Penthuisiast
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SD: CH47 - Destiny
🕑 Added 2023-03-26 21:38:21 +0000 UTCI beat the crap out of the punching bag.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
My frustrations were rising beyond control. Even the sensations of pain swimming through my veins felt foreign, as if I wasn’t even part of the body. There was no euphoric high, only debilitating lows as I grunted and threw the next punch.
And the worst part? I wasn’t even sure what was happening to me, or what seemed to be causing it. Ever since that day with Narcissa, ever since I had begun thinking of my past life, my clarity had become murkier. Plans and ideas that were simpler and well-thought out now looked faulty, and I found myself verifying them over and over again. My mind was in constant turmoil, stuck between the Me that existed in this body ever since I found myself waking up as Harry Potter, and the Me that existed in my previous life. The more I reflected on it, the worse it became. The actions I had taken during my time here, those felt like the handiwork of someone who thought was me, but wasn’t me. If that made sense! The more I thought about my past life, I began to act like I used to be — cruel, dark and dominating. The ability to use magic— something that had made me feel invigorated, now felt like a cheat.
Something that made the world lesser just by being in it.
Smack!
I jabbed the bag with my left then uppercut with my right.
It didn’t help.
Back in my old life, I had gained power the hard way. The exact details were murky, but the memories were still there, like seeing through a stained window in winter. The ability to fuck my way to godhood had felt like such a hax ability, and maybe it should, but thinking about it, and seeing it in action were two different things. Hestia Jones was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, someone that wouldn’t betray Dumbledore even in the pain of Death. And yet my Devil’s Charm perk had turned her from that into a willing submissive, ready to betray her organisation for me. Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Tracey Davis — all of them had fallen prey to my powers. Hannah Abbott, a girl who had never exchanged two words with me, had been too eager to invite me to her bedroom and spread her legs. Her mother had changed from the proud restaurant owner to an eager submissive, ready to do anything I fancy. But it was actually Penelope Clearwater that broke the camel’s back. Penelope, whose stubbornness had brought her to a world of trouble, and she had survived through it all, had crumbled before my Devils’ Charm. She had turned into a nymphomaniac that got off on punishment.
I had thought that Magic would make my life so much better. Instead it made it less.
Made it… fake.
I know. You’d say I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe I am. But no one ever says the other part of the story. The part that doesn’t allow good to exist without condition. The people around me lived and breathed and had their own lives. They were absolutely real in every way that mattered. And yet, magic, or rather, my magic, my Devil’s Charm, turned them into something else.
Motherfucker! I was a walking, breathing Imperius Curse.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
I hit the bag in succession until my biceps hurt. Anyone else in my position would’ve probably thrown spells around, but believe me, the last thing I wanted was to bleed my frustration with magic. No, I needed some good, hard, mundane labour, and punching this bag wasn’t up to it. I needed to—
“Never thought you to be the punching type,” I heard Hestia’s voice behind me. “Feeling more aggressive, are we?”
“Yes, you can say that.”I clenched my fist and smashed the bag. The enchantments on the fabric kept it from straining and tearing, but the hook gave away. The bag tore off the metal hook and fell upon the floor with a loud thud.
I exhaled, and turned around, and found Hestia eyeing my sweaty body with hungry eyes. You’d think she’d be in her bed, sore from last night’s activities. Instead she was up and ready and practically glowing in her professional attire. Not gonna lie, I almost missed the person that had all but trounced me back at the Leaky Cauldron. The charming, bubbly girl that could bag an Oscar for a double Imposter role. The kind of woman who’d work as my secretary, let me fuck her at whim, all the while serving as my protective guard and also, keep an eye on me for Dumbledore. Now she was a triple Imposter, one who’d do all of that, except that she’d be feeding information to the Order after running them through me first. My spy in Dumbledore’s roost.
Not because I had purchased her. Not because I had something on her. And certainly not because I had convinced her to join me.
