27 CH27 - World Anchor

Peering through the treeline, Edmund gazed into the empty clearing from his vantage point. So far, everything had worked out well for him. Throughout the day, he had dropped hints of his tiredness to the others during their meals. When he begged off for an early rest after dinner, no one blinked an eye, merely wishing him good night.

Traversal through the Forbidden Forest had been no different than any other evening, save for the howling he could constantly hear from deeper within the forest. The werewolf population present was clearly large, and the woods seemed to be a popular spot for transformation.

However, facing a morphed wolf was a risk Edmund knew he would have to take. There was simply no getting around it in his situation. With a whispered Homenum Revelio, he checked for signs of life for the third and final time, before resolving himself to step into the open.

While the actual ritual would only last five minutes, Edmund was unsure of what his condition would be like after its completion. He might end up feeling only slightly tired, but it was not outside the realm of possibility that he would be knocked out for a short period of time.

For the moment of weakness he knew was to come, it was better to plan beforehand. Gritting his teeth, Edmund got to work.

The first step was to set up a massive perimeter of redirection and Confundus wards. The creatures in the woods already seemed to have an aversion to the clearing, and this would only further addle their minds.

Solely making overtures to keep them away, however, was not a viable strategy. The ritual would transform the area into a magical hotspot and would feel unnaturally alluring to those who could sense it. The effect would not be unlike that of Hesperides' tree. Similarly to that situation, the call of the magic would outweigh whatever caution existed in the creatures' minds.

Hence, Edmund's attackers were sure to charge the area ferally. While this was a frightening thought, it could also be manipulated in his favour.

To do so, he moved on to the next step. Traps.

In the surroundings of the clearing, Edmund had interspersed a series of snares attached to the trees, which would incapacitate any victims. Unless they broke free, they would eventually die of blood loss.

Using his impressive transfiguration spells, he then quickly excavated a series of ten-foot-deep circular trenches around the ritual site, packing the dirt into the ground more tightly. The bottoms of these holes were filled with erected wooden spears, sharpened to a point. The measure ought to impale any who fell in, granting a quick death. The area above gave the facade of nothing being amiss through the use of a thin layer of soil that would collapse easily with weight.

Next, to ensure that attackers would fall in the pits, Edmund had built massive cheval-de-frise contraptions on the inside of each trench boundary, making jumping over the gaps to get to him even trickier.

Finally, around the small patch of land he was going to be using, Edmund constructed a tall stone wall angling outwards like an inverse cone. The shape would be tricky to climb from the outside, buying him a few more minutes if it came to it.

If his preparations were to be described with one word it would be this: Overkill.

"Proper preparation prevents poor performance," Edmund muttered to himself, recalling the adage that had been plastered all over the Wool's orphanage classrooms.

Feeling considerably safer, he retrieved the magical ash and blood compound from his pouch, before putting it to the side.

It was time to create the ritual circle.

Edmund would fully admit he had no idea about the mechanics of the ritual. However, the runes he was meant to form into the desired magical conduit had been drilled into his head repeatedly. The process was more monotonous to him than it was anxiety-inducing at this point.

In layman's terms, the procedure he would be undergoing was referred to as a ritual of opening. The name was a bit of a misnomer in truth. Rather than simply being one ritual, it was actually a combination of three. One pertaining to the mind, one to the body, and one to the soul; the magical Trinity.

At the age of eleven, magic fully stabilized within the average witch or wizard's body. Conducting a ritual affected this stability, tipping internal balance. Just as it sounded, disrupting a being's magical homeostasis was a dangerous process. The ritual of opening's purpose was to make the undergoer's magic more malleable to change, without completely destroying their body from the inside out. The process achieved this by anchoring the witch or wizard to the very source of magic: the earth itself. This was where it gained its more official name, the world anchor.

Finishing the last of the mixture within his bag, Edmund stood up and stretched. His eyes flitted over his work, mentally ensuring that everything was as it was meant to be.

The longer he waited, the longer the chance he was discovered. He had to have faith in himself.

Edmund placed his expanded satchel and demiguise cloak to the side, well outside the ritual circle. He was dressed in only the rags given to him by the orphanage. No magical interference meant that he could not wear wizarding clothing, which was imbued with all manners of charms for ease of use.

Letting out a deep breath, he began.

Once the words of the chant began to leave his mouth, the rest came pouring out of him without any effort, subconsciously. Magic began to arise from deep within the earth, from the ley lines that ran underneath Hogwarts, that interconnected beneath the entire planet. They were listening to his plea, and thankfully they were responding. From the sky, the light of the moon shone resplendently on his body. In the distance, growing sounds of screeches and howls drew closer.

But Edmund was unaware of it all. His entire focus was inwards.

He could observably feel his brain quickening, the neurons firing faster as wild magic wrapped around them, enhancing them rapidly. His head was experiencing such euphoria from the sensation that it was almost overwhelming. He felt high as a kite, as if all his worries were gone, and all that was left was the magic within.

