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That's not Wizard Magic! Ch 34
🕑 Added 2025-11-24 08:59:26 +0000 UTCThere’s a short R-18 in this chapter
Chapter 34 (~9k words):
– Harry –
Mutant Voldemort hissed some incomprehensible snake gibberish at the massive basilisk curled beside him. Immediately, the oversized fucker slithered forward, fangs bared and eyes flashing dangerously.
My brain briefly wondered how the hell he'd managed to pull another gigantic basilisk out of his ass this fast—then I remembered the answer to weird shit like this would always be “dark magic.”
The snake lunged, its freakishly bright yellow eyes locking onto me and Lilja like headlights, and an instant migraine slammed into me, spiking behind my eyes and nearly forcing me to my knees.
I groaned and grabbed my forehead, pissed beyond belief. The basilisk's death stare couldn't outright kill us—Lilja and I were way too powerful for that—but it still stunned us, and fuck was it annoying!
"Lilja, move!" I shouted, shoving her roughly aside just as the basilisk's gaping jaws snapped shut mere inches from her face. She stumbled sideways, eyes wide and stunned for a split-second. "Thanks, Harry—" was all she got out before that bastard's enormous tail swung around, smashing into my side like a freight train.
Air rushed violently from my lungs. I flew backward, crashing into the stone wall behind me so hard that cracks splintered across it like a spiderweb.
Chunks of debris rained down around me. Fucking fantastic.
"Ow," I wheezed bitterly, my head spinning. Getting bitch-slapped by a fifty-foot basilisk still wasn't exactly fun. Somewhere nearby, Voldemort was cackling his nasty head off, that shrill, hateful laugh of his ringing around the chamber.
Bastard.
From the corner of my blurred vision, I saw Lilja leap onto the snake's thrashing body. She plunged the blade deep into the basilisk’s scaly flesh and twisted viciously.
Blood sprayed in thick, dark spurts, splattering her face as the monster roared and writhed beneath her. Voldemort screamed furiously, flailing his one remaining arm as his pet completely lost its shit from being stabbed.
"Kill her, you useless beast! Stop thrashing and kill her now!" he shrieked, his voice a blend of panic and rage, spittle flying from his twisted mouth.
The snake, completely blinded by pain and fury, twisted its massive bulk violently. A smirk crept onto my lips as Voldemort realized, too late, that he'd gotten way too close.
The giant snake was convulsing wildly, and this time it accidently slammed its tail into Voldemort, catapulting his ragged ass across the room. He hit the far wall so hard that chunks of rock exploded outward, raining debris everywhere!
I couldn't hold it back—I snorted loudly, wiping blood from my lip as Voldemort peeled himself pathetically from the rubble, bruised and battered, his crimson eyes practically glowing with hatred.
"You…will regret laughing, Harry," he spat venomously, struggling upright with only one arm. "I'll see you dead before this ends!"
"Yeah?" I grinned darkly, cracking my neck to the side. "Keep dreaming, asshole."
I summoned my water blade, forming into a razor-sharp weapon of pure, liquid fury. Without another second wasted, I launched forward at full speed, blade shimmering as I closed the gap toward Voldemort.
Voldemort actually looked afraid. For a second that alone almost made the whole shitshow worth it.
He backed away across the ruined stone, his serpent tail dragging a bloody groove, eyes flaring a brighter, crazier red as I sprinted straight at him. The chamber was a mess around us—columns shattered, Slytherin’s smug stone face cracked down the middle, steam still hissing from places my water and his fire had collided—but right then it was just me and him and the thin, humming line of water in my hand.
He threw his one arm up and started screaming curses.
"AVADA KEDAVRA! CRUCIO! SECTUMSEMPRA! MOR—"
Sickly green lances of death, barbed blades of shadow, twisting bands of red all howled toward me at once. The air stank of rot and ozone, the floor around us charred where stray curses hit. I didn’t even try to dodge half of them. I swung. The water sword sang in my hand.
Every time I brought it across my body it sliced through spell after spell, the magic shattering apart in bursts of steam and sparks against the impossibly dense edge. A Killing Curse split in two, the halves burning past me on either side and slamming into the ceiling with twin thunderclaps. A purple-black slashing curse met the blade and simply…came apart, torn into harmless motes that fizzled against my chest.
Voldemort’s jaw dropped. "That’s impossible!" he shrieked, voice cracking as he hurled another sickly green bolt at my face.
I let my body move the way Lilja had drilled into me—weight low, feet light, lead shoulder turned. One step, twist, cut. The Avada hissed against my blade and died.
It would’ve been impossible for me a month ago.
I spared her a glance as I kept moving forwards. Lilja was a blur of silver and blood on the basilisk’s back, standing braced along the thick rope of its spine as it thrashed and smashed the pillars around her. She drove her sword down again, right between scaled plates the size of dinner plates, a rune flaring along the blade as norn magic detonated inside the wound.
Dark blood geysered up, spattering her armor, her hair, her face.
She looked like a murder goddess in mail and skin-tight leather, snarling something in Old Norse as she ripped the sword free and plunged it in again. Blood ran in hot rivulets over the curve of her breastplate, down her stomach, dripping off her thighs, and my overheated brain picked the worst fucking time to think that I had never seen anything so unbelievably hot.
Focus, idiot!
I hit the last few meters at a dead sprint, Voldemort’s curses coming faster now, sloppier. He was panicking fully! "Die, Harry Sitri!" he howled. The fingers of his one hand lengthened into black talons and he swung for my face, trying to rake my eyes out.
I didn’t even think. I just did what Lilja had made me do a hundred times in the forest. Inside line. Step into him, not away. I shifted my weight, sliding to his bad side, and brought the water blade up in a tight vertical arc. His clawed hand met the edge mid-swing. There was a wet, meaty crack and a flash as devil magic bit through corrupted flesh and bone like paper.
His remaining arm severed cleanly at the elbow. It spun away, fingers still clawing uselessly at the air, black blood spraying in an ugly arc across the chewed-stone floor.
Voldemort shrieked. It wasn’t a human sound. It was high and shrill and broken, a demon getting skinned alive.
