Chapter 18.3- Doom Days

The bloodletting ritual was a fascinating bit of magic, technically legal, but dark as they came. It was the ritual that served as a solution to blood curses for the most part. Sounds strange to you? Well, centuries ago, blood curses had been a massive problem. One naughty wizard from the Grimm family had discovered how to cast nasty curses with small amounts of blood and had basically cemented his house’s position at the top of the wizarding world by virtue of that ability alone. The fear of being cursed from miles away left most too scared to even risk offending them.

And then came Cordelia Abbot, a brilliant charms mistress by all accounts, and a very tricky witch by most. She took on the issue of the blood curses because the rumors at the time had been that Janus Grimm, the Heir to the Grimm family at the time had chosen her to be his wife and she could not say no because of the threat of her gamily being cursed. She created the bloodletting ritual which allowed one to divorce any connection between the blood within their body and any external collections. It would basically render any blood that had been taken from the wizard as useless.

Why was I taking so long to do the ritual? Well, for one, the ritual Voldemort needed to bring himself back had to take place under a full moon or equally rare celestial event, and that was still a week away so I had no need to rush. For second, the ritual hurt like a motherfucker. In case you’re wondering, the pain is the reason I’ve begun explaining things to myself like I had an audience. I just had to make sure my lips kept moving in the long latin chant that was required.

Tom Riddle had learned of the ritual after Anastasia Carrow had cut him in potions and threatened to make him pay for showing her up in defence with a blood curse. I learned the full gist of it when I asked the room to provide me with all the information it had on the ritual. One part of the story Tom Riddle hadn’t known was that Cordelia Abbott had been a fifth year Slytherin when she designed the ritual, and Janus Grimm had been well into his sixth decade when he’d set his sights on her. Needless to say, no one had shed many tears when the Grimm family had been slaughtered to the man a few decades later when they set off the ever mercurial House Black.

As I said the last sentence of the long incantation, I felt my injury begin to scab over, the sign of a successful ritual and breathed a sigh of relief at not having to go through that twice.

“That looked intense” Sirius said with a whistle, making me jump in my skin as I’d forgotten he was even there.

“Found a wand, yet?” I asked, wiping off some sweat from my brow and the few tears that had built in my eyes.

“Yup. Elm and something nasty inside. Can’t tell what it is, but this one feels like it wants to rip, tear, kill, and all that fun stuff” He said, before reaching out and grabbing my wrist. He stared at the scabbed cut on my palm before waving his wand over it. Nothing happened, and I watched his face set in a harsh frown. He jabbed his wand this time, and only the fact that I did not have my own in hand prevented him from losing his as I felt my hand erupt in pain.

It was short-lived, however, as the scabbed wound quickly knit itself shut.