Chapter 37:
– Harry –
"...Hello, Harry Sitri," Luna's airy, melodic voice drifted toward me as I stepped into the dim, hay-scented interior of the Hogwarts stables.
The air inside was cool and heavy with the musk of magical beasts, dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the high wooden slats.
Luna was standing near the back stalls, her back to me. She was wearing a simple, airy sundress that seemed entirely inappropriate for the Scottish autumn weather, the thin fabric clinging gently to her petite body. She was humming a strange, off-key tune as she reached into a bloody wooden bucket at her feet.
In her hand, she held a thick, dripping slab of raw beef.
I watched as she offered it to the empty air, or what would look like empty air to anyone who hadn't seen death. But I could see them clearly. The Thestrals. Skeletal, reptilian horses with leathery wings folded tight against their gaunt bodies. Their white, pupil-less eyes stared at her with an eerie intelligence as they snapped the meat from her delicate fingers with terrifying speed.
"At least it isn't the meat-eating bunnies again," I muttered to myself, shuddering at the memory of those vicious little fluff-balls. I walked up to her, my boots crunching softly on the straw-covered stone floor. "Hey, Luna. How's it going?"
Luna turned to face me, her long, dirty-blonde hair swaying with the movement. Her silvery-blue eyes were wide and unblinking, holding that trademark look of perpetual surprise. She wiped a smear of blood from her thumb onto her dress without a second thought.
"I am doing very well, Harry," she said, her voice drifting like smoke. She tilted her head to the side, studying me. "Did you come out here to visit me? Or are you hiding from the Nargles?"
"A bit of both, I think," I admitted, letting out a long sigh. I moved to stand beside her, looking into the bucket. It was filled with choice cuts of raw steak. "Mostly, I just came to clear my head."
A shiver ran down my spine, though not from the cold. It was the residual anxiety from this morning. Needing something to do with my hands, I reached into the bucket. The meat was cold and slick, coating my fingers in a thin film of blood. I held it out to the nearest Thestral.
The beast snorted, its hot breath washing over my hand, before it lunged. Rows of sharp teeth tore the chunk from my grip, ripping it to pieces with a wet, tearing sound before guzzling it down. It was violent and graceful all at once.
"Are you upset because of how you woke up this morning, Harry Sitri?" Luna asked suddenly.
I froze. My hand hovered over the bucket, fingers twitching. I turned my head slowly to look at her, feeling the color drain from my face. "How..." I swallowed, my throat dry. "How do you know about that?"
Only Narcissa was supposed to know right now considering I woke up next to her this morning!
Luna just chuckled, that soft, tinkling sound that seemed to vibrate in the air. She didn't answer directly. She just looked at me with that dreamy, faraway expression, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"I know a lot of things, Harry," she murmured, turning back to the Thestrals. "You'd have to be specific."
I narrowed my eyes at her. Sometimes, I swear she did this on purpose. She had this uncanny ability to poke right at the heart of your secrets while acting like she was talking about the weather.
"Considering you just brought it up out of nowhere," I said, leaning back against the wooden stall door, "sometimes I think you just enjoy being a beautiful little vixen, messing with my head." Luna blinked, her smile widening. "As the Muggles would say... you're a troll, Luna," I told her, shaking my head with a smirk.
Luna pouted immediately, her lower lip jutting out. It was adorable. "I am not a troll, Harry Sitri," she said, sounding genuinely mildly offended. "Trolls are big and smelly and have bogies in their noses. I am much prettier than a troll."
I opened my mouth to explain internet slang—to tell her that "trolling" meant messing with people for fun—but then I stopped. Did Luna even know what the internet was? Did she know what a computer was? Probably not. Wizarding society was stuck in the Victorian era half the time. Explaining memes to Luna Lovegood felt like a task that would take six hours and leave me more confused than when I started.
So I dropped it.