No, it had been a side-effect of the Devil’s Charm. How could I not think that this world was fake, that all this was just… a game?
“You know you can talk to me right? About whatever’s troubling you?”
I scowled. Hestia was fishing. I hate it when she does that. I wished that she’d just let me punch my emotions and be done with it. But no, Hestia believes in Dumbledorian philosophy, believes in talking. Getting your feelings out of your chest and all that kumbaya crap. She thinks that she’s my personal fucking shrink and has been analysing me since the day we met.
“Can a guy not just enjoy some physical exercise?”
“A wizard? No. You? Maybe, but this is odd, even for you.”
I glared at her. She casually crossed her arms and looked at me like I was full of shit. Maybe I was.
“Something on your mind?” She asked.
“Too many to count, unfortunately,” I muttered, and walked up to the fallen bag, and placed it in its container. If she noticed how I had avoided using my wand and done it the muggle way, she didn’t comment on it.
She took my moment of reprieve to strike.
“Talk to me.” The calculating motherfucking skank tried again.
Just last night, she was screaming her lungs out as I tortured and dominated her, and now she was back in her protective guard mode. Honestly, the mental switching this woman operated from was a far greater mystery than the Fidelius Charm.
“Tell me, Hestia, did you know me, you know, before we met?”
Hestia cocked her head, as if trying to judge if I was being silly or plain whimsical. I wasn’t. Or maybe I was? It was difficult to tell these days.
“Not particularly.”
I looked up at her in dry amusement. “The Order sent an operative to handle me, without giving any information on me?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she corrected me. “You’re the Boy-Who-Lived. Everyone’s interested in you. So was I. But after I was to be made your handler, I made a cursory study of your past years at Hogwarts. That’s all. Why do you ask?”
“And what do you think of that cursory study? Do I fit your details?”
Hestia snorted. “Fat lot of good that did. You’ve got as many similarities as a thestral has with a hippogriff.”
The irony of her words did not escape me.
“The Harry Potter in those files is a study of contradictions. Desirous of accomplishment, but happy to remain unseen in the shadows. Humble, yet proud. Brave, loyal and yet sneaky and vengeful. Someone that can do anything for his friends, including risking his own life, not because of his ego but because he believes he has to be the one to do it. A textbook definition of an unsung hero.”
“And me?”
“You?” Hestia said. “You too are a study of contradictions. You’re independent, fiercely so, but an absolute control freak. Ambitious, but only if it serves a greater purpose. Ruthless and ark and extremely pragmatic, but somehow, just somehow, you manage to do a little good in the process. You’re not some future Leader of the Light, like Albus Dumbledore would have us believe. Neither are you the hero that the files and the last few years paint you to be. You’re a schemer, a manipulator and a fighter. One that chooses his battles and only fights when his victory is guaranteed. But…”
I arched an eyebrow. “But?”
Hestia looked conflicted.
“You can say it. I wouldn’t have asked you if I wanted to hear lies.”
“It’s just… I’ve watched you over the past two months, and sometimes… sometimes you’ve got this unsettling far off look in your eyes when you think no one’s watching. It’s something no sane person would have, or should have, for that matter. I’ve seen you execute your plans, and I’ve seen a cruel, psychotic mind at work. Even when you do good, it serves your greater purpose. The Harry Potter in the files was a hero, but you, you are more akin to a…”
“Villain?”
Hestia shook her head. “Not a villain. A Monster. The Dark Lord would destroy our world using its own bigotry as his weapon, but you… you’d turn it into your toy.”
That brought a smile to my face. The first real one in days. “And you don’t have a problem with that?”
Hestia clenched her fists. “I know I should. But I don’t. I think our world has stagnated for too long. The Dark Lord? He’s just the matchstick, ready to set our world on fire, fueled by its own vices. Professor Dumbledore is his diametrical opposite, but even he doesn’t do anything to change the world.”
“And becoming a toy is a better option?”
