Chapitre 49: CH49 - To Sin is Human
Once the sun had set on the Hogwarts grounds, Edmund found himself sitting within the ritual circle once more. Yet, this time he felt an inexplicable sense of hesitance. It was the fifth time he was going to go through such a process. However, his discomfort at the prospect of it was completely novel.
There was nothing more that needed to be done.
The runes had been constructed and checked enough times, even to satisfy Edmund's paranoia. The sacrifice was in position, laid out in the appropriate locations on the outer reaches of the ring. Edmund was completely bare of any influence of external magic, clad only in thin rags that he cared little for the state of.
And yet, he delayed the activation of the ritual all the same.
"Something is wrong," the speaker voiced confidently. Typically, the centaur remained silent in such moments, allowing Edmund to focus without interruptions. But clearly, enough time had passed for her to feel that an intervention was necessary.
"Yes," Edmund conceded after a pause. He was just coming to terms with it himself, and thus it was difficult for him to explain it to the speaker. "I feel... unsure..."
"About what?" she queried nonjudgmentally.
"It is silly," Edmund admitted.
"Matters of the mind usually are," the speaker replied before prodding further. "It does not make them any less important."
A lull in the conversation occurred for several moments.
"What if these rituals are making me... less of me," he tried to explain. "Less human, more in touch with my base desires."
"Is this about the incident with those Slytherins?" she questioned with wide eyes of confusion.
Edmund said nothing.
The speaker rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.
"Edmund, do not be foolish. The actions you committed were the right thing to do. The smart thing to do," she emphasized. "At most, you acted a little indulgently, wanting to let your guard down without constantly worrying about being attacked from the shadows. You wanted to feel safe. There could be nothing more human than that in the world."
"Nothing more animalistic," she corrected herself after a moment. "Humans are still animals at the end of the day."
"Yes. Intellectually, I know that! But what if I go too far because of what these rituals enable me to do? What then?" Edmund asked.
"So what?" the speaker scoffed disdainfully. "Why must humans pretend that their moral fibre is so strong? Be truthful with yourself! Be unashamed of your lack of reservation."
Edmund grimaced, turning his face from hers.
"Take me, for example. Do you think I would hesitate even a second to massacre a warring tribe of centaurs encroaching on my land?" she asked.
Edmund shook his head immediately.
"Does my lack of empathy disgust you?" the speaker pushed on.
Again, Edmund replied in the negative.
"Does it make you think of me as some sort of sociopath?" she continued.
"No," Edmund freely confessed.
"Exactly," the speaker said forcefully. "I am willing to commit the greatest of depravities if it means the slightest chance of keeping my loved ones safe. All of us have that capacity within us to some degree. Accept it, Edmund. The rituals only make it easier for you to fulfill your desires. They will birth none within you that would not have existed anyways."
Silence filled the clearing for several minutes as Edmund thought upon the speaker's advice.
The next audible sound was not that of either of their voices, but rather the buzzing of the ritual circle as it was initiated.
Edmund's uncertainty was gone, and all that remained was the usual fire in his eyes as he waited for the wave of pain he knew would hit him at any moment.
The sensation he felt was oddly appropriate but no less agonizing because of its accuracy. His entire brain seemed to swell, feeling too large for his skull as it was forcefully squished back into the bony shell that would contain it. The whole inner lining of his scalp was on fire because of the magical ventriculomegaly occurring rapidly within the ritual's short period.
The magical ingredient Voldemort had supplied this time was the tail of a sphinx, only just dead when the appendage was cut off. Considering the rarity of the beasts, even within the Northern regions of Africa, it was nothing short of a blessing that Edmund had gotten one solely for his usage. The enhancement it would provide, however, was equally as miraculous.
The ritual of opening had simply increased the speed at which neurons could fire, and signals could travel in Edmund's brain.
The results of the sphinx ritual were harder to quantify. Rather than letting him think faster, it would allow him to think more, in all senses of the word.
Previously, looking at an object may have invoked thoughts of how it would look, hear, feel, weigh, and other such characteristics. Perhaps Edmund's strongest emotional memories with the object may also have surfaced.
Whereas now, he would be able to follow and process almost every single strand of the web in his brain assigned to that object. Every instance in which he had interacted with the object in the past, who had been around him, why he had done it, and everything else he could think of would become readily available to him.
