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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 297 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (VII)
🕑 Added 2025-12-26 18:15:14 +0000 UTC“Vinda Rosier…”
The voice made it unmistakably clear that the intruder knew exactly who she was, but what sent the true shiver down her spine was not that knowledge, nor even the fact that her magical senses had completely failed to detect someone sitting only a few footsteps away. No, it was the sudden and horrifying realization that she was now unceremoniously and utterly frozen in place, her body inexplicably locked tight under the intruder’s mercy.
Her pupils trembled as she stared into the corner, where moonlight leaking through the window brushed the lower half of the intruder’s body while their upper form remained swallowed by shadow, one leg crossed over the other, their posture loose and infuriatingly at ease.
“Since when did the champions of the greater good reach the point where even a madman seemed like an acceptable master?”
As the words reached her ears, the candles scattered across the room, perched on side tables and mounted along the walls, flared to life, casting harsh light that finally revealed the figure’s face. But that revelation hardly mattered, for her pupils contracted to pinpoints as recognition struck with sickening certainty—she had seen that face not long ago, earlier that very night, and it was the last person she ever wanted to see.
But how? She had taken every detour possible before arriving here, and she was certain she hadn’t told anyone about this random safe house.
“Take a seat...” As her thoughts scrambled in every direction, she heard the kid speak again, and yes, to her, this, "intruder," was indeed just a child.
“My apologies...” Mavrick waved his hand, releasing his hold on her, and at the same time, a chair materialized before him. He gestured again, calmly but firmly, for her to sit.
But—Woosh!
The moment he withdrew the magic that had held her in place, without a word or gesture, she vanished from the spot—out of the room, out of the house, clearly making a run for it.
Maverick chuckled at her audacity, but he didn’t move to give chase, only the corner of his lips curling in amusement. Am I being underestimated, or is she overestimating herself? he wondered, leaning back a little more comfortably.
Indeed, Vinda Rosier believed she still had a chance. Maverick was young, after all, even if he was an archmage. She, on the other hand, was a veteran greatmagi, and even if her magic did not run as deep or as vast as his, her experience more than made up for it.
Escaping, surviving, and vanishing without a trace were skills she had honed relentlessly during the world war half a century ago, experience carved through years of blood and fire, and in that regard at least, she was certain she stood leagues ahead of him.
In the blink of an eye, she was already hundreds of miles away, soaring high through the sky, racing atop her broom in erratic paths as fast as she could push it.
From time to time, she glanced behind her, and even when she saw nothing, she did not slow down, pressing onward with a resolute expression, shattering the sound barrier even and, when that wasn't enough, apparating between breaths as far as her magic would carry her.
She didn't stop even once. Beyond the European borders she tore south, past the Middle East, and in a matter of seconds she was already over Africa.
To her credit, if it had been anyone else, she might have truly escaped through sheer decisiveness, even if her pursuer had been another archmage. As the saying goes, victory belongs to those who strike before the speech, and she clearly understood that all too well.
Passing the hot deserts of Africa, she soon found herself crossing the equatorial line, and only then did she finally slow down, hovering above a dense forest before vanishing once more as she dove between the trees below.
Glancing once more over her shoulder and seeing nothing, she allowed herself a fleeting sense of relief, though she did not dare fully relax even then.
Settling beneath the shade of a large tree, with her back pressed firmly against the rough bark, she first extended her magical senses and stretched them as far as they could reach to sweep the dense forest around her. After all, she was fleeing from an archmage, and she wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.
Only when she was certain the area was clear did she allow her shoulders to slump, and at last, a long, shuddering exhale escaped her lips. She then leaned fully against the trunk, chest heaving and lungs burning from the brief but exhilarating ordeal of her escape.
The forest was calm, and all she could hear was the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional distant chirp of birds. She took a moment to steady herself, then glanced down—and only then realized she was still clad in nothing but her undergarments. But she was no child to concern herself with something so insignificant, and didn’t flush even once at the thought that someone had seen her in such an embarrassing state.
