I quickly dressed in something at least slightly more formal, placed the book on magical wards on the table, and lazily scratched the sleeping Styrax on the bed. As always, the cat merely vibrated with a soft purr and completely ignored my lightning-fast departure from the room.
Using the Floo Network, I traveled in a flash to the Leaky Cauldron, and from there I took a Muggle taxi toward Grimmauld Place. Naturally, right in the middle of the ride, I felt the familiar twitch of magic in my mind that was feeding the Imperio. I felt Jonathan's internal resistance rise slightly, but I immediately and mercilessly crushed it in its tracks.
He's probably selling some property under market value right now, I thought with an amused smirk.
About a week ago, I had completely placed him under the Imperius Curse, giving him a strict, uncompromising order: keep the drug business running, set aside all clean profits for me, and sell off all unnecessary assets except for the bare essentials needed to run his business. I needed cash, and he was perfect for that purpose. Every day, he tried to resist me now and then. I assumed this happened whenever he contacted a real estate agency to sell off property, since selling real estate takes significantly longer than flogging some ordinary trinket. I was sure he already had some bags full of cash prepared for me, but due to my packed training schedule, I hadn't had the time to stop by for them. At the same time... Vespera had no idea I had gone off on my own to take over the Muggle drug trade. If only out of pure fear of her potential reaction, I had been putting it off for now.
Lost in thought, I found myself in front of the Black family house, though I didn't quite know how. I walked inside with absolute confidence, as if I were at home there. The Black family magic welcomed me once again like a loyal puppy—it was almost a shame I couldn't actually scratch it behind the ears.
"Kreacher!" I called out as soon as the heavy front door closed behind me.
With a quiet crack and a deep bow, the house-elf appeared before me. "Good day, young master."
"Please inform Sirius that I am here," I requested matter-of-factly.
"Pffft," came a mocking scoff from Walburga Black's massive portrait in the hallway, while Kreacher, with another low bow, vanished in a flash.
"Good day," I turned to her with a calm, polite smile. "How are you?"
"Good day," she returned stiffly. Judging by her sudden scowl, she was about to snap back with something incredibly snarky, but at that exact second, Kreacher reappeared.
"Follow me, please. Lord Black awaits you," the old elf gestured respectfully, slowly leading me up the dark staircase.
With one last polite wave to Walburga, I stepped after him. Kreacher shuffled up the stairs so incredibly slowly that he looked more like a walking corpse—a total, complete Inferius.
They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but that clearly didn't apply to Kreacher. As we walked through the house, an unexpected cleanliness reigned everywhere, and there wasn't a trace of dust. Furthermore, there was no sign left of his former cursing and muttering, and he now addressed Sirius exclusively by the respectful title of Lord Black.
Right on the first floor, the elf respectfully opened a door and motioned for me to enter. "Lord Black will be with you shortly."
With a brief nod, I walked in. A completely classic, almost empty rectangular room awaited me. I could immediately feel protective magic pulsing from the walls, though nothing was carved or painted on them. Near the other end, directly opposite me, stood a training dummy. It looked... well, ancient, frankly. Simple carved wood with minimal detail, but covered entirely in austere runic symbols.
To my left sat a small round table with nothing but a sheathed dagger lying on it, surrounded by three plain armchairs. I sat down directly in one of them, facing the door, and waited for Sirius.
After a few seconds, though, boredom got the better of me. I grabbed the dagger from the table—only after making sure it wasn't magical, of course—pulled it from its sheath, and examined it. Even at first glance, it was unusual. Its steel was a matte black, and the blade was extremely narrow, shaped more like a large needle, but the edges were noticeably razor-sharp. I deliberately tested its tip on the pad of my finger, and thanks to the ritual, the tiny cut closed almost immediately. Perhaps I was beginning to develop a slight self-harm fetish, but it was immensely satisfying to watch, on my own bloody skin, just how fast a wound could heal.
Everything pointed to this dagger being used for blood-related rituals. I was genuinely curious if Sirius and I would use it today, but given that it was lying here waiting, it was more than likely.
About two minutes later, Sirius burst into the room like a whirlwind. "Alright, kid! Ready to go?" he asked immediately with a smirk, holding a rolled-up parchment in his left hand and his wand in his right.