I stepped closer to her, invading her personal space just a little, my voice dropping to a lower, huskier register. "You're right," I agreed, letting my eyes rake over her. The thin fabric of her dress did little to hide the soft curves of her body, and I could see the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the material in the cool air. "You are indeed very pretty, Luna. Much prettier than a troll."
The compliment hit home. The eighteen-year-old Ravenclaw broke into a dazzling, happy grin, her earlier pout vanishing instantly. She looked delighted, a faint flush rising on her pale cheeks.
"Thank you, Harry," she chirped. She turned and skipped over to the next pair of Thestrals, her dress fluttering around her legs, revealing flashes of pale skin. She started feeding them with renewed enthusiasm, humming that strange tune again.
I watched her for a moment, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. Still, the worry about my new ability gnawed at me.
I walked over to her, keeping my voice low. "Luna..." I started nervously. "Do you think... Do you think Serafall is going to find out about my latest ability? The one I woke up with this morning?"
Luna paused in her feeding. She turned to me, her expression serene and comforting. She smiled, reaching out to pat my arm with a blood-flecked hand.
"You don't have to worry about that, Harry," she said simply.
I let out a massive breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Oh, good. I was worried she'd—"
"—Serafall already knows!" Luna cut me off cheerfully, her voice bright and matter-of-fact.
I choked. "What?"
Luna nodded sagely, tossing a chunk of beef into the air for a Thestral to catch. "Oh yes. She has hidden cameras in your room! And in all your peerage members' bedrooms, too!"
My eyes widened until I thought they might pop out of my skull.
Cameras? Hidden cameras? She really did have them everywhere!?
"She... what?" I wheezed.
"Technology is fascinating, isn't it?" Luna mused, oblivious to my horror.
Beyond the obvious, staggering breach of privacy, the implications crashed into me like a tidal wave. If she had cameras, that meant she could see everything that happened when I woke up.
All I could do was gulp, feeling the blood drain from my face as I stared at Luna's smiling face.
"Oh no..."
Luna leaned up on her toes, she was half a head shorter than I was, and kissed me on the cheek. Her own cheeks turned very pink as she shrunk back down on her heels again. "There there, Harry Sitri, I'm sure it won't be as bad as you are thinking…"
"You're just saying that, aren't you Luna?" I couldn't help the deadpan expression.
"...I thought it would make you feel better, but I'm sorry, I'm not very good at lying," she replied airily.
…I escorted Luna back up the winding dirt path toward the castle. Luna walked with a bounce in her step that seemed entirely at odds with the gore staining her hands. She hummed that strange, off-key melody again, seemingly unbothered by the red smears on her airy sundress.
"So," I asked, breaking the silence as we crested the hill, the massive stone silhouette of Hogwarts looming above us. "Is this your official job or something? Every time I turn around, I see you feeding some dangerous creature on the grounds. First the bunnies, now the invisible death-horses."
Luna turned her large, silvery-blue eyes up to me, a smear of blood streaking across her pale cheek like war paint. She smiled, bright and unclouded. "Oh, yes," she replied, her voice drifting like a cloud. "It is part of my arrangement with Professor Hagrid. He gives me extra credit in Care of Magical Creatures for ensuring that none of the animals in the castle go hungry. He says I have a 'knack for the misunderstood ones.'"
"I can see that," I muttered, thinking of the carnivorous rabbits. "You definitely have a type."
"I enjoy it," she continued, looking out over the Black Lake. "Animals are much easier to understand than people. They don't lie about what they want. When I graduate, I want to travel the world and find creatures no one believes in. I'm going to run my own magical zoology paper—The Quibbler needs a dedicated creature section, and Daddy says I can take over when I'm ready."
I looked down at her, struck by the simplicity and passion in her voice. "That's a cool sounding dream, Luna. Traveling the world, hunting down monsters... sounds like an adventure."
"It will be," she agreed. Then she squeezed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "What about you, Harry Sitri? What will you do?"