It was not eidetic memory by any means, but it was the closest humans could achieve to such a thing.
Minutes passed slowly as the effects fluctuated in and out of existence erratically.
Coming down from the worst of the pain with a prolonged groan of suffering, Edmund was left with the worst migraine he had ever experienced. His head throbbed as he got up and stumbled, barely steady enough to move.
Instead of trying to recover, he simply fell into the middle of the next circle he had already inscribed beforehand. Back-to-back rituals would be hell for his mental capacity, but Edmund also knew that the following procedure would relieve the after-effects of the one he had just completed.
Only that motivation gave him the strength to continue without complaint as he activated the next ritual with a faint pulse of his magic.
Edmund's emotions instantly went haywire, climbing sharply in one moment before plummeting the next. His feelings refused to stabilize despite his attempts at occlumency, taking him on a twisting rollercoaster of different sentiments. Although the strange 'emotion sickness' was disorienting, it was worth it for the immediate alleviation of his headache symptoms alone.
The pain was gone entirely, wiped away alongside the little sense of tiredness Edmund had begun feeling this late at night.
The latter of the two was to be expected, considering the effects of the powdered horns of a hodag he had used.
When ingested normally, the ingredient had the odd effect of making its consumer immune to the effects of alcohol and able to go without sleep for seven days and nights.
The substance was unlike anything else in the magical world and was used for a variety of purposes.
Many healers coveted the horns of a hodag, as it had the capacity to keep patients in critical condition awake despite their body's autonomic response. Forcibly maintaining consciousness often meant a better prognosis for those with severe acute conditions, such as extreme trauma.
Of course, not all the applications that were invented were positive.
No magical government would ever admit it, but the ingredient was also known to be covertly implemented as a torture method. Repeated consumption of powdered hodag horns would eventually destroy the body's internals, making the muscles atrophy, the bones corrode, and the brain melt—a painful, unavoidable death. The solution was simple: to fall asleep. But it was the very thing the substance made impossible.
Some rare instances had also been reported of the ingredient being employed in the production of high-quality magical drugs. However, considering the extravagant price of a singular horn, the only buyers would be the social elites, who would certainly not open their mouths about it.
Unfortunately for everyone, the hodag was no longer as commonly found a creature as it once was.
The magical beast was traditionally found in the upper eastern quadrant of the Americas. Its horned appearance, frog-like head, and glowing red eyes made it easily distinguishable. That was not to mention its size, roughly that of a large dog. Its characteristics made muggle sightings of it common, especially bundled with its tendencies to sneak into farms and eat the livestock there.
That, plus the dangerous effects of their horns on society, had led the MACUSA to regulate the creatures heavily. In the early 18th century, the American government decided to round up a significant population of the beasts and eradicate the rest. The few left alive were kept on a small farm in Wisconsin, where they were bred and safely farmed for their ingredients.
Still, no level of oversight ever managed to prevent corruption and thievery, which was why the ingredient could still be found on the black market in modern times.
A powdered hodag horn was a relatively unstable and dangerous substance in its natural form. However, using it in a ritual would permanently alter Edmund's hormones and brain signals, essentially allowing him to operate more efficiently with less rest. Since its general purpose was to aid the brain in information processing without causing pressure upon it, the hodag ritual would also inadvertently help control the effects of the sphinx ritual alongside it.
For Edmund, it was a win-win.
As he roused back into consciousness, Edmund did not feel the improvements to his brain function. Nor did he notice the amount of energy he was suddenly filled with, even after a long day.
No. The only thing on his mind was food.
Unwrapping a sandwich hurriedly, Edmund bit into it quickly.
"Edmund?" the speaker asked.
Finishing the sandwich, Edmund opened a container filled to the brim with caesar salad, chowing down on the greens with far more relish than usual.
"Edmund?" the speaker repeated, a hint more loudly.
As he swallowed a forkful of seasoned greek pilaf, another bite of the delicacy was hovering just outside his lips for Edmund to devour.
"Ah," the speaker sighed. "Perhaps you can eat now, and we can talk later?"
Edmund gave a big thumbs up, his mouth too preoccupied with chewing to provide her with a verbal response.
"Well, I'd say it worked," the speaker muttered sullenly.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone