Category: Ritually Yours Verse

Ron carefully put his brand new robes in his trunk. It was the first time he had ever had robes of his own. He also had a brand new wand, one that had chosen him. His trunk was still the same old one that had once belonged to his Uncle Billius, but it was sturdy, and with a fresh coat of varnish applied just a couple weeks ago looked like it was freshly refurbished, not to mention studier than any available in Diagon Alley, being made by hand by a master craftsman decades before.

The trunk was unique in the fact that it had a special wand compartment in the front, that Ron carefully placed his fourteen and a thirteenth inch willow wand with a unicorn hair core in. He’d be able to remove it when he got on the express, but putting the wand that was bonded to him in overnight meant that only that wand and him would be able to unlock it. Bill had set it up, before he’d returned to Egypt. With the twins, this was a big benefit. He wasn’t exactly worried about his dorm mates

Ron stood up, and looked out his window. What was known now as Percy’s cottage, on the other side of the garden was visible from his window, and for the first time since it had been placed, the shed turned cottage was empty. Percy, Penny, and their twins had left for Penny’s parents, who happened to live four stops away on the Piccadilly Line from King’s Cross. Ron had no idea what the Piccadilly Line was save that he’d seen it on some sort of a map that Mister Clearwater had. He decided that he’d keep both the window and his door open overnight. It would create a rather nice breeze up the stairs and out his window, as long as the kitchen windows were also left open.

His trunk packed, and remembering the issues getting it down the pervious year, Ron picked it up and began to carry it down the stars, the back end gently bouncing on the stairs. One floor from the ground, he was blocked from going down further, as it seemed that he wasn’t the only one to have the idea.

“Don’t run into my trunk,” Ginny ordered, from a few steps below it. “I don’t want anyone to mess with it.”

“I heard last night,” Ron said. “Tell me, did you get Bill or Percy to put the charms on yours?” Last night Fred and George had run with bats coming out of their noses from Ginny’s room while Ginny had been in the kitchen cooking with their mother.

“Both,” Ginny smiled. “Bill did it when I got it, and I had Percy add his twist just before he left.”

“Percy, twisted?” Ron said, as Ginny reached the last step.

“Yes, they’ll forget what they were trying to get from my trunk and have an urge to study their worst subject,” Ginny said. “I almost wish they were able to try to get to the girl’s dorms to mess with my new clothes at Hogwarts.”

Then as Ron stepped onto the ground floor as well, Ginny turned to face Ron. “Ron, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’ve done, and I want to thank you. I know you said that it was my hard work on the letters to Harry that made the book, that if I wasn’t true to myself, and wrote that way, it wouldn’t have gone anywhere. But Ron …”

There was a catch in his sister’s voice, emotion that he’d never quite heard from his sassy smaller sibling. “I wouldn’t have even gotten the first letter back if you hadn’t asked Harry first. I would have started this year as a Harry Potter fan girl, probably a bit angry at Hermione for having Harry’s baby. I’d probably be wearing your old robes, and being teased for wearing a boy’s shirt instead of a girl’s blouse, not even knowing the difference until it was pointed out. I’d be the shy little girl who was probably putting her elbow in the butter dish, instead of being me.”

“You know, I never really thought about getting new clothes, a new wand, because of Harry,” Ron said. “It kind of just came about. Harry just wanted his story to be told, and for him to have something he did that would allow him to help take care of Hermione and Jimmy one day. I didn’t think about your part at all. I certainly didn’t think I’d get any part of it. Not that I’m against having new robes and a new wand this year.”

“Yes,” Ginny said, before hugging her youngest older brother. “Don’t say you don’t deserve it, Ron.”

Ron placed his arms around his sister. “Only because you said so.”

Hermione Granger was letting Harry go into the cottage first, alone. She hadn’t told him to do it. She’d just followed with Jimmy asleep in her arms, letting him build a long lead. She’d loitered in the front garden, giving Harry time to take in the ground floor before she entered the cottage. When she finally opened the door, a task that was not made easier by Jimmy suddenly waking up, she entered.

The young mother found the open parlor that entry opened up to be quite cozy. She approached the fire place, between the two love seats, one of which had obviously been favored based on the indentations on the cushions. The fire suddenly came to life. There was a blanket between the two love seats with a bunch of toys on it, including a white snitch, which rose as Hermione approached it, saying over the blanket but moving slowly over it. It never went higher than eighteen inches.