"Of course," I nodded instantly, raising an eyebrow. "That took you quite a while. I thought the preparation would take you a day at most."
He shook his head in disagreement, sat down in the empty armchair next to me, and unrolled the old parchment on the table right between us.
"Rewriting the oath directly from the family grimoire wasn't a problem, but I had to thoroughly study the entire magical application of a blood oath," Sirius informed me with a smile, gesturing to the unrolled parchment. "You can go over the whole thing if you want."
The moment he finished speaking, I snatched it from the table and began to analyze it cautiously, word by word. I completely ignored his mock-disappointed expression, hand over his heart, acting as if my distrust deeply offended him. In practice, however, there was nothing I fundamentally disagreed with, so after a moment, I returned the parchment to the table between us.
"So, the rules are clear. We must hold each other firmly by our right hands, and our fresh blood must physically connect us. Meanwhile, I will recite the individual formulas, and you must answer 'I swear' to the first two paragraphs and 'I agree' to the third. Understood?" he asked me. With a fluid motion, he pulled the black dagger from its sheath and, without a single hint of pain or hesitation, made a deep, bloody cut across the center of his palm. He then gestured for me to give him my right hand.
"Understood," I replied calmly, willingly offering him my right hand, palm up.
Sirius gripped my wrist tightly with his left hand and, in a swift, routine motion, ran the blade across my palm. Then, however, he stared intently at my hand and froze, paralyzed.
"What the fuck...?!" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging. The wide smile instantly froze on his face. On my bloody palm, there was no cut at all—the wound had closed almost immediately and completely right before his eyes.
Sirius closed his eyes in shock, snapped them open again, and stared at my palm, which he was still squeezing in a dazed grip.
"I underwent a ritual of resilience and regeneration," I informed him, my voice completely calm. "Is it absolutely necessary for the wound to be open?"
"You and Vespera must be absolutely fucking insane," he remarked after a moment of dead silence, during which he processed what he had just seen. "The only Black crazier than you right now is sitting in Azkaban, screaming in her cell that her beloved master will return soon..."
I stared at him in silence, without a single change in my expression, until he finally nodded in resignation.
"Yes, boy, an open wound is an absolute requirement. It's a family blood oath between the Head of the house and its member. Your own magic will physically block you from ever breaking it. The blood must well up directly from an open injury. Once the wound heals, the blood immediately loses the necessary ritual power to bind your magic," he stated with sudden gravity, turning a tired gaze to me. "You don't need to learn that devastating spell, Patrik. You probably won't be able to use it in combat anyway, just like I can't."
"I have to," I stated determinedly.
With a jerk, I freed my right hand from his grip and snatched the black ritual dagger straight out of his hand. Sirius watched in silence, with growing horror, as I placed my right hand on the edge of the round table so that part of my palm hung off the side. Without a second of hesitation, in one swift, brutal motion, I drove the narrow blade deep into the fleshy part between my thumb and index finger.
Through clenched teeth, I hissed like a snake. My vision blurred instantly, everything went white, and a wave of shocking pain forced me to squeeze my eyes shut. It hurt like fucking hell, making my head spin for a second.
"Fuck... I think I hit a nerve," I gritted out with difficulty toward Sirius.
He looked to me as pale as a corpse, but that could easily have been caused by my own shaken perception and the white veil before my eyes. The pierced nerve in my hand shot a fucking painful, pulsing sensation all the way up my forearm.
"Let's do this. Fast," I barked through clenched teeth, and with immense effort, I used my left hand to lift the pierced one, which still had the dagger sticking out of it.
Every single millimeter of movement hurt so terribly, as if I were driving the blade into my flesh over and over again. I hissed in desperate pain, genuinely afraid I might shatter my own teeth from clamping my jaws so hard. It took Sirius a good few split seconds to snap out of his complete shock. Finally, he lunged his right hand forward and firmly gripped my hand around the dagger with his bloody palm. Our blood had finally joined.
He immediately began reading the first paragraph from the unrolled parchment, and through the pain, I could dimly feel the magic rising between us, starting to swirl in the room. The Black family magic was practically wagging its tail with excitement, while a current of energy flowed from our clasped palms.