A small smile formed on Hestia’s lips. “Well, I’m optimistic that we’ll convince you to become… less dark, since it’s clear you’re no Light Child. Me, Hermione, and every other girl that you bring into your web. Maybe I’m being hopelessly optimistic; maybe I’m just tired of the world and want things to change, no matter what turn that change might take.”
“Or maybe you think I’m the Beast of Villeneuve and you’re my Belle.”
Hestia giggled. “I was always fond of that novel. But yes, maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just too drunk, too deep into your web. Does it matter?”
I shook my head.
“Can I ask you something for a change?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Why are we having this conversation? You know I won’t betray you. I’m reasonably certain I physically can’t. I don’t know what it is you’ve done to me. And honestly, I don’t care. I’ll get Tonks ensnared into this, and we’ll be together with you, as you take this world by storm. I know you will.”
“You do?” I arched an eyebrow. “Is that why you keep interrupting me in front of others?”
Hestia flushed. “I’m supposed to be your protector. I— I can’t help myself. But if you feel badly about it, maybe..” she inched closer. “Maybe you can take me somewhere secluded and show me exactly how annoyed you are with me again?”
I couldn't help myself. I laughed. Loudly. “You’re enjoying your punishment a bit too much, Hestia. I’ll try harder next time.”
“You didn’t answer,” she said. “Why are we having this conversation?”
“Because this is your last chance. You’re right. I’m no saviour. I will change this world and rebuild it in my image. It will take time, and I have numerous obstacles before me, but that is exactly what I’ll do. The things I’ll do are ghastly; my actions will bring an endless number of crimes and ransack this world. If there is a part of you that still believes in the old Harry Potter then…”
I threw her my wand. She caught it.
“Kill me right now.”
I stretched my arms wide. “Kill me, before it’s too late. Even if I survive, which is highly unlikely, I’ll give up on my plans.”
Her hands trembled.
“But if you don’t, then I’ll become the nightmare that Wizarding Britain has never imagined. I’ll raid and destroy Azkaban. I’ll destroy the Wizengamot, take the bigotry festering deep within its heart and rip it out, even if I have to destroy Wizarding society in the process.”
“Every Noble?”
“Every Noble,” I said. “When I'm done, there won’t be any conservative, moderate or extremist factions left. Just magic and those that can wield it.”
“But… but what about those that are fighting against the Dark Lord?”
“Those same people are the reason the world does not change. You’d have thought that after Voldemort’s defeat in ‘81, things would be different. But they aren’t. The same people are in charge. The same system, the same bigotry, the same… everything. So long as there are those that remember how things were, they will be those that are unable to accept what can be.”
Hestia stayed silent.
“And then from the ashes, I will build a new world. One that knows not what it’s lost but only what it’s been given.” I met her eyes. “A grateful world.”
“You’d throw this world into another war…” Hestia mumbled, her hands shaking.
“I will.”
I stared at her, amused. I knew that power wise, I was nothing compared to the juggernauts that were Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. But that’s where people got it wrong. No one wizard, no matter how powerful, could outperform the strength of many. Quality has its uses, but in terms of raw power, quantity always wins.
Voldemort, Master of the Dark Arts, had the Dark. Dumbledore, Transfiguration Expert, had the world as his weapon. Me? I’d have the people.
My weapons.
My toys.
It was the only choice that both sides of me agreed upon. If my power was what turned my life fake, then I’d take this power and make the entire world fake.
And then I’d rule over it. As its God.
Hestia took a step and raised her hand. For a moment, I idly wondered if she was actually going to try to kill me. I know I was being utterly brazen, but even I knew I wouldn’t just die. The Horcrux perk would grant me immunity and push my Dark Arts affinity to a hundred. But was that only against the killing curse, or did that cover for all spells?
Like, would my head reattach if she just severed it in one blow?
Maybe I had been a little hasty about it all.
