The Master of Death

Chapter45: Pen Pals

Close to midnight, Harry was leaning against the headboard of his bed in the Gryffindor boys dormitory, flipping through a book on the basics of rituals. Death's mention of his presumed affinity for wandless magic had aroused his curiosity and he had spent the greater part of the day reading in the castle's library. Starting with everything on wandless magic, he'd eventually ended up picking up books that expanded on magical theory in general.

The cover of the tome currently resting on his knees was made from an unknown kind of leather. Any texture had long been lost through the frequent handling during long gone years.
It had taken a few tries and a NEWT level spell for Harry to transform the gibberish that was old English into something more coherent.

One hand curled around his wand - its tip was lit with a lumos - Harry leaned closer and his eyes scanned over a paragraph elaborating on the environmental impact of large-scale rituals.

In rare cases, whole areas can be affected by the magical residue after a particular feat of sorcery has been performed.

One of the most notorious examples for this is the "Wandering of Hoia Bacui" recorded in 1215.

Due to the political and economical tension caused by the brief reign of Teutonic Knights under Andreas II in Transylvania from 1211 - 1225, local witches and wizards had gathered in said forest to perform an incantatio tempestatum , to rid themselves of the domination of the invading knightly order, subsequently causing whole sections of the forest to turn sentient.

As documented by the vampire clan residing in this area, trees and trails had taken up the habit of changing their location, making parts of the forest an inevitable death trap for unsuspecting wizards and muggles alike.

Astronomers pinpoint the date of the ritual performed to a solstice, therefore explaining the unique effect-

A loud snore from Ron's bed pulled Harry out of his focus. Instinctively his eyes flickered over to where the redhead was sprawled over the mattress, his aura indicating that he had reached a rather sedate stage in his sleep. Seamus' breathing on the other hand had picked up. He turned restlessly, probably caught up in a nightmare.

Behind his closed curtains, Dean was suspiciously quiet.

Just when Harry wanted to turn back to his book, he noticed a faint distortion on the fabric. It reminded him of the flickering air over a hot summer road, his mind conjuring images of the most recent holiday spent at Privet Drive.

Almost unnoticeable, thanks to the pattern on the curtains, the blanketing aura of the spell grew more visible the longer he paid attention to it.

Harry blinked owlishly at the observation.

A silencing spell was nothing out of the ordinary, considering that they were a bunch of teenage boys sharing a room. But while he'd been sensitive to magic since he'd been bound to Death, it had mostly been the energies of the people surrounding him, who had caught his attention.

Like the sun being able to hide the stars during a day, Hogwarts' magic-infused walls usually overrode any other signature, sentient things being the only exception.

So while Harry didn't have to focus much to be able to pick up on the auras of humans, animals and even portraits, a simple spell like this was almost unnoticeable next to the castle's powerful wards. That was if he didn't pay close attention.

In Grimmauld Place, it was easier and Harry didn't doubt that magic in a muggle area would draw his attention. But even then, he was quite taken aback by seeing something as simple as a silencing spell.