A sharp huff escaped her nose, and with a decisive flick of her wand, she conjured a robe over herself, finally giving serious thought to the question that burned in her mind: how had she been discovered? She was certain no one knew about this hidden refuge, a place she visited from time to time to rest, and before arriving, she had made sure not a single trail remained behind her.
Rustle...
“That was extremely rude of you, lady—”
Her skin prickled when that sound suddenly reached her ears, and she didn’t even need to guess—she already knew the voice. Instinctively, she snapped her head toward it, and there he was. Not behind her, not above her, but standing directly in front of her, only a few steps away, as casual as ever, regarding her as if she were nothing more than a clown.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Without thinking, she unleashed the Killing Curse at point-blank range. Maybe, just maybe… but her hope was extinguished almost immediately. To her astonishment and terror, the kid simply swatted the spell aside as effortlessly as one would flick a fly.
Impossible! she screamed inwardly. Even if he were an archmage, the Killing Curse was still the Killing Curse. And while that thought screamed inside her mind, her actions did not falter for even a moment.
Boom—boom—boom—boom!
Spell after spell—red, green, orange, blue—erupted from her wand like a relentless gatling, yet each one was deflected just as easily as the first, mere inches from the kid, as if her magic were weightless, insignificant, utterly powerless against him.
But the aftermath proved otherwise, for the quiet forest suddenly erupted into chaos as the very spells she had unleashed, though deflected with apparent ease, tore through trees, sent splintered debris and clouds of dust billowing all around her.
“That is quite enough…”
Boom—boom—boom—boom!
Amid her relentless barrage of spells, his voice cut through the chaos, ringing sharply in her ears, and before she could react, an unseen force slammed into her chest with brutal precision.
She didn’t even know which direction the spell had come from, only that her wand had been ripped from her grasp and that it had to be the disarming hex, before she was hurled backward, crashing against the tree behind her with a breath-crushing impact that left her gasping and reeling.
Pain, a heart-wrenching pain detonated through her ribs, and she spluttered a mouthful of blood and saliva, her body trembling from the force of the impact.
Cough. Cough.
She slid down the trunk, her bare feet scraping futilely against the dirt as a low groan escaped her lips, her chest burning while she struggled to draw breath back into her lungs.
When she forced her head up, vision swimming, she saw him standing a few steps away, casually twirling her wand between his fingers as though it were nothing more than a toy.
“Now, lady,” he said mildly, “are you ready to talk?”
Was this it for her? Her pupils trembled, unwilling, as thoughts of resignation scrambled through her mind. Was her master’s fate truly to be forever locked in that accursed prison?
All her experience, all the years she had lived, survived, and learned—the decades that dwarfed his age—did it really mean nothing in the face of such absolute power? Was there truly nothing she could do?
Magic—yes, she was defeated, completely and utterly outmatched by his power. But…
“What…” she coughed again, tasting copper, “…do you want, boy?”
Her eyes gleamed as she pushed herself up slowly, every movement deliberate, her posture slackening just enough to look resigned, as though she had accepted the inevitable.
She watched him observe the change, and indeed, seeing no resistance from her, she noticed him relax as well, even going so far as to feign a careless shrug.
“I am simply curious,” she heard him say, “why would you, of all people, choose to follow Tom Riddle? Weren’t you once the most devoted of Grindelwald’s followers—”
Now—BANG!
The air exploded in a deafening echo.
This time, magic was not the cause. It was a true detonation, igniting directly in front of his face. She had timed it perfectly. The instant she sensed his guard ease, her storage ring flashed, and a KS‑23 metal‑punching shotgun materialized in her hands, and in the same breath she pulled the trigger without a shred of hesitation, instinct and intent aligning in a single, violent moment.
Of course, she never expected the blast to strike him directly, and just as she anticipated, a shield flared into existence in front of him a single breath before impact, yet the sheer force behind the shot was overwhelming, powerful enough to hurl him backward and slam him violently into the trees behind. But that alone was more than enough for what she needed.