Hermione gently lowered Jimmy to the blanket. The baby cooed, as the blanket supported him as if it was a mattress instead. The snitch passed in front of the barely two-month-old’s face and Hermione watched as her son’s eyes followed Baby’s First Snitch.

As it looked like Jimmy was amused and didn’t need anything, Hermione took the time to look through the bookcases flanking the fireplace. There were the usual copies of Hogwart’s books. She was sure that Harry would have chosen these copies if they’d all been all on the list. That wasn’t all that were there, of course. It seemed that one of them had been into Ancient Runes, a class that Hermione was looking forward to. There were a lot of those books including the five volume set of Tota et signa Runie by Ingenii Inventis. It was not a cheap set.

What really caught Hermione’s attention was Donec Sacrorumque Ritibus Miscuerent, a book that looked like it has a lot of use, judging from the large number of bookmarks in it. She pulled it out and opened it to the first of those bookmarks. It was in Latin, of course, but Hermione knew Latin, and even if this was a bit archaic in form, she could still puzzle it out. She found a seat on the other love seat, kicked off her shoes, and began to read about ways to protect her baby.

It was a quite interesting book, and she was still reading it when Harry returned from upstairs. Hermione didn’t realize that he’d returned to the ground floor until she felt him sliding up against her. “Something interesting, Hermione?” he asked.

“Yes, if Jimmy was in as much danger as you were, I’d probably be casting a few of these spells,” Hermione said. “I still might do a couple. You think I can take this book with me?”

“It’s my house, and I say you can,” Harry said. “Pick up Jimmy and come with me. There is something that’s puzzling me about the ground floor bedroom.”

Hermione picked up her son, who seemed to be a bit upset to be taken off the blanket. “I think we need to take that blanket and snitch, too. Jimmy seems to like it.” She noticed a brief grin from Harry, before it returned to the expression that she’d categorized as his thinking expression. They walked through the dinning area, allowing Hermione to get a brief glance of the kitchen before turning into the ground floor guest suite.

There was a short passage that opened up into a bedroom with a trio of windows that opened out on the garden. The walls seemed to be covered with what Hermione identified as undergarment advertisements. There was one for a Maidenform Bra, plus several that seemed to have come out from a Kay’s catalog, judging from the label and page number in the lower corners. One in particular advertised that the bra and brief set was also available in white, telling the world that it costs so little to look lovable.

“Well that’s interesting decoration,” Hermione said, eying a particular black and white picture where the woman’s panties were visible under her mini-skirt that was also an add for the change to decimal money.

“Bet it was considered risque by my father and his friends,” Harry said. Hermione met his gaze. “Anyway, that’s not what I brought you here for. I’m pretty sure that this room was regularly occupied, in fact I’d say it was slept in almost nightly.”

Hermione looked around the room, ignoring the pictures. The bed was not made. There was a set of Daily Prophets, obviously read, that she could see the dates on the top three as from October thirtieth, twenty-ninth, and twenty-eighth. It was a high enough stack that it had to contain a couple month’s worth. A leather jacket was slung over one chair, and there were some books opened on the desk below the window. “Yes, I can agree with that,” Hermione said.

“Well, I’ve identified who, and if what you said about the charm that my parents were hiding under was true, then something went very wrong,” Harry said, picking up a hit-wizard badge and handing it to Hermione.

She hadn’t know that Harry had listened to the full spiel that she’d gone after he’d asked if she could determine which of the four stories about what happened that night were correct. The answer had been that none of them could be completely correct due to internal inconsistencies. One thing it had covered, though, was that whoever held the secret could not live under it.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he entered the house where his parents had died. Approaching from the front you couldn’t tell of what happened, if you ignored the magicals only historical marker. At least it appeared that it had been well maintained since his parents had died. The garden was not overgrown, in fact if anything it was immaculately maintained, with each paver on the walk carefully edged, so not a single blade lay on the slate path. It wasn’t the result of a hasty clean up either. Harry could tell the difference.

The door had opened softly, without a single sound. The first room was a large one with several chairs and a pair of love seats facing each other in front of a fire place. He could smell the smell of the fire it had once held. There was a set of stairs, four steps up before turning perpendicular against the wall. His eyes were not there, though he did intend to go upstairs. His eyes were on a simple brown cloak laying on the ground next to the stairs with a wand placed on top of it.

