Who: Percy Weasley and OPEN What: An Experiment gone wrong. Where: The cabin he commandeered in the center of the village. When: Thursday Evening.
It had been two days since Harry had handed over the dark magic books, plus some notes that Percy managed to gather in the restricted section, Percy had honestly felt that he’d almost made a breakthrough. He’d had frantic written notes written, scattered all around the house. Of course, there hadn’t been any simple passage on how to raise the dead, but he was certain he had stumbled upon a few things, when strung together, that could work.
But there was no way he would try it on Fred yet. No. That would come later. First he had to start small, to make sure that it would work. Nor would he dig up anyone’s grave, that was hardly respectful, and was sure to get him stopped before he could honestly ever start. Hands in his pocket, Percy went for a walk in the nearest part of the woods until he could find something he could use.
It was an hour before he found the bird. It was nestled within some leaves, at the base of a tree. It was cold. Percy picked it up, and wrapped it carefully in a handkerchief before sliding the bundle into his large, oversized jacket pocket.
Percy set to work quickly. He pushed furniture against the wall, leaving a large section of the wooden floor bare to him. Dipping a finger in his ink well, he set about marking up the floor for the ritual. He drew a circle in the middle, and runes scattered throughout on the floor. He ran a hand through his hair, not paying attention to the fact it left ink streaks there.
He moved then, to lock the door. He didn’t know what would happen if he were interrupted, and he didn’t want to find out. Last thing he needed was for someone to walk in on this.He placed the bird carefully in the middle of the floor.
He raised his wand, and he took a deep breath. All he had to do was try, there was no more theoretics. He was that much closer to having his brother back, to righting what he’d done wrong. Fred would be alive. George would be happy. The family would be whole. He could fix it. He could honestly, really, truly fix it this time.
He paced, and slashed the wand through the air, practicing the movements one more time, almost nervously. Another shaky breath, and he began to recite the spells that he’d read in the books, waving his wand in sharp, practiced movements, punctuated with desperation. With each spell, Percy gained confidence, but it was more than that, with each spell, a pulse of power seemed to radiate through him, as if he himself were getting stronger with each spell, each hit, like a drug.
The last spell required fresh blood, and so, Percy pulled out the knife he used for potions, and slices his left hand across the palm, letting the blood drizzle over the inked runes. One last spell, and he’ll be able to see if his hard work paid off. He sends the spell off, and for a second, there is nothing. And the nothingness is heart breaking. Percy pushes his glasses up his knows, sighing in frustration, and for a second, he almost convinces himself that the bird moved slightly.
In the seconds after the spell, another large pulse of magic smacks Percy, his own spells backlashing against him. Something was wrong. He doesn’t know what he did exactly, but suddenly his whole body was convulsing. The blood still draining from his hand sped up, and blood began to slowly pool from his eyes and nose and mouth. Pain, worse than any pain he’d ever felt before, surged through his entire body. He fell to the floor hard, landing with an echoing thud as his own blood slipped down his face and began to swamp around him. He couldn’t breath. He was going to die. He was going to. His glasses separated from him when he fell, but his wand was still clutched in his hand.
He tried to call for help, but his voice was raspy and agonized and barely anything came out. He tried to cast a patronus, and the first time, there was nothing. The second time though, a very fuzzy whisp of smoke that barely resembled the pig he was used to shot from his wand.
It ran off through the locked door with a simple message, to be delivered to the first adult it came to. “Cabin 12a. Please help.”