Runes."
Katie gave the design a closer look, and frowned. "You're missing those..." she muttered, though her voice was loud enough for Hermione to hear.
"What am I missing?"
Her supervisor started, but composed herself before replying, "It's probably nothing, but when I made my circle last year I had at least twice as many Mannaz runes. I don't know why there were so many, and most of them didn't activate during the ritual. Maybe they got rid of them this year. Now that I think of it, the base design you're using seems to be a little bit different from mine, but I could be confusing it with the changes you've made."
"Maybe," Hermione said, but her mind was whirling as she considered this new information. As interesting as it was, it was far too late to make any changes now, but she promised herself to investigate further after the ritual was complete.
There was a long moment of silence, before it was interrupted by a loud clanging.
"They're ringing the bells," Katie said. "Time to start."
Hermione nodded, then held the feather aloft and concentrated. It was something that they had been taught at the beginning of the year, to focus their thoughts and draw out their magic. A warm feeling spread through her veins as her magic flowed out of her core, and the phoenix feather began to pulse in tune to her own heartbeat. When the power flowing through the focus began to numb her hand, she spoke.
Everyone else was probably using Latin, but she had chosen Welsh. Though the language and even the choice of words were inconsequential according to all accounts, the oldest recordings of the rituals stated that Welsh had been the main language used. Besides, it sounded much nicer to her ears.
Her incantation started with four words, one for each of the classical elements. From there, she called upon the Aether, from whence life, and her familiar, would be summoned. She called upon the four gates, one for each cardinal direction, with its guardian: the Tiger of the West, the Tortoise of the North, the Dragon of the East, and the Bird of the South. The oddity of calling upon oriental mythological figures briefly entered her mind, and was dismissed as she continued.
A supplication to the spirits. An offer of sacrifice to the gods (in the form of the focus offered and a significant amount of magical energy). A long recitation of deities - some Celtic, some Greek and Roman, the more important Norse gods, and even a few Sumerian. With every passing second, the painted runes would light up, and as her list finally reached its end, she stepped into the circle. As the runes had been painted in red ink, the glow was likewise red, and the tint to her vision gave the world a hazy feel. She continued the incantation, now referencing all of those who had taught her - teachers, parents, even Neville Longbottom, whom she had once asked for tutoring in order to pass the first year flying class.
Next was the list of magical ancestors - fortunately for her, as far as she knew, she had none. A quick statement about being new blood got her past that section. Now the critical part came, the request, as the red from the glow began to fade into pink. While she couldn't ask for a specific familiar, she could drop hints about magical capabilities, physical capabilities, or personality. It was not unknown for a powerful familiar to teach its master in the magical arts, though few ever admitted to it. That was something she wanted - a trustworthy, unbiased adviser - though she had to make the request in a round-about way. Planning that part of the ritual had taken her a week.
As the incantation drew towards an end, the red had faded completely, leaving behind only whiteness. As the end was reached, the brightness spiked for a second, blinding both Hermione and Katie. An instant later, the light was gone, and with it all traces of the ritual circle.
"That can't be good for the eyes," Hermione muttered, as she waiting for her eyesight to return. And when it did, she gazed upon the result of her hard work...
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