He’d been told of the tradition, that a fallen hero’s cloak and wand would be left in place for the family by an auror who had come by after Harry had sent word to Professor McGonagall that he wanted to see the cottage. Harry reached down and picked up the wand. He could hear Ollivander’s description, mahogany, eleven inches, pliable. It was so much more. As he took it in his hand, he felt warmth and protections fill him, and a moment of a memory of watching ethereal snitches trail from it as an indistinct man swished and flicked it in front of him overtook him. He placed the wand in the breast pocket of the white dress shirt that he’d worn to Godric’s Hallow, and bent over again.

This time Harry picked up the cloak, and smelled the scent of hard work, dirt, and some of the flowers he’d seen in the garden. He ran his hand across where his father’s name had been embroidered in black on the left breast. He couldn’t leave it on the ground, but it needed to remain. He looked at the hat stand that was a bit further in. He moved it and gently draped his father’s cloak over it. He briefly cast his gaze around the front parlor again, before heading upstairs.

At the top of the landing were two doors. The one on the right was smaller, and had a sign marked with a golden snitch and the name Harry in an imitation childish font. The one on the left was plain. He figured that it was his parent’s room. He knew that his mother had died in his room, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to see that room yet, so he went into his parent’s room.

He knew from Hermione that parent’s rooms were sanctuaries where parents could retreat to do things that it was best not to think of. Hermione had told him that she’d rarely gone into her parent’s rooms, save for special times like waking her parents up for birthdays and Christmas. It was considered a treat to be invited to snuggle up between her parents on the bed. Not remembering his own parents, he imagined that the same would be with his parents.

The bed was turned down on one side, and there was a wine glass fallen to the floor, leaving a stain where the liquid had splashed out. Opposite the bed there was a window nook, with an old rocking chair sitting in it. A slightly stained with mother’s milk cloth laid on the left arm of the chair. Harry found himself moving to sit in it, his fingers idly stroking the scroll work on the underside. Above the bed was a painting the black lake of Hogwarts in the autumn, the Forbidden Forrest edging against one side, and track used by the Hogwarts Express stretching across the far shore. As he watched, the Express chugged through.

The moment’s silence enabled him to collect himself and head towards the room that had once been his. He opened the room, not sure what to expect. Sun streaked through the window to the West that had once been broken and restored. There was also an east facing window, but his attention was first drawn to the crib, with its mobile of still flickering snitches. Harry imagined that Jimmy would enjoy those. There was also another rocker, a changing table with a diaper left in position to be put on. It was bigger than the ones that Jimmy used, but Harry had been older. There was a wardrobe and bookcase as well.

On the bookcase was candle, much like the one that Harry had lit for Jimmy at his Baptism. It lit as Harry approached, and Harry recognized it as his own magic. His luminous was known to be a lot warmer white than most of his class. He reached out with his hand towards it, and the candlelight brightened. He smiled.

Then he looked down to discover another cloak, just like his father’s on the floor. It was the same brown auror robe style that his father had, save that above the left breast pocket he could see “Lily Evans Potter” embroidered in black, not quite as centered as his father’s had been. He reached down to pick up the robes, just like he had picked up his father’s. This time, though he found himself unable to stand back up, as tears filled his eyes. Holding his mother’s robes against his body, Harry let himself cry.

Dean had decided that his West wall would be something that would be totally unexpected. He’d been doing all the expected wizarding world paintings, including the front and back of Harry and Ginny’s book. That last was earning him three knuts a copy, after his 25 galleon advance was reached. He’d been informed to expect a check in early September, as they’d passed that on the first day.

So he’d carefully created a full football pitch, and started to populate the field. There was nobody but Ron Weasley to put in Gryffindor goal. He preferred a 3-5-2 formation, which put him and Hermione as the Center Forwards. He made the ball rocketing from Hermonie’s foot towards the goal. He was the other Forward. His Offensive Midfielder was Lavender, her hand raised as she was likely to do when Gryffindor scored. The closest Wing Back was Seamus, just because he could paint Seamus better than Parvati who had the other slot. In Defensive Midfielder was Neville with Ginny Weasley, her cheeks redden. Back as his Center Backs, were the trio of Sally-Anne, Harry, and Katie Bell. The later was aged down a bit.

It had taken a while to decide who to add to the Gryffindor Nine, as his class was called. Ginny was obvious, but Katie had helped him with his Tranfiguration Homework once, so that had broken the tie of the Gryffindor Chasers.

