Chapter 267: Forbidden Ritual
Phineas took a quick glance and saw that Harry had a small cut on his right forearm. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to draw blood.
His expression turned grim.
Seeing Phineas's face darken, Sirius sensed the seriousness of the matter and quickly asked,
"Phineas, what is it? Is something wrong?"
Phineas didn't answer aloud. Instead, he scribbled something onto a piece of parchment and handed it to Popsicle, his owl, to deliver to Dumbledore.
While Sirius and Harry looked at each other in confusion, Dumbledore suddenly appeared in a flash of flame.
"Phineas, is it true?" he asked at once, his tone urgent—tinged with something close to regret.
Phineas nodded solemnly, pointing to the cut on Harry's arm.
"It appears so. Harry was injured, and someone likely collected his blood."
Dumbledore's face went pale.
Sirius stood up, alarmed. "Are you sure someone took Harry's blood?"
Harry looked at the others in bafflement. With all of them wearing increasingly grim expressions, he finally raised his hand weakly.
"Um… can someone explain what's going on?"
Phineas sighed and gestured for them all to sit.
"Take a seat and calm down. What's done is done. Panicking won't change anything."
Once they were seated, Phineas addressed Harry.
"You'll learn more about this in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but considering the circumstances, I'll explain now."
He pointed at the nearby bookshelf, and a thick volume floated into Harry's hands.
"This book covers common dark spells and curses. You'll want to read it—it's important."
Then, Phineas got to the heart of the matter.
"Sirius is right to be worried. Curses are often linked to a medium—something personal belonging to the target. Take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, for instance. It's been cursed so that no one can hold it for more than a year. The position itself is the medium."
He leaned forward.
"But blood… blood is a powerful medium. Blood-based curses are dangerous—often deadly—and nearly impossible to reverse unless the exact spell is known. That's Sirius's concern. However, this is not what I am worried about."
Sirius looked increasingly anxious.
"Then what's bothering you more than that, Phineas? What could be worse than Harry being cursed?"
Phineas's demeanor changed. His usual calm gave way to something heavy and grim.
"What concerns me is far more dangerous. I came across an alchemical ritual once. Forbidden magic—truly forbidden."
"Forbidden?" Harry echoed, confused.
Dumbledore's expression tightened. Clearly, he recognized what Phineas was referring to.
Phineas nodded.
"Yes, Professor. The ritual you're thinking of. It goes like this: Bone of the father, unknowingly given... you will renew your son."
His voice shifted, taking on a cold, ceremonial tone.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given... you will revive your master.
Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken... you will resurrect your foe!"
As the final word "resurrect" left Phineas's mouth, the sky outside darkened, and lightning split the heavens, thunder shaking the walls.
Rain poured over London, shrouding the smoke-heavy city in fog.
Inside, with only the fireplace for light, the room fell into a murky gloom. The flickering fire cast long shadows across their pale faces.
Dumbledore exhaled. "So… you suspect…"
Phineas nodded.
"There's only one person who would call Harry an enemy: the dark lord. And Professor, I'd prefer we don't say his name aloud in here—I'd rather not have to reinforce this flat with protective wards."
Dumbledore nodded, understanding. While he usually referred to the Dark Lord as "Voldemort" or "Tom," he respected the need for caution. Phineas wasn't afraid—just practical.
Sirius still looked lost.
"But didn't we already conclude he had returned? Why would he still need Harry's blood?"
Phineas sighed.
"That's the troubling part. I misjudged his condition. I thought if he could restore Peter Pettigrew, he could restore himself. We assumed he had already returned. But now I suspect he's still somewhere between life and death."
Dumbledore agreed.
"There is an alchemical method for such a state. It involves snake venom and unicorn blood—combined with common herbs—to create a temporary vessel. I suspect he used it."
Phineas slumped on the sofa, exhausted.
"We always planned to bring him back on our terms—when we were ready to destroy him completely. But this… this is too soon. Sirius, most of your generation can't fight anymore. The new generation isn't ready. We had hoped for this to happen when I was in sixth year, maybe later. That way, we could prepare, graduate, and join the battle properly."
Dumbledore nodded again.