"That’s for Lily," I hissed, chest heaving. "And that’s for Jasmine! And now, I’m going to end this!” I growled, raising the shimmering blade, my entire being burning with righteous fury as I stepped forward to plunge it straight into his twisted, shriveled heart. My muscles tightened, ready to strike—
Suddenly, his head snapped forward with inhuman speed, jaws wrenching grotesquely wide open. I didn't have time to react before he sank razor-sharp fangs deep into the flesh of my shoulder, piercing through muscle, skin, and bone alike!
A raw, searing agony exploded throughout my nerves, and I roared in pain, jerking instinctively backward, blood instantly soaking through my shredded shirt. The bastard latched on tighter, his teeth sinking deeper, and with a surge of pure rage I slammed my boot into his chest, finally wrenching myself free. Blood streamed down my shoulder in crimson rivulets, drenching my side, pulsing from the deep punctures.
"Fuck you, you filthy bastard!" I spat, breathing harshly through the agonizing torment radiating from the wound.
My whole left arm went numb for half a heartbeat, then the feeling came back with a vengeance as the pain shifted—sharp, burning, then icy, like someone had injected liquid frost into my veins.
Voldemort pushed himself up with his tail, torso upright, no arms left at all now. He looked more snake than man, panting, chest heaving. Then his tongue slithered out and he licked my blood from his lips. Slowly. Deliberately.
"Ahhh," he moaned, eyes rolling back for a second in obscene bliss. "Delicious. Devil blood… Sitri blood. Far more satisfying than those four legged beasts I’ve been hunting in the forest." "I can’t wait to feast on the rest of you, Harry Sitri," he crooned, voice gone almost tender. "To drink you down, savor you screaming as I peel your soul apart." He flicked his tongue, tasting the air, and his eyes locked onto mine, bright with triumph. "And now," he hissed, "you’re helpless."
I tried to take a step toward him. My knee buckled. The chamber tilted sideways for a second and I had to slam the point of my sword into the floor to keep from going down. My vision tunneled, the edges going fuzzy and dark like smoke creeping in from all sides. The throbbing in my shoulder sharpened into something else, something worse—pins and needles turning into knives, a cold fire racing out from the bite.
"Are you enjoying my paralyzing venom," Voldemort said conversationally, tail flicking back and forth as he watched me sway. His voice sounded far away and too close at the same time. He laughed again, a high wet sound. "Every second, it creeps closer to your heart. Muscles lock, lungs seize…you suffocate in your own useless flesh while I watch. I wonder how long half-devil’s physiology can fight it, hm?"
"Harry!" Lilja's scream reached me through the haze, urgent and terrified, as she fought valiantly against the wounded basilisk, desperation clear on her blood-streaked face.
“You’re done, Harry Sitri. You’ll suffer greatly before I end your miserable life!” Voldemort sneered, stumbling forward toward me, his ruined body a ghastly sight of mangled limbs and bleeding wounds. Yet still he advanced, driven by sheer madness and hatred.
My heart hammered desperately. Lilja was still battling that massive serpent; she couldn't save me right now. But fuck if I was going to lie down and surrender to this twisted fucker.
“Not a chance, asshole,” I rasped defiantly, pushing through the agony, forcing myself to remain upright even as paralysis continued to seep insidiously into my muscles, stiffening every joint, numbing every nerve. “You’ll choke on my fucking blood before you ever taste victory.”
Voldemort hissed viciously, dark amusement flickering briefly in his crimson gaze. "Oh, Harry, brave little fool. Your defiance tastes as sweet as your suffering."
He lurched forward, his jaw snapping hungrily, prepared to tear me apart. But even paralyzed and bleeding, I wasn’t fucking finished yet. Through clenched teeth and hazy vision, I drew on every ounce of willpower, rage, and stubborn determination, fighting against the numbing poison with everything I had left—
I was barely clinging to consciousness, but even drowning in the numbing chill of Voldemort’s venom, fury surged hot and unstoppable through my veins.
You will not beat me! I thought savagely, teeth clenched, tasting blood and defiance on my tongue. I wouldn’t give that twisted fuck the satisfaction.
With every last scrap of strength I had left, I forced my shaking right hand into a tight, trembling fist. The effort burned like fire across my chest, my shoulder screaming agony at me—but pain be damned.
I channeled all the bitter fury, all the hatred and desperation into my clenched knuckles, and suddenly felt a blistering cold shoot through my veins!
An icy glow erupted violently around my fist so intense it seared my vision. The freezing aura crackled, steam forming instantly as moisture in the air crystallized around me!
Voldemort lunged, his gaping maw wide, venom-dripping fangs aimed straight at my exposed throat. His crimson eyes glowed hungrily, utterly insane with bloodlust, victory already written plainly across his twisted face.
“Die, Sitri!” he shrieked, voice raw with mad, savage triumph. “You will return my Horcrux! Your soul belongs to—!”
“Fuck off!” I roared, voice ragged and defiant, as I threw my fist forward with every ounce of hatred and strength I possessed.
My ice-coated fist collided viciously into the side of Voldemort’s grotesque snake-like face. I felt the impact shiver violently through my bones, a jarring shockwave that surged from my knuckles up my arm and deep into my chest.
But that was nothing compared to the visceral satisfaction I felt at the look of sheer disbelief flashing across his monstrous features.
A blinding, searing flash of blue-white exploded from the point of contact, spreading rapidly outward, enveloping Voldemort’s head. It happened so fast I barely registered it. He froze instantly—completely solid, the scales and twisted flesh crystallizing into a grotesque ice sculpture of agony and astonishment.
His mouth was locked open, fangs bared and frozen mid-scream, his scarlet eyes wide in shock, trapped forever in that singular moment of realization—that for once, he’d underestimated the wrong goddamn person.
For half a heartbeat he stayed there suspended, almost beautiful in a sickening, surreal way. Then, just as suddenly, the frozen head shattered spectacularly, exploding outward into glittering shards of ice and crimson-stained crystal.