She took another step, and stood right in front of me. With my improved sensory reception, I could see the way her body was practically thrumming. Her breath had gone up, but I could sense no hostility from her. She held up her arm until it was on eye-level.
“I told you before,” said Hestia. “I’d keep your secrets. I do not plan to change that now. You had my secretarial oath keeping me in check before this. Now? Now, I am willing to swear an unbreakable vow.”
My wand lit up as she channelled magic through it. “I, Hestia Jones, swear to serve Harry Potter with everything I’ve got, and be on his side, no matter what form it takes.”
And right then, the Screen popped in. And I knew what it was going to be about.
World Anchor — Hestia Jones has gone up to 100%
World Anchor Sealed!
+10 Meta-Luck Points Added as Bonus!
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 449
Required World Anchor — 15
Meta-Luck — 57.2
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Hestia Jones
Spatial Magic +17%
Charms +13%
Martial Magic +11%
At 100% Anchorage, you have gained a Perk!
The old me would have been overjoyed at this development. I just… twitched. In annoyance.
PERK — SUBVERSIVE ACTIVIST
Materialization of Hestia’s skill as a scout and spy. Perceiving a slight opening and placing oneself in an attacker’s blindspot, the user can reduce the chances of the enemy getting the better of him.
EFFECTS
Ability to see through conversation patterns and hypothesise precise results out of them.
Heightened affinity for Illusion-based charms.
If I had any doubts about her crossing over, the possibility of that had fallen down to zero. I had seen the kind of changes the 100% anchorage brought in Hermione. With this development, I knew, more than ever, that I had successfully infiltrated the Order of the fucking Phoenix.
“Why?” Hestia asked.
“Why?” I cocked my head.
“Why?” She repeated, as if that alone was enough context. “What made you become like this?”
Huh. Oh well.
I smiled. “Before this summer began, I asked Professor Dumbledore a question.”
Hestia raised her eyebrows.
“Imagine you wake up one morning, and find yourself transported into your favourite story. Say, as your favourite character. Say there is absolutely no way you can return to your original life. So tell me, Hestia Jones. What do you do? You know the story inside out, and you know how things end. Do you use that knowledge to make the best out of it, knowing very well what follows in the endgame? Or do you laugh at the stupidity of it all, and just do whatever the hell you want?”
“That’s… an oddly specific question.”
I snorted. She had no idea. “I ask that because that’s what my life is about, Hestia Jones. Back before I had that encounter with the dementors, Professor Trelawney made another prophecy, about how the Dark Lord would return again.”
“The Dark Lord—” Hestia began, panic setting into her tone.
“Will return again, more powerful than ever, and soon. Very soon,” I said hauntingly, “And I let Peter Pettigrew, his servant, run free. I should have killed him, but instead, I wanted him captured. Do the right thing. And you know what’s the worst part? I cannot even blame me, because Trelawney had prophesied that, hours ago, that the Dark Lord’s servant would join him and bring his return.”
I looked at her. “There is no such thing as free will. My successes and failures exist because someone up there, God, Magic, Merlin whatever— deemed it to be so, and nothing I say or do will change that.”
The last time I had spoken these words, I had been filled with bitter amusement. This time, it was magnified.
“So tell me, knowing that, can you blame me? Or Pettigrew? Voldemort? If all our actions are pre-ordained in some book of destiny or some such shit, we are just puppets. Should you not hate Fate for making Lucius Malfoy get you fired? Must I not hate it for becoming an orphan on that Halloween night?”
Hestia said nothing.
“I do not wish to stay a puppet. Whatever this destiny, this higher force is, I want to know who or what’s behind it. I do not know what made me an incubus, or how it allows me to do… whatever I do, but Destiny wanted it, then I want to see what else it’s got. I want to sink into the most abstruse lore of magic, find this puppeteer and pull it out of the shadows. Only then, will I have accomplished something.”
Hestia gaped. “You’d— you’d uproot Destiny itself?”
I smiled. “I have already begun.”
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