"Yes, the timing is a disaster. We're unprepared. If we'd known he hadn't fully returned yet, we could've tried to delay him further—stalk him, slow him down, and buy ourselves time."
Phineas looked defeated.
"Forget it. What's done is done. We'll follow the plan as best we can. But I do regret one thing…"
He and Dumbledore both turned to look at Harry—and sighed in unison.
They were both thinking the same thing. Lily Potter's protective charm, powered by her sacrifice, was in Harry's blood. That blood had kept him safe—especially at Privet Drive.
But now… Voldemort had used Harry's blood to return.
The magic still existed, but weakened. It would no longer protect Harry so thoroughly. Especially not in the way it had at Privet Drive.
"So… should we still send Harry back to his aunt's?" Sirius asked, finally understanding the implications.
"If the blood magic's broken, there's no reason for him to stay there a week every summer, right?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"No, he will still return. They are still his blood relatives."
He gave a slight wink as he said it.
Phineas felt queasy. An old man over a century old winking at a boy? Creepy. Then again, he remembered Dumbledore's complicated past—and his youthful romance with the strikingly handsome Gellert Grindelwald. So maybe the wink had nothing to do with Harry himself.
Still, Phineas knew the truth. Dumbledore didn't just want to protect Harry physically. He wanted Harry to grow up surrounded by family—however neglectful they were—to ensure he didn't grow up like Tom Riddle. Without love, with power, and with no one to guide him.
But in Phineas's view, Harry was a Gryffindor through and through. He'd never walk Voldemort's path. Voldemort had become what he was partly because Dumbledore never believed in him—and because Slytherin's obsession with bloodlines poisoned his mind with delusions of grandeur.
It was even said Voldemort once wanted to teach at Hogwarts. If Dumbledore had let him, maybe things would be different.
Wait... Dumbledore and Grindelwald had once shared similar dreams, dreams that blurred the line between ambition and danger. If not for the tragedy with his sister Ariana, perhaps Dumbledore might have followed Grindelwald down a darker path. In some ways, even the rise of Voldemort could be traced to those early choices, the mistakes Dumbledore made when he was still young and hungry for greatness.
Because of that, Dumbledore would always carry a shadow of guilt—a burden he never fully escaped.
Phineas shook his head and snapped his fingers. Several house-elves appeared and lit candles throughout the room, finally brightening the space.
He turned to Harry.
"Let's not dwell on the past. Sirius told you my idea, right? Things are unstable in the wizarding world. Your usual plans might need to change. No wandering about. No traveling. So—want to come with me to visit Nicolas?"
Harry's eyes widened.
"Nicolas? You mean Nicolas Flamel?"
Phineas grinned.
"Exactly. Professor Dumbledore and I are going to see him. The Philosopher's Stone is gone, and Nicolas doesn't have long left. We thought we'd keep him company."
Harry lit up.
"I… I can come? Really? Nicolas Flamel—the one who made the Philosopher's Stone?"
Phineas chuckled. Harry probably wasn't excited about immortality or ancient alchemy—but about turning stones into gold. Understandable. He was only twelve.
Dumbledore confirmed it.
"Of course, Harry. I think Nicolas would enjoy meeting you. Older people do enjoy young company."
Phineas added,
"Especially the Flamels, who never had children."
He paused, glancing at Dumbledore.
"By the way, Professor, didn't Nicolas have any children? If so, wouldn't they have taken the Elixir of Life too? One Philosopher's Stone wouldn't be enough to support a whole family."
Dumbledore shook his head sadly.
"They never had children. Perenelle had some health issues. Nicolas healed her eventually, but by then, they were well over a hundred. They chose not to become parents. And truthfully, given their immortality, having a child would've been… dangerous for the world."
Phineas frowned.
"So, what about the current Flamel family in France?"
Dumbledore gave a bitter smile.
"Descendants of Nicolas's younger brother. He helped them out in the early days, so they're considered his line, though he never formally acknowledged them."
Phineas clicked his tongue but didn't press. He looked at Harry, waiting for his answer.
"Well? Want to spend the holiday with us and Nicolas? It might be quiet—but I promise you won't be bored."