As he lay in the center of a runic circle inscribed with magical chalk, Edmund activated the ritual. His mind immediately went blank as he lost control of all his bodily functions.
However, this time he was a lot less worried about the implications. The source of the ritual was not earthen magic, but rather a magical sacrifice he had made. The power within the sacrifice, aided by the conduit he had created, would flow into his mind and alter it forever. Since the power was transferring from one object to another, there was no leakage into the environment, which meant that none of the animals of the Forbidden Forest would be sent into a frenzy.
With the ritual being conducted at midday, no magical burst occurring, and the speaker guarding his body a mere ten feet away, Edmund felt infinitely safer compared to the last time he had been in the clearing.
And yet, he still felt anxious about the aftermath all the same.
The items he had chosen to sacrifice were the eyes of a wampus cat. The XXXXX beast was infamous for being highly dangerous and nearly impossible to kill. Although the creature was incredibly strong and fast, its nigh invincibility was owed more to the fact that it was only ever sighted once in a blue moon. For centuries, its existence had been deemed as nothing but a myth, so rare was its appearance. Although the indigenous communities in the Americas featured the wampus heavily in their folklore, it was only first publicly viewed in the 1700s. Isolt, one of the founders of Ilvermony Academy, had come across an abandoned kitten and raised it as a pet. When it had continued to grow increasingly larger, she had realized that her feline companion was not a kneazle, but something else entirely.
As it turned out, the wampus was as obscure as it was for a good reason. The mountainous cat's primary method of survival was its prodigious talents in legilimency and hypnosis. Whenever a wampus would sense danger nearby, it would escape long before it would come face to face with it. Furthermore, the few who managed to survive a wampus attack would only remember a bright pair of glowing yellow eyes, often misattributing the object of their memory as a werewolf.
So, wampus cats remained relatively safe from human hunters. Relatively was the key qualifier, given that Voldemort had managed to acquire a specimen despite the difficulties.
Accordingly, Edmund's second mind ritual was meant to both empower his legilimency and to give him a general perception of the beings near him and their emotions.
It would prove to be useful in multiple ways.
Hiding oneself from another's senses was relatively easy. While intangibility was not possible for normal humans, scent, sight, and hearing-blocking charms were comparatively common.
Mind-cloaking spells, however, were not. Those without occlumency would show up on Edmund's radar instantly, and even those with mental shields would unknowingly project waves of calmness and clarity. Humans were not the only ones that would be affected by his new capabilities. Animal minds would seem hazier to him depending on the complexity of their brains, but they would be detectable regardless.
Essentially, Edmund had negated the chances of being ambushed from within a considerable range. He was not trying to fool himself in any way. The plan was not foolproof, and Marvolo had warned him of that explicitly.
Magical titans like Voldemort and Dumbledore, and even talented wizards like Moody and Snape, would assuredly have ways to circumvent his ability. Unbeknownst to the dark lord, Edmund also had no doubt that Harry's invisibility cloak would counter any attempts at mind scanning.
Unfortunately, the ritual's extreme benefits came with equally unpleasant short-term side effects. Before he successfully mastered his mind-reading prowess, Edmund would have absolutely no control of it. His senses would feel overwhelmed for several days, and looking into anyone's eyes would subconsciously initiate legillimency.
Edmund had dismissed it as a problem for his future self, but that time was now the present.
His teeth finally unclenching, Edmund spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. As the magic slowly drained from his temples, he was left feeling ridiculously sensitive. His eyes felt itchy and almost alive as if they had a will of their own.
Peeling open his eyelids hesitantly, Edmund was surprised at how normal everything seemed to him. In the clearing, there was only him, the speaker directly behind him, a kestrel and its newly hatched offspring nesting in a tree to his right, and...
"Holy shit," Edmund gasped, instinctively covering his face with his hands.
It did him no good. His new sense had nothing to do with his eyes, and the lack of visual stimuli only seemed to make it stronger.
"It worked then?" the speaker rumbled lowly.
His brain instantly jumped to focus on the centaur, capturing her brain waves and overloading him with information.
Edmund hissed in pain, clutching his head furiously.
"Just give me a second," he reassured, palpably feeling the speaker's worry filling the air.