Momentum carried Voldemort’s headless corpse backward in a limp, grotesque arc. It crashed violently into the splintered stone wall, lifeless tail twitching spasmodically before falling still. The crumbling remains slid to the ground in an undignified heap, black blood pooling across the cold stones.
I stood there swaying on numb, trembling legs, chest heaving, head spinning wildly.
Did I just…? Had I actually used my Sitri ice magic?
My dazed brain struggled vainly to process the impossibility of what I'd done. I staggered drunkenly, muscles going slack, knees buckling beneath my weight.
Then, from somewhere behind me, came an ear-splitting, bestial shriek of agony. I spun clumsily around just in time to see Lilja drive her rune-marked sword deep into the gaping wound in the basilisk’s thrashing body one final, savage time.
The monstrous snake convulsed violently beneath her, shuddering with its death throes. Dark, steaming blood gushed forth in hot, thick torrents, spraying Lilja’s pale skin and battle-worn armor, painting her in the glorious carnage of victory. The massive serpent let out one last agonized cry, shivered horribly, and then collapsed limply to the floor, stone cracking and crumbling beneath its enormous bulk.
Lilja vaulted off its corpse, landing nimbly on her feet, her beautiful gaze immediately snapping to me, widening in horror!
I didn’t look that bad, did I?
“Harry!” Her panicked cry ripped through my fading awareness. She sprinted toward me, discarding her bloody sword with reckless abandon. Her strong, blood-slicked hands grasped my face, searching my gaze frantically, desperate and terrified. “Harry, stay with me! Don't you dare fucking fade now—stay awake!”
I wanted to reassure her, wanted to smirk cockily and insist I was fine. But my body had other plans. The adrenaline fled abruptly, leaving only numb exhaustion, a bone-deep weariness heavier than stone. The venom's cold paralysis seeped further through my muscles, darkness crawling in at the edges of my vision.
“Lil…” My voice came out weak, broken. I could barely see her, barely feel her desperate grip as I fell forward. My head slumped against her shoulder, breathing shallow and labored. “I… got him…”
“Yes, Harry, you did it,” she whispered urgently, wrapping her trembling arms fiercely around my shaking body, holding me tightly against her chest. Her heartbeat thundered frantically beneath her armor. “Just hold on, okay? We’ll get you healed. Don’t you fucking dare leave me now, not after all this!”
I tried desperately to reply, but my throat was dry, my tongue heavy. The blackness creeping in at the corners of my mind grew stronger, tendrils of oblivion beckoning seductively. Exhaustion dragged at me relentlessly, pulling me under as I sagged further into her arms.
Lilja’s voice grew faint, distant. I felt her strong hands frantically pressing against my wound, heard her urgent commands in frantic Old Norse and frantic English—words mingling in a desperate blur.
“Stay awake, damn you!” Her voice cracked, raw with fury and grief. “Look at me, Harry Sitri! Do you fucking hear me?!”
But her frantic pleas faded away, becoming muffled whispers as darkness overtook my consciousness completely…
SPLASH!!!
“....FUCK ME!” I shot up suddenly! I was soaking wet from head to toe as I looked around the chamber.
What the hell did I miss…?
Dumbledore’s phoenix—Fawkes—was trilling in what sounded like laughter as I glanced over at it, then turned my head to Lilja and Jasmine.
Jasmine was pointing her wand at me, it was obvious she just hit me with an Aguamenti.
“Was that really necessary?” I said flatly, still dripping and half-dazed, blinking cold water out of my eyes.
Jasmine at least had the grace to look sheepish, pink creeping up under the cracks of her battered glasses as she twisted her wand nervously between her fingers.
“Sorry!” she blurted. “I just—I had to wake you up and make sure you were okay. You looked half-dead.” Her blush deepened, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and I suddenly realized just how tightly she was clutching her wand—knuckles white, hands trembling faintly, raw worry etched across every line of her face. She tried to play it off with a shaky smile, but her voice cracked at the end.
I managed a weak, lopsided grin, chest still heaving as my body fought off the last sluggish tendrils of paralysis. “You could’ve just tried shaking me,” I rasped, but my voice was gentler now, teasing, and for a moment—just a moment—the tension melted from Jasmine’s shoulders.
She let out a nervous laugh, rubbing her arm. Before I could say anything else, a blur of silver and blood crashed into my lap.
Lilja was there. She was literally climbing into my lap, armored thighs straddling mine, her weight pressing me down against the cold, ruined stones of the Chamber. Her arms were around my shoulders in a heartbeat, and her chestplate—slicked with basilisk blood and dust—pushed up against my chest so hard I could feel her heartbeat drumming through the steel.
She was shaking. “Harry, fuck—” she breathed, voice hoarse and wild with relief, green eyes glassy and shining with unshed tears. “I thought—shit—I thought I’d lost you. Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me?” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her accent thicker than usual, edged with raw panic and fierce possessiveness.
I tried to lift a hand to reassure her, but she caught it in both of hers, trapping my palm against the slick metal of her armor. Then she just—collapsed into me, every inch of her body melting against mine, her lips suddenly finding mine with desperate, almost feral urgency.
She kissed me like a starving woman, her mouth hot and hungry on mine, breath ragged and uneven as she practically devoured me. The taste of her—sweat, blood, metal, and something wild—set my battered nerves on fire!
She was all over me—one hand cradling the back of my skull, the other tangling in my ruined shirt, her hips grinding down unconsciously into my lap, armored thighs caging me in place. Her tears—real, salty tears—spilled down her cheeks, smearing into the blood splatter on my skin as she gasped out broken, furious kisses.
I kissed her back just as hard, sinking both hands into her crimson hair, fingers curling tight.
Fuck, I couldn’t get enough of her!
The chamber—the death, the venom, the shattered monster a few feet away—none of it mattered. All that mattered was the feel of her pressed against me, hot and alive, more beautiful than any war goddess, and the shudder in her body when my tongue slid across hers, tasting her desperation and her relief and her wild, protective love.