"Do you swear on your blood and magical core that you will never reveal the secret, the name, and the nature of the family spell to any living creature? Do you swear that you will never write it down, hint at it, spell it out, depict it, or provide it as a memory or thought to any being, with the sole exception of the reigning Lord of the House of Black, or, with his express consent, to another blood member of our house who has previously taken this same oath?"
"I swear!" I gritted out.
"Do you swear that you will never speak the incantation of this spell aloud, whisper it, or shape it with your lips in the presence or within earshot of anyone who does not wear the ring of the Lord of the House of Black, with the sole exception of a blood member of the house whom the Lord has commanded you to teach this spell? Do you swear that if you choose to use this spell in battle, you will cast it strictly wordlessly, without any outward expression?"
"I swear!"
"Do you agree that if your tongue, your body, or your will attempts to break this oath—whether by an unauthorized attempt to teach it without the Lord's consent, passing the secret to someone outside the house, or verbally speaking the spell before an enemy—the very magic of the oath will immediately and without exception bind your throat, paralyze your tongue, and lock your voice before you can utter the first syllable or give the first clue?"
"I agree!"
With that final agreement, the magic in the room surged violently. No sound was heard, and even the parchment didn't rustle, but the onslaught of power was almost tangible. A moment later, it dissipated, and the family magic trembled with pure euphoria. It was a fucking bizarre feeling, which I perceived at the edge of my consciousness through the sharp, pulsing pain.
Sirius was still holding my right hand. I gently steadied it with my left, eased his firm grip, and immediately pulled my hand away. In a flash, I pulled the dagger from my palm.
With a clink, it fell to the hard floor. But I didn't care, because I finally felt relief, and the wound was beginning to go pleasantly numb. I could finally concentrate again. I realized sweat was trickling down my forehead and temples. I was breathing as if I had just run a sprint with Usain Bolt, while Sirius considerately gave me space to pull myself together.
"Boy, you are the craziest Black I know, and you're a Rosier!" he laughed, amused. "Shall we get to it?"
"Thank you," I nodded with a relieved smile. "We can."
"The incantation is..." he began, but before he could utter the first sound, his mouth snapped shut. Sirius's pupils dilated instantly. A moment later, though, he rolled his eyes and spoke calmly: "Harry, show yourself!"
For a moment, nothing happened. Only when Sirius impatiently tapped his bloody hand against the table did Potter appear, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. However, upon catching my gaze, he immediately looked away.
"Sorry!" he blurted out hastily. "I was just curious."
"You may go," Sirius spoke to him in a rougher voice, nodding toward the door. "We will talk about the effect the magic could have had on you."
Potter nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor, and immediately shuffled out of the room. As the door clicked shut behind him, a frowning Sirius muttered under his breath, "Idiot, the magic could have killed him."
"The magic could have killed him?" I asked immediately, curious.
"Yes, he's not a Black, and he was present during a family oath at the Black residence, where the family magic is at its strongest. I didn't know about him myself, and I don't understand how our magic didn't kill him," Sirius stated. "Thank Merlin for that."
Could a Deathly Hallow have protected him? His cloak, against the family magic itself? flashed through my mind. But then, how is it possible that the oath forced Sirius not to say the spell when he didn't know about him?
Sirius sighed heavily and began to explain in a deep voice: "The incantation is Cruor Flores. Its primary objective is to attack the opponent's circulatory system itself. The spell essentially functions as a trigger—the victim's own magic turns against them and attacks itself. In the event that the target has no magic, the spell is significantly less effective. In that case, you must put a larger amount of your own magical power into the casting. Emotionally, you must remain absolutely calm. You cannot be angry, but pure hatred is entirely fine. The procedure, as old Arcturus once explained it to me, is as follows: you visualize the opponent's bloodstream. You imagine the target's blood beginning to rebel, turning against the body, and transforming into sharp, thorny crystals. Upon impact, the spell diffuses throughout the entire body, infecting the blood gradually starting from the extremities. It progresses through the legs and arms toward the center, so the target still has plenty of time to scream."