And that was no exaggeration. It was hard to explain, but the incoming data from his surroundings was being automatically translated into a deluge of sensations. The speaker's worry looked like a dirty yellow, letting off a pungent, acrid whiff, and leaving the barest of a sour aftertaste.
It was synesthesia on steroids, and it was debilitating to Edmund.
"This is going to take a lot longer than a few days to get used to," he gritted out.
"Oh?" the speaker questioned, her amusement flooding through Edmund's system like a tsunami. "Well, at least your occlumency expertise will experience a rapid jump. Perhaps if you had done the ritual during the holidays, your recovery would have been easier."
"The sacrifice was a wampus! Surely even you know the issues of obtaining such ingredients. The fact that the dark lord managed to get them at all is a miracle," Edmund retorted with a moan.
"Then, it matters little. You did the best you could, and you will be all the better for it," the speaker tried to cheer him up.
Unfortunately, Edmund could now dissect the centaur's true feelings, and it was harder to feel encouraged when he knew she was putting on a false front.
"Thanks," he replied anyway, appreciative of her efforts. "It doesn't feel like it right now, but I guess, no pain, no gain?"
He tried to smile, but it came out looking more like someone had a gun to his head.
The speaker chuckled genuinely then, shaking her head with laughter.
*-*-*-*
- (Scene Break) -
*-*-*-*
The best possible method that Edmund could have adopted to allow the ritual to settle and accustom himself to it was isolation. The fewer people he allowed himself to be near, the lesser the chance of an inexplicable incident occurring.
He was well aware of that.
The plan had been to complete the ritual early Saturday morning and then spend the rest of the weekend in the Room of Requirement. Admittedly, it was a rather flawed plan. His friends would unquestionably worry about his disappearance, and that was not to mention the issue of meals. While the kitchens were an option, Edmund was convinced that being around house-elves would only exacerbate his headache.
There was no other option. He would have to face the music. Interaction with others was inevitable, and it was something he would have to accept.
Of course, he would still avoid social situations as much as he feasibly could. It was not uncommon for Edmund to become lost in his studies. Although it would irritate those close to him, they would not be surprised by his sudden desire for space.
However, all of Edmund's preparations were dismantled by an owl from McGonagall requesting his presence in her office. Given how eagerly he had accepted these invitations in the past, it would have been unbelievably odd for him to refuse now without a valid reason.
That was why Edmund found himself knocking on the Transfiguration classroom door to signal his arrival in the early afternoon, before stepping inside.
Like a rush, he was hit by McGonagall's presence. Surprisingly, it proved not to be as distracting as he had anticipated. The professor's emotions were almost unnaturally stable. She had recognized Edmund's presence for a brief second before her mind was occupied fully by her previous work once more. Her level of focus and concentration were admirable.
Edmund waited patiently, content to sit for a while.
When she finally looked up, Edmund was filled with a surge of warmth, and the world seemed almost rose-tinted for a moment. Her affection for him, while not visible on her face, was plain for Edmund to feel. It made him smile, prompting an upturn of McGonagall's lips in return.
Edmund steadfastly trained his gaze on her forehead, determined not to make a fool of himself. While McGonagall might not have been an authority in the mind arts, Edmund would be surprised if she at least was not proficient in them. As a skilled battle master and a member of the Order of the Pheonix, she undoubtedly knew how to guard her thoughts against her enemies.
His mind probe would smash against her defences like a brick if he allowed it to happen, and McGonagall would most certainly feel it.
"It has been a while since we met, Edmund," she greeted.
"It has. I've been practicing, though," he replied.
"Of that, I have no doubt," McGonagall stated. "Let's see how you have progressed, hmm?"
Edmund nodded in acceptance before the professor began again.
"This is a game Albus taught to me when I was his disciple, and I believe you are capable of benefitting from it now as well," she introduced. "Essentially, it is a competition."
McGonagall withdrew her wand, transfiguring a desk into a stone cube, empty from the bottom up. The hollowness inside was not uniform, instead forming an atypical sort of negative space.
"I will create a mould, like the one you see now. The outside will be a cube, but the inside will be irregularly shaped. It will be your job, within ten seconds, to fill the inside with transfigured material without damaging the original's integrity. Once the time is up, I will cast a spell that will tell me how much empty space still remains within the cube," she explained. "Then, we will switch roles. In the end, the contestant with the lower tally of empty space will be the winner."