Behind us, Jasmine let out a scandalized, jealous little squeak. I barely heard it at first, too lost in the heat of Lilja’s mouth, but when Lilja finally broke away for breath—her face inches from mine, cheeks flushed, tears shining in those incredible green eyes. I glanced sideways just in time to see Jasmine stamp her foot in adorable, exasperated outrage.
“Hey!” she yelped, clutching her wand to her chest and scowling at us, cheeks blazing with embarrassment. “Excuse me! I was the damsel in distress that just got rescued! I’m supposed to be the one giving the hero a kiss, not watching the Valkyrie ride him like a war prize!”
The words tumbled out of her in a flustered rush, as if she hadn’t meant to say half of it, and as soon as she realized what she’d blurted her whole face went bright red—down her neck, across her ears, even to the trembling hand still white-knuckled around her wand. She stared at me, mortified, lips parted in a tiny O, as if desperately wishing the floor would swallow her up.
Lilja, still in my lap, grinned fiercely, her lips glistening, breath ragged. “You want a kiss, Jasmine?” she shot back. “Come and claim your reward, then…”
Jasmine looked like she wanted to melt through the flagstones, but she still squared her shoulders and met my gaze, her eyes behind those battered glasses shining with an unspoken, desperate need for comfort. She hesitated, then, with all the Gryffindor courage she could muster, took a shaky step forward.
“Just—let me, okay?” she whispered, voice small but determined. “I—I need to know you’re real. That you made it. That this isn’t just another nightmare.”
The vulnerability in her eyes hit me like a hammer. I held out my free hand, palm open and inviting, and she sank down beside me, still shaking, her wand dropping to the floor with a dull clatter. She hesitated for just a heartbeat, eyes flickering between me and Lilja, then leaned in, pressing her lips to mine in a soft, hesitant kiss that trembled with exhaustion, relief, and raw, grateful affection.
It was nothing like Lilja’s kiss—no wild hunger, no possessive fire—just a sweet, quivering connection, Jasmine pouring all her terror and gratitude and budding affection into her own kiss. Her lips were warm and gentle, lingering against mine as she shuddered, her hands coming up to cup my face, her body pressing close in a desperate, grateful embrace.
I held her gently, one hand cradling her cheek, the other still gripping Lilja’s hip. I could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the last echoes of fear still shaking through her small, curvy frame.
When she finally pulled away, breathless and a little unsteady, I met her gaze and gave her a crooked smile.
“Hey,” I murmured softly, my thumb tracing a slow line along her jaw. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Both of you.”
Lilja, still straddling me, leaned in and pressed a fierce kiss to my cheek, her tears finally slowing. “You stupid, reckless man,” she whispered, her accent rough and guttural now, laced with raw emotion. “Voldemort’s venom was far more dangerous than he was bragging! Your heart almost stopped beating and you nearly died—if Fawkes didn’t show up at the last minute and heal you with his tears!”
I blinked at her, and then turned my head to the bird that was preening proudly at my look. I gave the phoenix a large grin. “Thanks for saving my life Fawkes, I’m not really sure what kind of reward I can get for a bird, but I’ll think of something.”
It nodded and chirped happily before disappearing in a flash of fire.
…It was well past midnight by the time we dragged ourselves out of the dungeons.
I barely had time to savor the relief of solid ground before Dumbledore cornered me in the corridor. He ushered the girls off with Madame Pomfrey and then dragged me into his office.
I owed the old man the full story, especially since his bloody bird had just yanked me back from the edge of death.
So I gave him the blow-by-blow. The stray-devil mutant Voldemort, the new basilisk, the showdown in the Chamber and Jasmine’s rescue.
I didn’t miss the way his knuckles whiten on the edge of his chair when I described that this Voldemort was some kind of “backup body…”
But in the end, Dumbledore reached over and gripped my shoulder, his twinkling eyes shining with a mix of pride and exhaustion. “You have rendered Hogwarts a service beyond measure, Harry,” he said, voice softer than I’d ever heard. “Thank you. And now—” a ghost of a twinkle appeared, “—I suspect there are a dozen or so young women in this castle who would very much like to know you’re still alive and in one piece. Off with you. I’ll handle the rest for tonight.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to the ‘in one piece’ part. I think they’re all going to kill me for scaring the hell out of them.”
He just chuckled, waving me out of his office.
By the time I reached Narcissa’s private suite, my nerves were jangling with anticipation and dread in equal measure. I opened the door that was only keyed to the members of our peerage and stepped inside.
They were scattered around the room, all my lovely girls. Lyra and lyna, Tonks and Narcissa, Fleur and Gabrielle, and Hermione. I also noticed that Lilja was sitting in the room as well on the edge of the bed. Judging by the glares I was getting from all my girls, she probably told them everything that happened down there, including the reckless shit…
Uh oh…
Hermione was the first to speak. “Harry Sitri…”
That was the tone she used only when she was really upset with something.
Merlin’s balls, I was dead.
I tried for a sheepish grin, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Before anyone yells—can I at least take my shoes off? I’ve just had a really, really long day...”
…My peerage members did forgive me, eventually—but only after every single one took their turn with a fierce, individualized scolding that made me feel like a schoolboy caught cheating, not the half-devil prince who’d just killed Voldemort a second time.
I sat there on Narcissa's massive, plush bed, humbled and silent, accepting each rebuke with a sheepish smile. Narcissa fussed over my wounds and muttered darkly about “reckless young gryffindors and their absurdly brave heroics,” while Hermione poked my chest furiously, eyes blazing with a mixture of terror and relief, lecturing me sternly.
Tonks, went the sarcastic route, teasing mercilessly about my newfound habit of collecting scars—but beneath her joking, her eyes glistened suspiciously damp, and her slender fingers lingered longer than necessary on my bare skin, brushing gently against fading bruises.
Gabrielle and Fleur both took turns scolding me in passionate French tirades, gestures vivid and theatrical—though both ended their lectures by wrapping their warm, soft bodies around mine, peppering my cheeks and neck with lingering, heated kisses until I had to coax them apart again.
Lyra and Lyna scowled fiercely. “Idiot Master, always making us worry!”Lyra said while Lyna held me close, her trembling lips pressed tight against my chest.