*-*-*-*

In the background, an acromantula cried with pain, as the sound of flesh being skewered rang through the air sharply.

*-*-*-*

The magic moved on from his brain to envelop his entire body. He could feel it running through him like blood, but not through his arteries. The path the magic followed was one he was unused to but so familiar with at the same time. Edmund could perceive his magical veins all throughout his body widening, allowing for greater storage and more efficient channelling of magic. As new vessels were created within him, he could detect them growing and filling with intoxicating power.

*-*-*-*

A magical wolf, the product of two transformed werewolves mating, howled as its leg was lifted from the ground, and caught in a snare. It twisted and turned pathetically, stuck in its position. Its pack members ignored its cries, too enraptured by the phenomenon to care.

*-*-*-*

And then he noticed the magic filling a place that had only known cold before. A place that he could not describe, but could feel all the same. His soul, a part of him he was used to feeling raw and lacerated, was comforted and nourished by the magic coursing through him. He felt so full, so complete like he had never before. His being was floating through the air, lying on a fluffy cloud that was wrapping him up.

His new enhancements brought with them an innate understanding of the earth. He could feel the magic in the ground, in the air, and it fascinated him. Unfortunately, the feeling eventually disappeared, leaving only slight remaining aftereffects.

Edmund lay there, a goofy grin on his face, for several minutes. The magic dissipating gave him a sense of loss, but what remained was extraordinary. He knew well that many rituals gave only minute advantages, barely noticeable individually. However, in this case, he could physically root out his improvements, and it was a beautiful feeling.

His body ached pleasantly, like after receiving a deep cleansing that left the skin feeling anew. The heightened sensations and emotions slowly drained from him, and his attention was drawn to his surroundings.

Gradually, he righted himself, standing on his feet hesitantly to test his balance. Happy with what he found, he smiled, before untransfiguring the stone barrier preventing him from seeing outside.

The picture was of a gruesome massacre. Blood ran on the ground, turning what was once brown and green into a dark red. The scent of iron filled his nostrils, nauseating him until he steadied himself with a shake of his head. Bodies lay everywhere, in various states. Remains of acromantulas lined the outermost trenches, so full that a bridge of corpses had formed for their brethren to step over. Carcasses of creatures both magical and non-magical lay pierced on the wooden stakes, none of them managing to get past the second of his three layers of defences. A twitching forest troll was slumped over on the ground, crushing a pair of still struggling wolves that were bleeding out from their injuries.

Carnage. It was pure carnage. But Edmund knew better than to feel too sorry.

'I put up plenty of warnings. They were greedy for something that wasn't theirs, and they paid the price for it,' he reminded himself.

Donning the cloak to shield himself once more, he began erasing all traces of his presence. The trenches were combined into one massive pit, into which he levitated the bodies of all the fallen creatures around him. Once the mass grave was complete, Edmund buried it with stone and clean dirt, covering up the bloody mess entirely. All his defences were untransfigured, returning into soil or wood that looked as if it had been littered about randomly.

A passerby would never be able to guess the deaths that had occurred only several minutes prior were it not for the stench permeating the air. That too was cleared with an overpowered Ventus charm, finishing the job.

The ease with which the magic came to him amazed Edmund, as he determined that his visualization and intent had become incredibly strong. Through his empowered mind, he had managed to cast spells he was intimately familiar with completely silently, a fact he realized in the middle of levitating the corpses. That was not to speak of how little the spells drained him, despite being relatively power-intensive. He would have to experiment to see precisely how else he had changed, but he was sure he would only be pleasantly surprised.

He had been successful, and now was the time to reap the benefits.

His mind drifted to his following rituals, a choice he would have to make soon. Voldemort had recommended that he pursue the mind-altering rituals first, as they would be the most useful in the short term. Currently, improving his body's magic channelling would not aid him much, as there was little magic he was performing that hit the upper limits of his capabilities. Any other improvements to his body would only be useful in extreme combat, which he was unlikely to get into any time soon. On the other hand, the soul was more esoteric and demanding to enhance. Its requirements were greater, and the possibilities much more varied. It was something that would have to be explored thoroughly, and not worth investing his time in right now.

'I've basically already decided,' Edmund thought. 'There's no point pretending like I haven't.'

Gathering the last of his belongings, he began the long walk back to Hogwarts.

...Or he would have, if he hadn't heard a painful wail only a little distance from him, followed by a series of long snarls. The voice was familiar, and the implications were not lost on him.

It was Clio, the young and rebellious centaur he had spied on only a little while ago, and she was being pursued by a group of werewolves. Pushing his guilt at attracting the young foal aside, Edmund tried to think about the situation clinically.

If he could help this child, there was no harm in doing so.

But more importantly, the voice being this close meant that Clio might have caught a glimpse of him during his preparations. If she survived, he could not risk that she might be able to identify him or report him back to Dumbledore.

It was a loose string, and despite his growing apprehension, he refused just to let it be.

'Seems like I'm not going home just yet,' he thought to himself with dark amusement.

Raising his wand into a battle position, he plunged deeper into the woods.