Edmund cracked his knuckles, clenching and unclenching his hands repetitively in excitement.
"Bring it, professor," he smirked.
With a swish, McGonagall began. Upon sensing the object he needed to construct, Edmund rolled his eyes. It was a simple hemisphere, perfectly circular with no other complications.
It took him only one second out of the ten allotted to him to complete the task. As expected, the result was immaculate, and his total was still a perfect zero.
Deciding to taunt her for going easy on him, Edmund gave the professor an even easier challenge. He left a crevice forming another cube, proportionally the same as the mould, only smaller.
McGonagall huffed at the slight, before narrowing her eyes.
"Fine, we'll jump right in then," she declared.
Normally, Edmund would be unaffected by this. However, being able to sense the fire he had lit within her was a novelty, and it made him shiver.
The next mould he was presented with was considerably tougher. The core he needed to create was peculiar. There was no symmetry to it, nor were there any angles or smooth curves. It had a large central mass, with abstract 'tentacles' sticking out of it in all directions. If he had to describe it, Edmund would liken it to a massive three-dimensional amoeba, captured mid-movement.
It took him the entirety of the time given to finish, and he knew that the job was not perfectly done.
"It seems that you have left behind 240 millilitres of air within, Mr. Cole," she mocked with a sympathetic tone. "Perhaps I should pick something easier next time?"
Edmund frowned in concentration, deciding not to answer with words.
His next trial for her was less complex than the one he had completed, but it still made him smile widely. As she came to realize what the mould was meant to resemble, McGonagall's hands began to twitch, the closest the woman could come to being apoplectic. Edmund dismissed his own transfiguration, leaving behind a sculpture of McGonagall in her cat animagus form. The difference was, that the tabby was wearing the professor's spectacles and witch's hat while licking a ball of catnip.
Edmund laughed and laughed, even as McGonagall threw increasingly ludicrous problems his way.
At the end of the lesson, McGonagall won the competition handily, but Edmund truly felt that he had been the real victor.
If you have any thoughts, or things you would like to see happen in the story, please share!
—
As you may have noticed, my diction is decent, while my syntax is awful. Please do not hesitate to point out any mistakes I make with a paragraph comment or a general chapter comment!
—
Thank you for reading!
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was the busiest it would ever be the morning after a weekend. Breakfast began a little later than usual because most students would come in late, tired from a lack of sleep the night before. Hence, the time for eating was short, making the area even more congested.
On the weekend, Edmund had snuck in his meals using the Marauder's Map to see when the hall was the least busy. There was no such chance for him to do so on a school day.
He walked in reluctantly, wincing strongly as his mind was assaulted from all sides. As he plopped into his regular spot with a grunt, he began filling up his plate slowly.
Ben and Jeremy looked on from the sides in concern.
Edmund tended to eat a lot, courtesy of the extensive physical training he put himself through on the regular. So it was incredibly odd to see him playing with his food absentmindedly, barely taking two bites before pushing his platter away.
With it being a Monday morning, the students' feelings were a mix of dread and fatigue, a cocktail of emotions that made Edmund's stomach nauseous. Forget feeding himself; he was nearly on the verge of vomiting. His gut roiled in discomfort, both demanding food and rejecting it simultaneously.
His appetite had been flip-flopping for the past day and a half, and it seemed Edmund's friends were tired of waiting for him to do something about it. Cecilia marched towards him from the high table stubbornly, a concerned Madam Pomfrey trailing behind her.
Edmund glared at Cecilia with irritation, which the girl easily ignored.
"If you actually took care of yourself, it wouldn't come to this," she huffed.
Pomfrey took one look at his face and immediately dragged him out of the Great Hall without even casting a diagnosis spell. Disregarding his assurances that he was alright, she did not let him go until he was sat upon one of the pristine white beds in the infirmary.
"Drink," she instructed, uncorking and handing him a sludge-textured potion.
Edmund recognized the concoction immediately and did not protest beyond a loud exhale before he downed it. His face scrunched up in displeasure as his mouth was filled with a foul taste. Unholstering his wand, Edmund held the tip up to his mouth before using Aguamenti to wash out the disgusting flavour.