And then there was Lilja herself, sitting quietly near the edge of the bed, clad now in only a simple linen shift that barely covered her thighs, watching each of my peerage members vent their fear and frustration onto me with a soft, thoughtful expression. She seemed almost guilty, as if somehow she'd personally failed in protecting me.
Once everyone else finished lecturing and examining me and finally allowed me to breathe, she slid forward gracefully onto the mattress and took my face gently between her hands.
Her emerald eyes searched mine deeply, face etched with exhaustion and lingering worry. "You scared me, Harry Sitri," she whispered hoarsely, her voice thick with raw emotion. She leaned in close, lips brushing my ear, her breath hot and shaky against my skin. "I would tear this entire castle apart with my bare hands rather than lose you."
The sincerity in her voice stole my breath. Before I could respond properly, Lilja pressed her forehead tenderly to mine, eyes closing as she took a long, slow, steadying breath, savoring the contact. Then she pulled away just enough to fix me with a fierce stare, voice hardened into something firm and commanding. "Promise me, Harry, no more reckless heroics—not without me fighting at your side."
I smiled softly, nodding. "You've got my word."
She exhaled sharply, relieved tension slipping from her frame as she leaned into me again, capturing my lips in a fierce, possessive kiss that drew approving noises from the other girls and brought a blush of amused embarrassment to Hermione’s face.
By the time it was over, I’d been kissed, bitten, smacked, and stroked by every one of them, until the whole lecture devolved into a tangle of limbs and bodies sprawled across Narcissa’s absurdly huge bed, exhaustion and adrenaline and relief swirling together until even Hermione gave up and let herself melt into the tangle.
I lay there for a long while, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft breathing and tangled whispers around me. Personally, I hadn’t meant for the fight to get that close.
I’d known Voldemort would be an evil monster, but that level of power? It was insane! How many souls had he devoured to leapfrog to high-class like that? Some part of me, deep down, felt a twisted respect. Even as a corrupted bastard, he’d been terrifying.
But there was an upside. I could feel it pulsing in my veins now, the subtle, powerful shift of my own demonic magic. High-class, I had reached it as well! I broke through my own limits at the end of that fight!
The next time I sparred with Aunt Sona, she was going to be in for a shock! Maybe I should make another bet with her beforehand…?
Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with me and I drifted off as well.
When I woke, sunlight was creeping through the heavy curtains and dust motes floated in the golden beams. I was tangled in the middle of a full cuddle-pile, every woman in my peerage sprawled in various stages of undress across Narcissa’s ridiculous bed. My head was pillowed on something warm and yielding.
I blinked, and realized—my cheek was nestled right against Lilja’s bare breast, her pale skin flushed with sleep. Yeah, she had stayed last night as well, and I was honestly glad.
She looked so peaceful like this, red hair fanned across the pillow, mouth slightly parted, the Valkyrie—my Valkyrie—who had chosen to stay.
A smile tugged at my lips. She belonged here, with us, with me.
I pressed a gentle kiss to the soft curve of her breast, just above her heart, and felt her stir. Her lashes fluttered, and she opened those wild green eyes to find me gazing up at her.
“Morning, beautiful Valkyrie,” I murmured, voice rough from sleep.
She smiled slowly, her eyes lighting up with the same fierce affection I’d seen last night. “Good morning, my Harry,” she whispered, and leaned down to press a slow, lingering kiss to my mouth—a kiss that was soft, but laced with the promise of so much more.
We shifted quietly, careful not to wake the others.
The bed was a minefield of entwined limbs and tousled hair, skin against skin. Fleur had one leg thrown possessively over Gabrielle, her hand tangled in her sister’s hair. Tonks was sprawled across Narcissa’s lap, a sleepy grin on her lips even as she snored softly. Hermione was tucked close to my side, her curls wild and haloed with morning light, and both Lyra and Lyna had managed to wedge themselves on either side of me, each with a hand resting possessively on my stomach or thigh.
Lilja slipped out from beneath the sheets with feline grace, pausing to tug the covers back over Gabrielle, who mumbled sleepily in French and buried her face in Fleur’s shoulder. I slid out after her, careful to disentangle myself from Lyra’s grip—she whined softly but didn’t wake—and padded after Lilja to the bathroom.
“...You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmured thickly, eyes roving hungrily over Lilja's gorgeous naked body as steaming hot water cascaded sensually down her flawless skin.
She gave me a soft, amused smile, green eyes glimmering knowingly through heavy lashes as she tipped her head back, red hair darkened by moisture, clinging in silken ropes down her shoulders and back.
My gaze trailed down her throat, tracing the delicate droplets of water sliding over toned muscle and porcelain-pale curves, caressing the soft swell of her generous breasts. Her nipples were stiff from the chill of air meeting warm water, rosy and enticing atop the firm mounds that heaved gently with her breaths.
Lilja tilted her head, raising one elegant eyebrow in playful challenge. "Enjoying the view, Harry?" she purred softly, running her fingers through her hair, exposing even more of that impossibly smooth skin and the graceful lines of her defined shoulders.
"More than you could possibly imagine," I whispered hoarsely, unable to tear my gaze away from her mesmerizing figure. I let my eyes trail downward, lingering on her toned stomach, muscles shifting deliciously beneath that flawless flesh as she moved. Her narrow waist flared into wide, luscious hips, curving inward to form shapely thighs. My mouth watered, my breath hitching softly as I took in the seductive sight of her pussy—smooth, bare lips glistening wetly beneath the cascading water, the delicate petals already flushed pink with arousal.
Before my overheated brain even registered my own movement, I sank slowly down onto my knees in front of her, heedless of the cold tile biting into my skin. Lilja’s eyes widened slightly, startled and curious as she watched me settle between her parted thighs.
"Harry?" she murmured breathlessly, her cheeks coloring faintly as her thighs tensed instinctively. "What exactly are you doing?"
I glanced up at her, unable to hide my wolfish grin. “Giving you a reward,” I said, voice low and hungry. “For fighting beside me, for saving Jasmine. For being one of the most incredible women I’ve ever known.”