Without pausing, she surged forward, dropping the shotgun as it vanished and instantly replacing it with a semi automatic that barked fire and metal in brutal succession.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom.
Bark and splintered wood exploded outward with every impact, and she did not grant him even a heartbeat to regain his bearings, pouring the relentless barrage into him before he could so much as draw breath.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom.
She emptied round after round into him, relentless and merciless, until at last what she had been waiting and anticipating for unfolded before her eyes—the defensive spell began to buckle and then shattered completely.
The first bullet tore through just beneath his chest, and she clearly heard a raw, guttural groan escape from his throat. Her eyes immediately lit up with a mixture of exhilaration and triumph.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom.
Another round pierced his gut, followed quickly by another, and then another. Bullets ripped through arms, legs, and chest, turning him into a bloody, brutal mess.
“Haaaaaah!” she screamed, exhilaration flooding her veins as she fired until at last the weapon clicked uselessly in her hands, the magazine emptied completely.
Click. Click.
She stood there, breathing hard, chest rising and falling violently as adrenaline roared through her system. A wicked, involuntary smile spread across her face as she stepped closer, savoring the sight before her.
Cough... Splatter.
The tables had turned, and this time the sound did not come from her. Blood gushed from his mouth as he sagged, riddled with wounds, his throat torn open in three places, crimson flowing freely down his chest.
“You, boy,” she said softly, taking another step closer, her voice rich with relish. “It seems you are not as clever as people claimed you were.”
She drew another magazine from her ring, snapped it into place with a sharp click, and raised the weapon again, aiming carefully.
“A pity,” she continued. “The magical world will be losing such a young prodigy. But then again, who asked you to poke your nose into places where you did not belong.”
Coughing and groaning, she watched him struggle, summoning every ounce of strength to raise a hand toward her as if it were a final plea. Even his fingers trembled, two of them weakly stretching in her direction.
She felt no fear of any final desperate action he might take, for her magical senses had already assured her that he was barely clinging to life.
Still, for some inexplicable reason, she decided to humor him.
His hand was outstretched toward her, yet the two extended fingers were aimed precisely to her right.
Annoyed but curious, she snorted and turned her head, fully expecting some desperate trick.
Impossible!
Her pupils dilated, and before she could even register what was happening, she was back on her feet, the gun slipping from her fingers and clattering uselessly to the ground.
What she saw was not a jungle, nor shattered trees, nor even the scattered debris of earth and wood that should have marked the aftermath of their earlier clash.
It was... her room.
Her room was exactly as it had been before she fled—dimly lit, bathed in the same nighttime shadows. The same walls. The same furnishings. Even that same… sofa.
And sitting there, so relaxed and untouched, was that boy. One arm draped over the armrest, his head supported lazily by his knuckles, he regarded her with a raised brow, his expression calm, amused, and unmistakably patronizing, as if she were truly nothing more than a clown.
Her heart slammed violently in her chest, and she whipped her head back toward where the broken body—the body she had so violently decorated just moments ago—should have been. But there was nothing.
Even more alarming was... the forest had vanished as well. Or rather, she was no longer where she thought she was, and she had not the faintest idea when or how she had returned.
Her room surrounded her completely.
She staggered backward, her legs giving way, and her body slammed into the dressing table behind her. Slowly, she looked down, and even more horror crept up her spine as she realized she was once again clad in nothing but her undergarments, her skin completely bare and exposed.
Her mind couldn’t catch up, couldn’t process whatever the hell was happening.
“What did…” she whispered, voice shaking uncontrollably. “What did you do to me…”
Her heart raced wildly as her entire body trembled, despair crashing down on her in full as the truth finally began to dawn. Had she been… completely deceived?
“Take a seat…” As her thoughts scattered in every direction, she heard the kid speak again... no, she realized she was hearing that line for the second time now.
And just like before, she saw a chair materialize out of nowhere, then the boy beckoning her to sit.
Comments
QuantumServer
Thanks for the chapter
André Lange
Fuck thats cool!! I love that mind magic he uses!!!