Although he knew his symptoms were entirely psychosomatic, the stomach reliever had helped a bit anyways, even if only as a placebo.
The unhealthy pallor of his face dissipated slowly, relieving him little by little as time went by.
Almost ten minutes later, Pomfrey reemerged from her office, looking almost surprised to see him still sitting there.
"From what I have heard of you from Minerva, Mr. Cole, I was sure you would have left by now," she admitted.
"Yes, well, from what I've heard of you from Professor McGonagall, I was led to believe you would make me regret leaving without your dismissal," he gritted out grumpily.
"Oh, so you do have a bit of sense in you," she teased, sitting opposite him. A notebook hovered to her right, a quill floating directly above it. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Cole? Do not be upset with your friends for their concerns. They care about you."
"I'm not upset. They were right to tell you," Edmund sighed. "I promise, there is nothing wrong with me besides my stomach, and I'm sure whatever bug I've caught will go away soon enough."
Pomfrey scanned his face for any signs of deceit for several moments before nodding in acceptance.
"Good. It has been ten minutes since you took the potion. I will have to observe you for another five minutes for any side effects before I can let you go," she explained.
Edmund hummed, his attention drawn to the emblem on her coat. He had seen it before but had been unsure of the significance.
"The healers at St. Mungo's wear an insignia of a crossed wand and bone. You don't. Why?" he asked.
Pomfrey raised her eyebrows, surprised by his observance. She looked down at the badge on her chest before looking back up at him.
"The crossed wand and bone are the sign of an internationally recognized healer. All medi-witches and medi-wizards you see will have one displayed on them. I do as well," she explained before rotating sideways to show a much smaller set of patches on her shoulders. "The Rod of Asclepius that is embroidered on my breast pocket, on the other hand, is an age-old tradition of sorts. It signifies a sect of healers of times past that was once acclaimed throughout the entire world. Their magic is now lost, but their fame remains. The rod symbolizes a healer who has gone beyond their standard duties to specialize in a specific area of medicine."
"I'm sorry if this is rude," Edmund forewarned, "but if you're so qualified, what are you doing..."
"Wasting my time in a children's school?" Pomfrey guessed with a chuckle. Her smile soon turned melancholy, tainted by memories of the past.
"My mastery that I obtained was focused on mind-healing. In the few years I worked in the field, I encountered many different patients. Some were past prisoners of Azkaban, with their minds fractured from exposure to dementors. Others had been workers in underground goblin mines, toiling away to pay their debts without seeing the sun for years. During the dark lord's reign, there were also those who had seen their families tortured and killed before their very eyes," she recounted sadly. "It was too much for me to bear. I began working at Hogwarts in the 70s, and I have never looked back since."
Edmund looked at her wide-eyed, stunned by her tale.
She laughed bitterly, looking away from his face.
"You are strong and very admirable!" he said heatedly, refusing to let the medi-witch believe she had anything to be ashamed of.
She smiled at him fondly, patting his hands twice before standing up.
"Thank you, child," she said warmly.
*-*-*-*
- (Scene Break) -
*-*-*-*
Edmund slipped into the ongoing Charms lesson sneakily. Flitwick was unquestionably the most enthusiastic teacher in all of Hogwarts, and his classes were some of the most well-loved by the Hogwarts population at large.
While most of the students seemed to be in jovial moods, Edmund could feel a cloud of misery originating from the back left corner of the classroom. A closer look told him it was where his Hufflepuff classmates were sitting, which made him frown.
He quickly handed a note explaining his lateness to the professor before trying to find a seat.
The lecture for the day had already concluded, and the class was now attempting the taught spell for themselves. Small locked chests sat on the desks as shouts of "Alohamora" rang through the room.
Ben and Jeremy were sitting together, both oddly quiet for once.
Cecilia, Chelsea, and Jennifer huddled together at a larger table. Even without his enhanced senses, Edmund could hear sounds of sniffling coming from the trio. Putting down his bag, he dropped into a seat silently, looking at Chelsea and Jennifer's teary eyes with dismay.
"What happened?" he whispered silently.
Cecilia whirled to look at him, an angry snarl on her face.
"Bletchley," she hissed. "Jennifer and Chelsea were talking about their progress in Charms before the class started, and he called them—."
