Blood
Tom was certain he had it correct this time.
He purposefully did not think about all the times in the past several weeks when he had thought he had it correct, only to be proved wrong.
He trusted himself, he trusted magic, he was magic. And this was going to work.
“What the hell are we doing out on this night?” Malfoy grumbled as walked with Tom and Reg into the deepest part of the forest surrounding his estate. “And why am I carrying these things like a muggle?”
“I told you already you dunce, we can't risk using magic on it.”
Normally Tom would never snap like this. But today he was more nervous than he would ever admit to himself. Malfoy continued grumbling under his breath.
Reg was quiet as he carried his share of the things they’d need for the ritual.
But he shot Malfoy a sharp look when he opened his mouth to complain again.
Today's ritual was different from the ones Tom had conducted previously.
It was strictly illegal, but Tom didn't care so much about that. What bothered him was that he had to offer his blood to make this work. He'd done blood rituals before. But this one was very careful in not mentioning how much blood it would take, which meant it took an absurd amount. Quantifying the amount of blood rituals needed was something that the ancient witches and wizards had taken great care to minimize, so they wouldn't be too weakened if a predator was nearby or if they could not find food for the next several days.
Even worse, Tom had a suspicion that if someone with lesser magic tried it, the ritual would bleed them out completely and not work even if they offered their life force.
But Tom was magic, he reminded himself. This would work. He would make it.
Even so, he was careful. Malfoy and Reg were more involved in the preparation for this ritual to make sure he had the correct medical attention if he needed it. They were performing the ritual on Malfoy's estate on Halloween night. It had taken quite a bit of crystallized pineapple and the oldest most expensive bottle of wine from the depths of Reg’s cellars to be excused from Hogwarts for the night. Tom couldn’t risk any questions arising at Hogwarts, or worse, being carried to the infirmary with suspiciously depleted magic and blood.
He started by drawing the hexagonal circle with salt. Then he stood in the middle of the circle and after setting the basil leaves, dragon's scales, and chalk Reg passed him into position, Tom took his shirt off and passed it back to Reg. He used the dragon's blood to draw runes of protection on himself. Then gently used his wand to brush a uniform layer of basil on the blood to make sure his magic would still be able to leave him. Finally, he used the chalk to outline the blood, creating a boundary that would make sure the protection blood was not washed off him as he performed the ritual.
Malfoy grimaced, “I have a bad feeling about this. You're grossly overpowered already. What are you trying to do that would need you to use this arcane dangerous stuff?”
Tom didn't reply. He was too busy levitating all the stuff he'd used outside of the hexagon. Then he rolled his shoulders back, stretched his neck out, closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, reminded himself he was magic and finally opened his eyes and his magic and cast the summoning spell, placing all his focus on the traces of magic he could find on the black feather placed carefully in the middle of the circle.
The problem was that this would not be a direct connection. He was connected to one of her swifts through the black feather and her swift was connected to her. He needed to reach the swift and then use the swift to reach her. It'd take a lot more magic, especially since the swift did not have its own stores of magic that he could have used to stabilize the connections.
He felt a small jolt as he breached a barrier to reach the swift. He had to remind himself to be careful not to crush it. The swift was ridiculously fragile, heart beating like a horse galloping. It had recently had chicks and most of it was a bundle of worrying and impulses to find food, fight predators, keep chicks warm. He found the girl's magic buried in a far corner of the swift's mind. Apparently, she did not summon the swifts frequently- the magic was almost dormant inside the swift.
He touched it gently and a wave of wild frizzy sparks almost broke his concentration. But then the sparks calmed down as he felt recognition. The ball of magic tired to engulf him, but it was such a tiny amount of magic- he just cradled it in his hands and held it close to his own core as he could, while trying to trace the connection back to its origin.
There was a barrier that was much greater than the swift's. Tom tried pushing through it to reach the source so he could reach the girl, but the barrier didn't budge, no matter how hard he tried or how much magic he expended on it.
It was the little guiding ball of magic from the swift that showed him the way. It sparked and for a terrifying moment Tom thought he'd lost hold of it and the last connection to the girl. Then the sparks tugged at him, and as he moved along the barrier; they found a place where the barrier was thinner than he had felt before.
He pulsed with the little magic in praise and giddiness for a moment, then focused on the place where the barrier was thinner than it ought to have been. He could feel himself tiring, the connection draining him at a pace that was astronomical to anything else he had attempted. He also felt a distant coldness wash over him, which was worrying because it meant he'd lost a lot of blood. And as he lost blood, his magic would also lose its potency.
He banged against the wall with a renewed urgency. Like a rat trapped in a drowning ship, he put every bit of himself into it.
The little ball of magic that was guiding him also seemed to be trying to help. It squeezed itself into a small crack like a nail and then sparked feebly at Tom. Tom gathered the last of his own magic as a hammer and drove that little ball into the wall.
He hammered and hammered and hammered until everything turned black and he knew no more.