The Slytherins in opposition, well he only had to detail a few. Goyle in goal, his expression of surprise, remembered from when Lavender had managed to do a hat trick in a 5 on 5 game, perfectly portrayed, as if he knew there was no way to stop what he was sure was soon going to be known as Rocket Granger’s foot. If he could convince Hermione to play, it would be his secret weapon. Both Draco and Parkinson filled two close in Slytherins, and Crabb was a fourth that you could identify. The rest were left lacking in detail, ready to be filled in when he came home from the Autumn term.

He’d been greatly surprised when his Hogwarts letter had included a badge, proclaiming him “Gryffindor Youth Captain.” It had a football at the base of the shield below the classic Copperplate Gothic font title. A supplemental letter had informed him of the rules, schedule, and who the other two Football Captains, as well as the fact that Oliver Wood were be continuing as Quidditch Captain. The games would be on the Quidditch pitch, and Madam Hooch had apparently arranged several fields for practice. Plus there was the challenge 5 on 5 pitch that Hagrid was to run.

Hagrid was a good ad-hoc referee, if you couldn’t get Hillard or Haywood. Dean had refereed a couple matches, too. It had taken both him and Hillard to do the First Year Slyterin vs Second Year Slytherin match. And when Victoria Malfoy had decided that her dorm mates needed to challenge the Gryffindor Chasers with Fred and George on the ground, he’d ended up somehow commentating on that one, in lieu of Lee.

Dean took another look in the mirror above his dresser, before mixing just a little darker paint for the last highlights of his hair. Taking just a few light strokes with a fan brush, carefully highlighting were his hair was slicked to his forehead, he judged that he was at a good stopping point for the Summer. After all, tomorrow he would be getting on the Hogwarts Express again, and he hadn’t finished packing.

“Rest assured that I, Gildroy Lockhart, am quite prepared to fill the young witches and wizards of Hogwarts with all they need to learn to defend against the dark arts!” the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor proclaimed.

“But you seem to be unable to provide your syllabus,” Minerva said dryly.

Albus Dumbledore almost wished William Weasley hadn’t found the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship. He could tell that he now had a toxic mix between Gildroy, Minerva, and Severus. He felt it quite lucky that Severus had managed to find a reason to skip the previous meeting. It was apparently Victoria Malfoy’s birthday and he had godfather duties.

Gildroy seemed to be waving off the requirement, again. He’d hired Gildroy as the only applicant, and if there had been any other, he would have gone for them. In fact he’d actually considered asking Serevus to move over at one point. It was a lot easier to find Potion Masters than Defense Masters. How Gildroy had obtained his masterhood in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Albus didn’t know. In fact he was already strongly considering investigating that.

“Gildroy, I expect that syllubus in Minerva’s hands by half past five, or I shall reconsider your employment. Now, Minerva, I understand that both you and Serevus have student assistants this year for your early classes. How are Percival and Penelope settling in?”

“Quite well, Albus,” Minerva said. “I’ve gone over my plans with Penny. She appears to be ready. And Serevus, how did your talk with Percy go?”

“Percival appears to be ready,” Serevus said. “He’ll be handling the double periods for both First and Second Year, as well as an open tutoring session on Saturdays. Scores this past year those taking NEWTs were up quite a bit, so there will be two classes worth of sixth years. We will be splitting both second and third years in three groups this year, split by ablity, and you may expect that first years may have some schedule changes as well, but as there are only thirty-two of them, we will only have two sections of them.”

“Tranfiguration will also be trying smaller class sizes this year,” Minerva said. “Penny will be handling most of the classes for the lower years, first through third, with an occasional fourth year class, depending on both of our availablities. Penny, after all, is a new mother. Pomona, Filius, we expect to be able to expand this program next year to your classes, given the large class incoming then will require us to hire more professors. I would like all of you to look for candidates not just for your classes but others.

“Especially look at those who successfully tutor students, and do not be afraid to have a few of your upper year students present a topic or two to their classmates. On that note, Albus?”

Albus nodded to Minerva before beginning. “Chess Grandmasters Arthur Weasley and Erlene Malfoy have asked to sponsor chess tournaments at Hogwarts this year. I understand that sign ups will be handled by Missus Malfoy’s daughter, Victoria in Slytherin House, and Mister Weasley’s son and daughter-in-law, Percival in Gryffindor and Penelope in Ravenclaw. Pomona, they would like someone to coordinate in Hufflepuff.”

Ponoma thought for a moment. “Cedric Diggory, tentatively, Albus. I will have to ask, first.”