Her breath caught. She rested a trembling hand against the wall, bracing herself as I leaned in. My gaze dropped to the slick, glistening lips of her pussy—shaved smooth, swollen already, pink and wet from the heat of the water and her own anticipation.
I could see the way her muscles fluttered with nervous excitement, a soft tremor in her thighs.
“And,” I added, letting a crooked grin tug at my lips, “I just discovered Parseltongue yesterday thanks to Luna. Seemed like a waste not to…experiment with it.”
She blinked, stunned, then gave a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “You’re impossible, Harry Sitri. Completely mad.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, “but you’re going to love it.”
I dipped forward, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the delicate crease where her thigh met her hip, letting my lips and tongue linger. I felt her shiver under the touch—her breath hitched and she gripped my shoulder with her free hand, nails digging in for support.
Then I moved lower. My tongue traced the slick seam of her labia, savoring the taste of her—salt and skin and something entirely her own, something wild and sweet. I let the Parseltongue hiss vibrate through me, focusing that serpentine resonance into my tongue, flickering it along her slit with a careful, experimental hum.
Lilja’s reaction was instant and dramatic. Her hips jerked forward, a choked, startled moan escaping her throat. “Oh—fuck—what is that?” she gasped as her head fell back against the steam-fogged marble. “Gods, Harry, that’s… it’s—!”
I grinned against her skin, then set to work in earnest. I used my hands to spread her wider, thumbs gently opening her, exposing the soft, trembling pink of her cunt to the cool air and the hot mist alike. The water from the shower ran down her belly, dripping over my knuckles and onto my tongue, mixing with the taste of her as I drew slow, languorous circles around her clit.
Encouraged by her reaction, I slid my tongue sensually along the length of her pussy lips, deliberately slow, savoring every intimate detail of her silky-soft flesh.
Lilja’s entire body jolted violently at the unexpected sensation, her hands immediately sliding up to bury in my hair, gripping tightly as her knees trembled visibly. "Oh gods!" she cried out, breathless, hips jerking involuntarily against my face. "Harry—what the fuck—that feels amazing!"
I hummed smugly in reply, the vibration intensifying as I flicked my vibrating tongue rapidly over her sensitive clit. I tightened my grip around her thighs, pulling her more firmly against my mouth, hungrily devouring her dripping heat.
Her cries echoed loudly off the shower walls, each sound raw and uncontrolled, driving me on relentlessly.
"Fuck—oh fuck, Harry!" she gasped brokenly, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in blissful ecstasy. Her thighs trembled violently beneath my fingertips, her breath coming in ragged, helpless pants. "Don't you dare fucking stop!"
I had no intention of stopping…
I grinned into her, letting the vibrating tip of my tongue trace tight circles around her clit, teasing just below it, then up, then away, never giving her the full pressure for more than a heartbeat at a time. Each pass was accompanied by another hissed string of Parseltongue, my breath hot, the magic buzzing faintly in the air between us.
Her knees knocked together against my shoulders. The hand braced on the wall slammed flat against the tile like she needed to remember which way gravity worked.
“You—you bastard,” she choked out, half laughing, half choking on her own moan. “That is not fair. That is—ah—Harry, I cannot—”
She cut herself off with another raw sound as I finally gave her what she wanted, flattening my tongue and dragging it firmly from bottom to top, past her entrance, up over her clit, the vibrating forked tip flicking directly over that little bundle of nerves.
Her whole body arched.
If I hadn’t been holding her thighs, she might have actually gone down. As it was, she ended up half-sitting on my face, her weight bearing down, her cunt grinding against my mouth as every muscle in her tightened.
“Fuck,” she hissed, and hearing that word in her thick accent, voice breaking apart on it, nearly made me lose it myself.
I answered by wrapping my arms all the way around the backs of her thighs and ass, dragging her in closer, locking her in place against my mouth. “I’ve got you.”
She let out a low, helpless laugh that dissolved into another moan as I sealed my mouth around her clit properly this time, sucking gently, tongue flicking in rapid, precise little strokes that no normal muscle could have pulled off. Parseltongue turned every movement electric, the vibration transmitting through my tongue into her.
Her hips started to move on their own, grinding against my face in jerky, uncontrolled rolls. I let her, adjusting my grip to give her just enough freedom to find the angle she liked. She found it fast, of course—Valkyries do not waste time—and rode it ruthlessly, chasing the high with gritted teeth and wild eyes.
“Harry,” she panted, head tipping back under the spray, wet hair plastered to her throat. “Harry, I—by the Norns, I am going—”
I slid one hand higher, cupping her ass, thumb digging in just above the crease, encouraging her movements. The other hand shifted to her front, fingers splaying across her lower stomach, feeling the hard clench of muscles there, then slipping lower, parting her lips with two fingers so my tongue could get deeper.
Then, when I felt her start to tremble in that particular way, breath catching, every inhale shorter than the last, I pulled back just a fraction and sank the tip of my tongue between her folds, right into her!
She was hot and tight around me, the inner walls fluttering, and the Parseltongue buzz turned my tongue into a living vibrator inside her. I curled it, dragging along the front wall, then pulled out just enough to circle her clit again.
She broke.
Her entire body bowed over me, a raw, guttural cry ripping out of her throat and echoing off the tiled walls! Her hand slapped the wall hard enough to crack a tile, the other fisted in my hair and yanked, drawing my face impossibly tighter against her as she ground down, riding my mouth through the orgasm like she was trying to fuse us together.
Her thighs quaked against my ears. Her stomach muscles jumped under my hand, clenched and trembling. I felt the rhythmic squeeze deep inside her around my tongue, like her body was trying to pull me deeper, drag something out of me.
I let her do it. I held on and kept my tongue moving, gentler now, riding the edge between too much and not enough until her cry dissolved into breathless, broken whimpers and her hips finally started to slow.
“Harry,” she breathed, over and over, my name in that ragged, reverent tone that made something primal in my chest snarl with satisfaction. “Harry… Harry…”
Slowly, carefully, I eased my mouth away, pressing one last soft kiss to her oversensitive clit, then her thigh. Her hand slid out of my hair and landed, shaking, on my shoulder.
