Chapter 82: CH82 - True Form
"Are you sure you're ready? One hundred percent certain?" the speaker's voice drifted into Edmund's ears. "Because last I saw you, it didn't seem like it."
Edmund's eyes met hers, calm resolve burning brightly within them. "I'm sure. Besides, weren't you the one who told me that I needed to accelerate the pace of my growth? This is me listening to your advice."
"Bah!" the centaur snorted. "I'm a pessimistic old fossil who can't help but counsel haste. In matters such as these, nothing is more important than mindset. Nothing. Rituals are invariably exacting, and this one could bear an unpredictably high toll."
"I'm ready," Edmund reiterated despite her words.
The speaker did not reply, but he knew she was unsatisfied with his blase attitude.
"Look," he called for attention. "I know myself. I know what I'm capable of. You've always told me to have faith in you. All I ask is for you to return the favour."
She pursed her lips before letting out a long sigh. "You're right, of course. Alright. I will not hinder you any more than I already have."
Edmund nodded.
A cool breeze blew through the forest, gently ruffling his hair and drying his sweat-soaked face. By now, Edmund knew many areas where he could conduct his self-enhancement rituals. The Room of Requirement, The Chamber of Secrets, and even Slytherin Manor would suffice. Each was empty, safe, and secure in its own way. Considerably more so than the clearing in the Forbidden Forest could ever be. However, the location had become part of the tradition for him. Moreover, he trusted no one more than the speaker to ensure his safety. Besides, there were some perks that the open environment provided. Especially on this day, when the circle he had drawn was barely contained by the entirety of the glade's circumference.
Wiping his hands on his thin cotton trousers, he stood up to admire his handiwork. "Only one thing left to do."
A flourish of his wand enlarged the outer lip of his magically expanded satchel. Another swish and flick had a body almost as big as the circle itself, levitating from inside. Once it was only a few inches above the ground, Edmund released it from his grasp, allowing it to fall to the ground with a thud.
A scorpion's tail, a lion's body, and seven heads in varied states of disfigurement lay before him.
"Hello, Moros," Edmund murmured. The manticore's unseeing eyes stared back at him, still as rebellious as when it died. "Now, to see if this will work."
"Of course, it will work," the speaker scoffed, her confidence just as unwavering and unshakeable as ever. "Magic is about intent. The runes constructed from the manticore's blood will signal our desired outcome, and the sacrifice of its body will provide the necessary power. The rest is up to you to endure."
Edmund smiled, acknowledging the poorly given pep talk for what it was. 'Eh. At least she tried.'
Using his mind sense, he scanned the area around him one last time. Small critters of indistinguishable nature were resting underground. A colony of bowtruckles was crawling up an old, decaying tree. A niffler was hugging a shiny rock that had made its way to the bottom of a shallow pond.
...And a tiny owl was resting on the topmost branch of the tallest tree adjacent to the clearing.
"All clear, Vimoksha?" Edmund called out.
"Clear boss," a deep voice replied, sounding completely out of place from the minuscule body of the bird it was emanating from.
"What are we waiting for then?" he asked rhetorically as he lay down in the dirt. A pulse of magic escaped his body, the last conscious act his brain initiated before his instincts usurped control.
Chants flowed from his mouth without a thought, invoking the aid of mother magic. The circle began to shimmer as the weeks-old blood started glowing like it had been spilled only a moment ago. Moros' giant body trembled and twitched as it disintegrated into tiny sparks that flew into Edmund's prone form. Gradually, his voice began to quicken, turning harsher and more pained.
Edmund was well versed in mind rituals by this point. The alteration of his perception of the world after each ritual was disorienting but a feeling he was accustomed to. However, the changing of his own self was much more alien to him.
His skin, blood, vessels, tissues, muscles, ligaments, bones, and DNA were all affected by the magic swirling in the air around him. Edmund could "feel" his very being stretching, twisting, and contorting.
He felt amorphous.
Like nothing but a brain floating through the world.
Slowly, he forgot what his body looked like, what it felt like, and eventually, how to use it.
Intangible. Isolated. Alone. Trapped in a mass of firing neurons.
Just when he thought he could take it no more, his sense of self returned to him in a rush. His human form became discernable to him once more, as though it had never left.
But it was not alone.
'Three human forms? That doesn't seem right,' he managed to think right before he blacked out.