“Understandable,” Albus continued. “The petition of last years first year Gryffindors and Slytherins to add house teams and games for football was accepted by the Board. Due to the physical nature of the games, there shall be three teams per house, first and second years, third and fourth years, and fifth year and up. Games will be scheduled to occur on Sundays in October and November, then again for a spring season April and May. As each game is ninety minutes, not counting half time and injury time, multiple games will occur on the same day. I am told we can safely schedule a game every two hours, so we should be able to do the three traditional fixture weekends for Quidditch as well as have an Autumn and Spring championship weekend.”

“I’ve set up the schedules, and with Hagrid’s help I’ve marked off some practice fields,” Hooch said. “Schedule for use will be set in my office, same as with Quiditch, save Hagrid’s challenge field, where Hagrid will be taking care of the five on five challenges, like he did last May. Which reminds me, Severus, I owe you six sickles on that Slytherin First Year Girls vs Second Year Boys game.” Hooch slid six of the silver coins across the table to the Potions Master. A family emergency in Appalachia had taken Hooch away from Hogwarts for most of the last month of the previous school year.

“Do not go against Pansy Parkinson’s left foot,” Severus said. “If I can get her, Zabini and Draco Malfoy on the Slytherin young years team, I only fear Gryffindor.”

“I may need additional volunteers to referee some five on five challenges,” Hooch said. “I know Mister Thomas in Gryffindor is quite capable, and as is Finch-Fletchley in Hufflepuff, but they will be second years, and are quite often the challengers, but they are too young to be certified as a referee. We do actually have two qualified Youth Referees at this year, Beatrice Haywood of Hufflepuff, and the newly certified Kenneth Towler of Gryffindor. Robert Hillard is a fellow Level 7 Referee in Ravenclaw While I have become quite familiar with the rules, and even took the appropriate courses in England and required games officiating to be classed as a Level 7 Referee, it takes three refs to cover a game, unlike Quidditch. For the official team match days, my assistants will be from Hillard, Towler, and Haywood. However due to complications, I will have to seek out a fifth referee.”

“I shall volunteer myself for the job,” Lockhart interjected.

The Magnitude of the Issue

Lavender and her uncle had arrived at Godric’s Hallow right behind the Grangers. They’d actually driven the same taxi as they had in Albania, with a quick paint job, having shrunken it right before they departed from the beach. It was a lot less flashy then many of the cars in Q’s motor pool for double oh agents. Lavender had been able to see it for the first time upon their return to Britain.

This was the last portion of the Summer’s mission, added on after the Vatican had provided the additional information. The Vatican hated horcruxes and had insisted beginning to track down them immediately. Unfortunately the information that they were able to obtain was not enough to get the locus of more than the one that resided in the scar of Lavender’s friend. Fortunately, with the right spell, more information could be given during the exorcism of that part. It would be just a snapshot though, and not the most accurate one.

Lavender had to watch closely the exorcism that drove the horcrux from Harry’s forehead. She couldn’t pay attention to what was said, instead she had to be ready to cast her spell as close as possible to when the horcrux separated from Harry. Fortunately the spell would have no influence on the exorcism.

Lavender locked her eyes on the scar, and suddenly it burst open as if it was a pimple that had been popped. Instead of puss, however, there was thick stream of black smoke streaming from it. The smoke dipped and tried to enter Harry’s mouth, but he kept it closed.

The smoke now shot up, and hit something a good three feet above him. The smoke said, “You have no power over Lord Voldemort! You are pitiful muggles who have no understanding of magic.”

Lavender cast the spell, “Quid est pars animae!” A circle of light appeared above the crystal with Voldemort’s wraith trapped in it, first glowing white, then deepening to red, the same shade of red as the gem that the wraith was compressed to. The circle started to become a polygon, settling on a heptagon. The top pointed towards Harry, and the others pointed in other directions.

Lavender held the spell tight, as her uncle sketched the directions of the points on piece of poster board below the circle. She couldn’t hold the spell long though. It was long enough. The spell dropped and the circle disappeared as the last whisp of the fragment of Voldemort disappeared in white wisps of smoke.

As the spell ended, Lavender found herself releasing her breath explosively. “Did you get the points, Uncle Charlie?” she asked.

“Yes,” her uncle replied. “The cone of error is not bad for the angle, though it gets worse at larger distances. The closest seems to be 81 miles to the south south west. Then there is 165 miles to the east south east … almost a direct bearing to the Tower of London.”

“Closer to Diagon Alley,” Lavender said. “But I think we should do our discussion later, uncle. This isn’t exactly a secure place.”