I looked up at her.
She was a fucking vision. Cheeks flushed deep pink, lips parted, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Water and sweat and aftershocks slicked her skin, little tremors still racing across her stomach and down her legs. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, pupils blown so big they almost swallowed the green. She stared down at me like she couldn’t quite believe I was real.
“Worth the experiment?” I asked her.
For a moment she just looked at me, something soft and almost fragile flickering through that battle-hardened gaze. Then, slowly, she lowered herself, one shaking knee at a time, until we were both kneeling on the wet tile, the water pounding down on our backs.
Her hands came up to my face, thumbs brushing the slick corners of my mouth, catching the taste of her there. She swallowed, eyes dropping to my lips, then back to my eyes.
“That,” she said huskily, “was not a reward. That was a declaration of war on my sanity.”
I laughed, a short, breathless bark, and she surged forward and kissed me.
It was different from the frantic, panicked kisses last night. There was still fire, still need, but this one had a slow, drugged quality to it, like she was drunk on what I’d just done to her. Her mouth moved against mine lazily at first, tasting herself on my tongue, then with growing urgency as the taste and the memory stoked her back up.
When we finally broke apart from our kiss, the shower water still fell around us in heavy, steaming rivulets. She was breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from our passionate embrace.
The sight of her, breathless and trembling in my arms, sent another rush of primal satisfaction coursing through me.
I cupped her delicate face in my hands, gently brushing the damp tendrils of red hair from her eyes. Her gaze locked onto mine.
I took a deep, steadying breath, my thumb slowly tracing the flushed curve of her cheekbone, my voice low and thick with emotion.
"Lilja," I began softly, letting the heavy, intimate weight of the moment settle between us, "I don’t want this to be temporary. I want you—not just here, not just for a night—but by my side, forever. Will you…" My voice cracked slightly with raw vulnerability, and I forced myself to swallow past the tight knot of anticipation in my throat. "Lilja, will you be my Queen? Stand beside me as the Queen of my peerage?"
Lilja froze completely, her entire body going rigid with shock. For half a heartbeat, silence stretched taut between us, broken only by the steady patter of water falling onto the tiles. Emotions flickered rapidly across her lovely features—astonishment, disbelief, joy, and something darker… a flash of worry, maybe fear.
Then, before I could say anything else, she gave a choked, incredulous laugh and threw her arms around my neck, pressing her trembling, wet body tightly against mine.
"By the Norns—Yes!" she breathed fervently, her voice a shaking blend of relief and elation as she held me even tighter. "Yes, Harry—I will be your Queen, a thousand times yes! I swear it, by the Gods themselves!"
Her fierce declaration left me breathless, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.
She pulled back just enough to stare deeply into my eyes, her fingers tangling possessively into the wet strands of my hair. Her gaze searched mine desperately, as though she was trying to memorize every detail of my face.
"I don’t have the faintest clue how I’ll explain this to Lord Odin," she admitted with a nervous little laugh, biting her lower lip in the most distracting way. "Or to my sister. Gods, Roseweisse is going to lose her damned mind when she finds out I pledged myself to a devil." Her voice softened, a tremor passing through her slender frame. "But I don’t care. I won’t ever give you up again, Harry Sitri. Not for anything or anyone!"
The sheer raw emotion in her voice struck me deep. But beneath her heartfelt vow, I caught a darker edge—a deeper pain lurking in the shadows of her gaze. It hinted at secrets still unspoken, burdens she wasn’t yet willing or ready to share.
Something told me her words were more loaded than she was openly admitting.
But now wasn’t the time to pry. That conversation would come later. Right now, all that mattered was the trembling Valkyrie in my arms, who had just agreed to stand at my side forever.
– Voldemort –
“...Finally, I have returned,” Voldemort rasped softly, testing the voice of his newly resurrected body as he stretched the pale fingers experimentally, feeling the return of his corporeal flesh. He examined his limbs slowly, meticulously, taking in the pale skin, unnaturally smooth and unblemished. Yet, despite his return to the mortal world, dissatisfaction curled through his mind—a lingering discontent.
The body felt weaker, somehow diminished, and his blood simmered irritably at the very thought of the compromise he'd been forced to accept. He knew exactly what—or rather who—was to blame for this less-than-ideal outcome.
He shifted his gaze disdainfully toward the lifeless, cooling corpse sprawled inelegantly across the stone floor of the graveyard.
Arthur Weasley stared sightlessly up into the starless night, pale features slack in death. The man had died pathetically, whimpering for mercy, begging for his life as Voldemort ripped it away without remorse. He may have been an enemy by technicality, a thorn in Voldemort’s side only through allegiance rather than direct confrontation, but the magic in the ritual required an enemy’s sacrifice—and Weasley had fit the bill adequately, if disappointingly.
He scoffed quietly, nudging the dead man’s body contemptuously with the toe of one bare foot. The skin felt cold, clammy beneath his touch.
Lucius Malfoy hovered nervously nearby, clutching the bloody, cauterized stump where his right arm had once been. Despite his obvious agony, there was a flicker of vindictive satisfaction burning in Lucius's gray eyes as he regarded the deceased patriarch of the Weasley family. Voldemort almost smiled—almost—at the petty spitefulness emanating from his loyal follower. Lucius might have been a cowardly worm at heart, but he certainly knew how to savor an enemy’s demise.
Voldemort slowly turned his attention toward Wormtail, who stood trembling and deferential, clutching an ornate black robe in his hands. Fear radiated off the smaller man, a delicious perfume Voldemort relished.
“Wormtail. Robe me.”
"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail stammered reverently, eyes downcast as he shuffled quickly forward.
Voldemort raised his arms slowly, allowing Wormtail to gingerly place the dark fabric across his narrow, newly formed shoulders. Wormtail carefully fastened the clasp at Voldemort’s throat, his movements fawning and subservient.
"Have I pleased you, my Lord?" Wormtail breathed softly, eyes filled with desperate, cringing hope.