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Edmund came to with a gasp, greedily gulping in the air for several seconds as he took in his surroundings. However, his confusion dissolved swiftly, evidenced by how his pupils suddenly widened. He ran to the edge of the ritual circle to retrieve his wand, jerking it in multiple precise motions ending with a straight jab. On cue, the leaves from the forest floor rustled in a non-existent wind, steadily coalescing into a crystal-clear mirror.
Manticores were known for their extraordinary wit, spell resistance and strength. Sacrificing the ingredients of such a beast could have brought Edmund various benefits.
And yet, Moros was no ordinary manticore...
Why attempt to gain a mundane power like increased strength when there was potential for so much more? Why not try to attain that which made Moros so unique? That being his ability to incorporate others' blood into his own and acquire their abilities. In Edmund's case, to achieve the power to shapeshift into another human's form unassisted.
In that, he had succeeded.
Tom's eleven-year-old body was one he had intimate knowledge of. With Riddle Jr's memories in his mind, he felt as though he had "lived" in it for most of his life. Even so, Edmund was not him, regardless of whether Voldemort believed him to be. Tom composed a crucial piece of himself, but only a portion nonetheless. Intuitively, he knew he could shift into Tom's form without aid.
The body he had gone to Hogwarts with was also familiar to him. How could it not be, after all the time he had spent and trained in it? Yet it was still not his. It belonged to the poor boy Voldemort had murdered so Edmund could take his place. Similarly to Tom, he knew he could now shift into this form with only a thought.
That was where the surprise came in. For Edmund knew that he had access to not two, but rather three forms.
'It makes sense in a way. Neither of the other forms fully encapsulates my sense of self. But both have influenced me, giving me a separate "true" form? Gosh, I sound like a videogame character,' he mused as he peered at his reflection.
Familiar hazel eyes and long locks stared back at him. But now he had a notch above his right eye where his brow ridge was more prominent like Marvolo. His cheekbones were raised, giving his face a more angular appearance. His lips were broader and fuller than before. His frame seemed relatively unchanged, save for the longer fingers he now possessed. They were dexterous by feel, lightly muscled from years of use like a pianist's. ...Or like someone who had precisely wielded a wand for their entire life.
The average person would probably attribute the changes to puberty. They would think the baby fat had melted off to reveal signs of maturity underneath. Others, like Dumbledore, perhaps, would sense something more. An uncanniness, inexplicable yet one that could not be dismissed.
However, that was something to worry about later. For now, Edmund could only chuckle giddily in disbelief.
Gone was his reliability on polyjuice. Gone were the chances of him being caught out for it. Edmund's forms were a part of him now, native to his being just as much as his magic was.
Using his occlumency to picture each form in his mind, he began to test how quickly he could shift between them, noting the concentration and time required by the process. Lost in his self-experimentation, Edmund did not notice the speaker coming up behind him until he felt a slight pinch against his scalp.
"Ouch," he hissed.
The centaur disregarded his irritation, instead sprinkling the few strands of his hair she had managed to nick into a boiling and bubbling flask. "Forgot about the second part already? Test it," she prodded him.
His annoyance forgotten, Edmund quickly muttered a diagnostic charm in the direction of the potion. The results brought an irrepressible smile to his face. "It worked!" he whispered enthusiastically. "The potion is still inert. It didn't recognize my hair as a catalyst."
A witch or wizard's essence was a powerful substance that could be exploited in many ways against whoever it originated from. Most magical children were taught from an early age to be weary of who had access to their essence, especially that which was given of their own free will. After all, there was no telling what sort of magic might be conducted using it. Tales of the misuse of polyjuice and dark rituals were more than a spooky campfire story within the wizarding world. They were a horrifying reality.
The ritual had effectively nullified the chance of any such occurrence. The strange evolution that Edmund's body had undergone simultaneously allowed him to eliminate any vestiges of his presence that he had left behind. Unless he willed it, his fallen hair, skin particles, flesh, blood, and other bodily fluids would no longer contain any identifiable traces of himself. Hence, no magic tied to him could be performed with it. The procedure gave no direct benefit to his combat capabilities.
'But it definitely provides a lot of safety,' he thought with satisfaction.
The speaker dumped the foul concoction into the soil with a grin. "A perfect outcome then."
"It sure seems that way," Edmund exhaled, the adrenaline draining from him quickly now that the excitement was over. "One body ritual down. Four to go."
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