“Right,” Charlie said. “I believe we’ve got an episcopal ordination to attend as soon as this exorcism is over. I may have put up wards to prevent the Fat Friar from leaving early.”

Seamus: Incardinatization Again

Altar servers did not have to get permission to work in multiple dioceses unlike priests. As a boarding school student, he’d expected to work in multiple ones, having first been trained to work as one in his home parish of Saint Columcille’s in the Archdiocese of Armagh, and then having gone to Hogwarts which was in the Diocese of Aberdeen. Somewhat amusingly the Hufflepuff ghost had twice been an administrator of the Prefecture Apostolic of Scotland, as a ghost didn’t fear prosecution for conducting a papist Mass. He’d served at the altar of the Friary Parish in Crawley in the Diocese of Brentwood as well.

His latest diocese, metropolitan at that, he’d never expected to visit, much less end up arriving with his own Archbishop, Cahal Cardinal Daly, to it was Cardiff. He’d met Archbishop Ward, or as he’d been told to address him, Father John, shortly after their landing. It was a rarefied group that took the Vauxhall Astra Estate, only made rarer when another Cardinal with brilliant white hair joined them outside town. Somehow Seamus had ended up in the back seat with the Prefect of the Congregation for Doctrine of the Faith or as it used to be known, the Office of the Holy Inquisition. And it was an inquisition.

So far he’d been quizzed on the ten commandments, the seven sacraments, and now the five precepts. Somehow he’d stumbled through them. “Cahal, give my compliments to this boy’s pastor,” the Prefect said. “He is a fine example of a good Catholic.”

“I shall, Joseph,” his Archbishop replied. “Do we expect any other priests to join us at Saint Clementine’s?”

“Father Edward of the Friary Parish in the Diocese of Brentwood, who is bringing Mister Potter,” the Prefect said. “I’m not sure if Bishop McMahon will be with him. Father Clement of Saint Edward the Confessor’s Chapel at Hogwarts in the Diocese of Aberdeen will be there. I shall be greatly amused when he discovers that he’s finally in a church with three Bishops. I have a papal message for him. John, please try to stay on the road. We’re not running late.”

“Sorry, I almost missed that last turn,” the Archbishop of Newport said. “Welcome to Godric’s Hollow, brothers.”

Just a minute later the Astra came to stop in front of a parish church that looked a lot like Saint Columcille’s except for being a bit taller and being in the center of town. There was another car pulled up as well, with what looked like Hermione from the behind bent over into the car. Seamus recognized Father Edward from Crawley greeting another priest, probably the new pastor of the church. Harry stood over by what at first appeared to be a war memorial, but as Seamus stepped out of the car, changed into a statue of baby Harry being held by his mother in his father’s embrace.

He decided that greeting his classmate could wait. Instead he addressed the white haired Cardinal, “Your Eminence, how can I assist?”

The Prefect replied, “put on your alb, making sure nothing shows out from under it. Take off your shoes as soon as you get into the church. You’ll need to make as little as possible noise during the exorcism. Now, would that be Potter looking at the war memorial?”

“Yes, Eminence,” Seamus replied, as he reached in for the bag that contained his robes. They were long enough to cover his jeans, but he wasn’t quite sure if the collar was smaller than that of his t-shirt.

“Mister Potter, please come over here so I may explain the instances of the Exorcism of your scar,” the Prefect said. Harry turned around and took a few steps closer to the rear of the Astra. “I understand you were baptized in this parish, but have not taken further sacraments?”

“No sir,” Harry said. “I talked with Father Edward about it before my son’s baptism, and we agreed that there isn’t enough time in the summer, so I’m going to talk to the Hufflepuff ghost, I don’t know his name, about it.”

“Father Clement, also known as the Fat Friar, I believe,” the Prefect said. “After your exorcism, you may wish to attend his Consecration Mass, assuming he doesn’t escape again.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Seamus said, noticing that the Fat Friar had just arrived.

“For this exorcism, Mister Potter, you will be first be washed in Holy Water, before being dressed in a white robe and placed before the altar, at which time we will begin the actual exorcism,” the Prefect said. “You may during the process experience greater possession by the partial spirit currently inside your scar. Fortunately with the protections that your mother has imbued in your body by her sacrifice, with the additional protections and process that you will be undergoing, such possessions should be relatively short and overcome with the exercise of your own will.

“Acolyte Seamus, please escort Mister Potter to the Baptismal Font and assist Father Edward in preparing him”