"A terrifying spell," I remarked with absolute calm. "Are you the only one who knows it now, or did Bellatrix manage to pick it up too?"
Sirius smirked bitterly and let out a barking laugh, shaking his head. "Arcturus knew Bellatrix was completely insane from the moment she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. He would never have taught her something like this... especially not at a time when he seriously suspected her of murdering her own father."
He paused for a moment, as if chasing away old ghosts, and then continued: "In practice, only my grandfather and I have learned this spell in the last hundred years. The other Blacks, aside from myself and Bellatrix, weren't exactly combat-oriented. Well, there was Cassiopeia, but she actively supported Grindelwald, whom Arcturus was openly fighting against at the time. For that reason, he refused to teach her any spells from the family grimoire, even though she tried to persuade him to do so several times."
As soon as he finished speaking, he stood up abruptly, drew his wand, and nodded for me to watch his wandwork closely.
"Cruor Flores!" he barked toward the training dummy.
From his wand shot a deep red, almost blood-colored beam, which dissolved over the entire surface of the wood in a fraction of a second. The dummy immediately began to shake violently. At the same time, I thought I caught a desperate, agony-filled scream echoing in the air, accompanied by the cracking of the material. I watched as the carved wood irreversibly transformed before my eyes into a vast number of black, sharp crystals. I observed the transformation with keen interest, while a frowning Sirius slowly lowered his wand.
After a few seconds, those black shapes, strikingly resembling thorny flowers, began to change back into ordinary wood. Along with that, the strange, desperate wailing finally fell silent—though I hadn't heard it with my ears, but felt it purely on a magical level. It was extraordinarily bizarre.
"What actually is that dummy?" I asked Sirius when he turned to me with a serious face.
"Trust me, kid, you really don't want to know," he answered, looking me dead in the eye. "Anyway, we're done here. I've shown you the spell, so you can head on home to practice. Do you want me to let you into the family library before you leave?"
"No, not today," I declined calmly. I could still feel the pain in my hand, even though it was slowly subsiding thanks to the ritual. It seemed that the affected nerves and deep tissues healed somewhat slower than regular skin. "I've started studying magical wards. Alongside Cruor Flores and Dawkins's theory, I have more than enough on my plate for now. So I'll leave the library for next time."
"Ha, well, good luck... Magical wards are one of the absolute hardest arts our family has ever come across," he grinned, amused. Immediately after, however, he commanded in a noticeably colder tone, "Then see yourself out, Rosier." The last trace of his smirk slowly faded from his face. He sighed heavily, ran a bloody hand impatiently through his black hair, and added, "I have a godson whom I need to go and give a very swift, very thorough talking-to."
"Good luck to you too," I nodded with a satisfied, slightly ironic smile. With one final, casual wave, I turned on my heel and made my exit from Grimmauld Place.
***
Author's note:
This chapter introduces a legendary Black family spell. It is brutally cruel because of its mechanism: it turns the victim's own magic against them, making it highly lethal yet surprisingly light on magical reserves.
Sirius might call Patrik insane, but I call it sheer determination. Physically, he had no other choice but to pierce the fleshy web between his thumb and index finger. Driving the dagger through the middle of his hand would have shattered bones, and trying the outer pinky side would have just caused the blade to slip out.
As for Harry, he is incredibly lucky. His Invisibility Cloak, being a Deathly Hallow, literally shielded him from being torn to shreds by the ancient Black magic. You might also wonder how the oath silenced Sirius when he had no idea Harry was there. Magic is omnipresent; it instantly registered Harry's presence and simply alerted Sirius's magic, so Sirius was bound.
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Upcoming Chapters – Already Written(16):
84. Thorns, Wards, and Sly Foxes
85. As Peaceful and Civilized as Always
86. The Twin in the Shadows
87. Their Addiction, Our Profit
88. Fake Smiles and Sharp Instincts
89. The Path to Invincibility
90. AD: Piña Coladas and Rainbow Thongs
91. Blood Traitors
92. Before the Storm
93. Arania Exumai
94. Favors and Frustrations
95. Power and Glory
96. Morning Drills and Slytherin Deals
97. Thrill of the Fight
98. Calculated Risk
99. Flight and Fortune
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