"For now, Wormtail," Voldemort murmured coolly, letting his voice drip with chilling disdain. "For now, yes, you’ve proven moderately useful." Voldemort allowed a moment of silence to hang between them, thickening the atmosphere with unease, relishing the way Wormtail visibly trembled beneath his regard. Finally, he continued softly, eyes narrowing in calculation, "I must admit, your three little pets at Hogwarts proved… unexpectedly useful, Wormtail. It appears you've at least learned the basics of manipulation."
Wormtail smiled nervously, a twitchy, simpering expression spreading across his rodent-like features. He ducked his head deferentially, as if Voldemort had bestowed upon him the highest praise.
"Indeed, my Lord," Wormtail simpered eagerly, rubbing his clammy palms together. "Dumbledore thought me finished—thought he'd chased me away. But the old fool never thought to look closer, never realized I had more than just Ronald under my influence at Hogwarts." Wormtail's watery eyes gleamed maliciously. "Young minds, so vulnerable, so very pliable…"
He giggled unpleasantly, the sound sending shivers of revulsion even through Voldemort, though he refused to betray such weakness. Voldemort gave the sniveling man a sharp, assessing look.
"Indeed," Voldemort whispered, an edge of cruel amusement threading his soft, silky tone. "And now, thanks to your scheming, we also have Ron Weasley back firmly within my grasp. I hear his brothers and sister are close to Harry Stiri. That connection will prove most useful, especially when they find out what happened to their pathetic muggle loving father…"
“Oh? You’re alive—and you don’t look like a disgusting Benjamin Button baby anymore. Pity. I was growing rather fond of that wrinkled, pitiful little face,” a woman's silky, mocking voice called out from behind him.
Voldemort froze mid-step, every muscle in his newly formed body tensing as a wave of irritation surged through him. His fingers clenched into tight fists beneath the sleeves of his dark robes, and a faint tic twitched visibly at the corner of his thin mouth.
He slowly turned around, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously as he took in the provocative sight of the woman lounging casually against a weathered tombstone.
Raynare was breathtakingly, viciously beautiful—a twisted seduction in flesh and leather. Thick waves of lustrous black hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, framing an impossibly alluring face with darkly sensual lips curved into a mocking smirk. Her large, violet eyes glittered cruelly with amusement as she stared back at him, bold and unafraid. Her lithe, voluptuous body was barely hidden beneath tight black leather and lace that hugged her curves obscenely, accentuating the swell of her generous breasts and the sinuous line of her hips. Pale, flawless skin gleamed seductively in the dim light, and her every breath seemed deliberately slow, intentionally provocative—as if each small movement was designed solely to irritate him further.
But it was the two large, black wings unfurling lazily behind her that truly caught his gaze—their unsettling beauty a stark reminder of the creature she truly was beneath all that allure….
She cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow arching mockingly. “Oh, did I strike a nerve, Dark Lord?” she purred, voice dripping with insincere sweetness. “Careful now, I'd hate to have to explain to Kokabiel why I had to discipline his newest ally for getting... overly emotional.”
Voldemort took a slow, deliberate breath, his new slitted nostrils flaring with barely-contained anger.
She was an insult—a walking, breathing affront to his pride. When Voldemort had first reached out to the legendary fallen angel Kokabiel to forge an alliance, he had expected power, respect, a representative worthy of his status.
Instead, he'd been given this—this arrogant, seductive, disrespectful creature. She mocked him openly, knowing precisely how limited his patience was, knowing he needed this tenuous alliance far too desperately to punish her insolence with death or violence.
That humiliation burned bitterly in his veins, searing hotter than dragonfire.
"Of course I'm alive," Voldemort hissed finally, voice controlled but sharp-edged, each syllable clipped with icy disdain. "A ritual I personally designed would never fail."
Raynare's full lips curved further into an infuriating, patronizing smile. "Oh, please. That's not what I meant, dear Voldy," she mocked playfully, straightening fluidly from the tombstone, stretching luxuriously as she took a graceful step toward him. "You really haven't been keeping up with current events, have you? Too busy slaughtering helpless middle-aged wizards?" She paused theatrically, giving Lucius’s missing arm a pointed, amused glance, smirking wickedly as the wounded Malfoy shrank back, visibly uncomfortable beneath her cruel gaze.
Voldemort's teeth ground together audibly. "What nonsense are you spewing now, creature?" he demanded darkly.
She sauntered closer, hips swaying provocatively, leather creaking softly with each calculated step. Her violet eyes held his gaze boldly as she closed the distance between them, stopping mere inches away—close enough he could feel the tantalizing warmth of her body heat, mingled enticingly with her faint perfume. Slowly, tauntingly, she reached into her cleavage, retrieving a folded newspaper from between her lush breasts.
Voldemort’s eyes briefly flicked downward despite himself, and his jaw clenched tighter at his involuntary reaction.
Her mocking smile grew wider. "Enjoying the view, Dark Lord?" she whispered seductively, her breath ghosting warmly across his face. Voldemort felt a vein in his forehead throb angrily, resisting the overwhelming urge to tear her throat out right then and there.
Wordlessly, she pressed the paper into his hand, her fingertips lingering just a moment too long against his knuckles, tracing lightly, teasingly before pulling away with a deliberately flirtatious laugh.
Irritated, Voldemort unfolded the newspaper brusquely, his blood-red gaze immediately snapping downward, scanning the bold, sensationalist headline that screamed across the front page:
“BREAKING NEWS: THE DARK LORD VOLDEMORT RETURNS FROM THE DEAD AND ATTACKS HOGWARTS! THE DARK LORD ONCE AGAIN SLAIN BY OUR HERO HARRY SITRI!”
For a long, agonizing heartbeat, he could only stare at the blasphemous headline.
"What...the fuck is this?"
XXX
Comments
cjmd3419
Serafall is going to freak when she finds out.
Ototsu_Yume
It would be nice if one of your mc's managed to get through a fight without showboating resulting in them nearly losing, it happens practically every time that it's become predictable at this point. Thanks for the chapter.