"He called them mudbloods. Said that they could do as well as they wanted, and nobody of good breeding would hire them anyways," Cecilia added lowly.
Despite his anger, Edmund could not help but smile internally. This Cecilia was nothing like the one he had met on the Hogwarts Express.
'From blood purist to a supposed blood traitor,' he thought.
"When we told Professor Flitwick what happened, all the Slytherins denied it, saying that we were lying," Chelsea muttered.
"The professor said that it was a matter of 'he said, she said,' and he can't take any action," Jennifer concluded.
Edmund grimaced. It was unfortunate, but it was the norm around Hogwarts. The houses tended to stick to one another, and lying for housemates was ordinary. He did not blame Flitwick, but he still felt upset.
Looking around the classroom for the culprit, he caught Bletchley's eyes with his own. Immediately, Edmund became submerged in the boy's mind.
Kevin Bletchley. The younger brother of Miles Bletchley, the keeper on the Slytherin quidditch team. A pureblood for tens of generations. His cruelty and hatred for muggle-borns and everything muggle was like an endless well deep within him.
'The majority of his personality revolves around just being a pureblood,' Edmund scoffed disdainfully.
Perhaps ordinarily, Edmund would feel sympathy for such a young child being indoctrinated to such a degree. But Kevin was too far gone. His torment of others satisfied him and was a source of amusement for Kevin.
Edmund was no bully, but sometimes retribution was necessary.
He transfigured two handkerchiefs for his weepy housemates and finally spoke again.
"Alohamora is an interesting spell. Essentially, its purpose is to unlock an object. But that's a pretty broad explanation. What can it unlock exactly? Only something that would otherwise require a key, or other items as well?" he lectured softly.
"Edmund!" Cecilia reprimanded incredulously. "They don't need this right now!"
"This is exactly what they need," he insisted. "Let me answer my own question. Like everything else, Alohamora is a charm that relies entirely upon the user's intent. If the caster wishes, they can unlock or open anything as long as: a) they can visualize it, b) they have the power for it, and c) the object does not have protections against the unlocking spell."
By now, most students had partially succeeded at opening the secured chest in front of them. Flitwick had moved on to calling each student individually to his desk to challenge them with a more complex lock.
As Kevin's name was called, he strolled over proudly.
"Observe," Edmund commented.
With a small movement and a whisper, Kevin's zipper opened with a loud rip, and his pants fell to the ground. It seemed that the boy followed the tradition of most older purebloods who did not wear underclothes under their robes. Thankfully, his rear was protected from view by his dress shirt. His front, however...
Well, Flitwick's horrified face likely suggested he had caught an eyeful.
There was silence for one, two, three seconds... And then the room erupted with chortles and mockery. Chelsea and Jennifer choked out a wet giggle, wiping away their tears fiercely.
Kevin pulled up his pants instantly as he reddened with fury. He turned to the Hufflepuff contingent, accusations flying from his lips faster than they could form.
"Hey!"
"It wasn't us!"
"Yeah! You can't accuse us like that without proof!"
"Piss off!"
Flitwick cast a mass silencing spell, his face the perfect picture of neutrality.
"I wish to make it clear that I do not condone such behaviour. However, Mr. Bletchley, the others are correct. Without proof, I cannot punish anyone," he said calmly, before dismissing the spell.
Kevin was not happy.
"If you want proof, check their wands! My uncle's an auror! I know you can do that!" he demanded shrilly.
"I suggest you lower your voice, Mr. Bletchley," Flitwick replied coldly. "While you are correct, I am fairly certain that the spell used against you was a common unlocking charm. The same spell that everyone has been practicing for the past half hour."
Kevin looked around with wrath, his eyes finally landing on an innocently smiling Edmund.
Edmund cared little. How much more could someone like Kevin hate him? If he dared to attack him, Edmund had no issues showing the boy his place. He refused to lie down and take any abuse for a perceived moral high ground.
Those who targeted him or his friends would be hit back twice as hard.
If you have any thoughts, or things you would like to see happen in the story, please share!
—
As you may have noticed, my diction is decent, while my syntax is awful. Please do not hesitate to point out any mistakes I make with a paragraph comment or a general chapter comment!
—
Thank you for reading!