I paused, the question hanging heavy in the air. "Honestly?" I admitted, looking up at the clouds. "I'm not sure. I have... a lot of time to figure it out."
Being a devil—a half-devil with the lifespan of a pureblood—meant I wasn't just planning for the next ten years. I was planning for the next ten thousand. The concept of eternity was still something my human upbringing struggled to wrap its head around. Would I rule a territory? Would I just travel like Luna? Would I spend a century indulging hedonistically with my lovers?
Okay, maybe yes to that last one…
Luna interrupted my existential crisis by latching herself tighter onto my arm. She pressed her side firmly against mine, her small, soft breast flattening against my bicep through the thin fabric of her dress.
"I'm glad you came," she murmured, resting her head on my shoulder as we walked. "I was worried you might be too busy with your other... friends."
I looked down at her, seeing the genuine pleasure in her expression. "I told you I would spend more time with you. I keep my promises."
Luna beamed, her expression shifting from dreamy to something sharper, possessive in a way that reminded me she was a witch, not just a girl. "Good. You have a responsibility, after all."
"Responsibility?"
"You sullied me," she said matter-of-factly. "You took my very first kiss on that opening day carriage ride. Now I'm ruined for any other boys. None of them could possibly compare to a devil prince. So you have to take responsibility for me now."
I choked out a laugh, shaking my head at her logic. "Is that how it works?"
"That is exactly how it works," she stated firmly. Luna could be a lot more outgoing and demanding than you would expect once you got to know her.
We reached the massive oak doors of the castle and slipped inside. It was crowded—students were milling about between classes, groups of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students mixing with the Hogwarts crowd.
Luna stopped at the foot of the Grand Staircase. She turned to me, rising up on her tiptoes. Before I could react, she pressed her soft lips against my cheek, right near the corner of my mouth. "Thank you for the walk, Harry," she whispered, her breath warm on my skin. Then, with a final squeeze of my arm, she skipped off toward the stairs to head up to Ravenclaw tower.
As Luna moved through the crowd, her blood-stained hands and the red smears on her dress stood out starkly against the clean stone and pristine uniforms. A group of Beauxbatons students, dressed in their immaculate blue silk, actually shrieked. They parted like the Red Sea, pressing themselves against the walls with looks of absolute horror on their faces.
"Mon Dieu!" one girl gasped, covering her mouth. "Is zat... blood?"
"She looks like a butcher!" another whispered, shrinking away as Luna breezed past them, humming happily, completely oblivious—or indifferent—to their revulsion.
However, the reaction from the Durmstrang contingent was entirely different.
A group of Durmstrang boys, thick-necked and wearing heavy fur cloaks, stopped their conversation dead. They watched Luna go, their eyes tracking the blood on her hands and the fearless way she carried herself.
I saw one of them, a tall guy with a shaved head, nod appreciatively. "That is what's up," he muttered in a thick accent, nudging his friend.
"A real woman," the friend agreed, staring at Luna's retreating figure with newfound respect. "Not afraid to get her hands dirty. Do you think she is single?"
The third guy in their group snorted, shaking his head. "Forget it, man. Didn't you see who she was walking with?" He jerked his chin in my direction. "She was with Harry Sitri."
"Dammit," the first guy grumbled, his shoulders slumping. "Of course she was. He keeps getting all the sexy babes in his harem…"
I couldn't help it, I just chuckled and shook my head as I walked away and pretended I didn't hear them. But they weren't exactly subtle so everyone nearby heard them.
I needed to clean up myself. My hands felt sticky and gross from the raw meat, and while I had used a quick water spell outside to rinse the worst of it off, I could still feel the phantom sensation of grease and blood on my skin.
I didn't feel like going all the way up to the common room, so I headed toward the fifth floor. I knew exactly where I was going—the Prefect's bathroom.
Technically, I wasn't allowed in there. I wasn't a Prefect. I barely even qualified as a traditional student. But "rules" were more like "suggestions" when you were a devil with enough magical power to level a good chunk of the building.
I reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered and found the nondescript door hidden beside it. The magic of the door hummed, a complex web of wards designed to keep out anyone who didn't know the password.
I stopped in front of it. I didn't know the password. I didn't care.
"Open up," I muttered.
The door remained shut. The magic flared up from the small wards, resisting me.
I sighed and raised my right hand. I didn't bother reaching for the fake wand in my pocket. Instead, I let my demonic energy surge. The blue crest of the Sitri clan flared to life on the back of my hand, invisible to human eyes but burning with power I could feel in my marrow.
I placed my palm flat against the wood.
"I said," I growled, pushing a pulse of raw, concentrated magic directly into the locking wards, "open."
There was a sharp crack like a whip snapping. The protective enchantments shattered under the brute force of my mana, the delicate wizarding magic buckling under the weight of devil power. The heavy door groaned, the lock mechanism snapping back with a loud clack, and it swung open for me without further protest.
"That's better," I said, stepping into the steam-filled luxury of the bathroom, ready to wash the stench of the stables off my skin.
Of course, in my rush, I did end up forgetting one crucial, rather infamous detail about the Hogwarts Prefects' bathrooms.
They were co-ed.
In theory, it wasn't a big deal. Most Prefects at this school were around twenty years old, fifth years or higher—adults, really. It was a shared space for mature students to relax away from the chaos of the common rooms. It shouldn't have mattered.
Except, in my haste, I had completely forgotten that Gryffindor did have a Prefect in the exact same year as me.
Jasmine Potter-McKinnon.
I stepped through the heavy door, the steam billowing out to wrap around me in a warm, floral-scented embrace. The room was magnificent, a swimming-pool-sized bathtub sunk into the floor, surrounded by taps of every shape and size. But my eyes didn't linger on the architecture. They locked instantly onto the center of the steaming, crystal-clear water.
There she was. The beautiful, nineteen-year-old brunette, frozen like a deer in headlights.
Jasmine was completely naked.
She was standing waist-deep in the center of the massive tub, likely just moving to get a towel or change positions. Her wet, short brown hair was plastered to her skull and neck, framing a heart-shaped face that was currently draining of all blood. Water sluiced down her slender shoulders, trailing over the smooth, pale skin of her collarbones and dripping from her chin.
Because the water was perfectly clear and devoid of bubbles, I saw everything.
My gaze dropped from her shocked brown eyes to her chest. Her breasts were modest but perfectly shaped, perky and firm, tipped with small, pale pink nipples that were already stiffening in the cooler air above the water. Below the surface, the distortion of the ripples did nothing to hide the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, or the dark triangle of curls between her thighs.
We just stared at each other for a long, heavy heartbeat, the silence stretching out between us.
"Oh. Hi, Jasmine," I said, my voice perfectly nonchalant, as if I'd just run into her in the common room. I didn't turn around. I didn't apologize. Instead, I casually walked past the pool toward the row of ornate sinks lining the wall.
Jasmine let out a high-pitched, embarrassed squeak that echoed off the marble walls. A massive splash followed as she scrambled backward, sinking down until the water lapped at her chin. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying desperately to cover her breasts, her knees jerking up to hide her center.
"Harry!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "What—why are you in the Prefects' bathroom?!"
I reached the sink and turned the gold tap. Hot water gushed out, steaming into the porcelain basin. I grabbed a bar of luxury soap that smelled like lavender and almonds and began to vigorously scrub the blood and grime from my hands.
But I didn't look at my hands. My eyes were fixed on the large mirror above the sink, which gave me a perfect, panoramic view of the girl in the tub behind me.
"Just cleaning up," I replied calmly, watching her reflection. She was blushing furiously, her skin turning a lovely shade of rose from her neck up to her hairline. "I was helping Luna feed the Thestrals. Raw beef gets everywhere. It's sticky."
I lathered the soap between my fingers, taking my time, my gaze dropping in the reflection to where she was floating. Even curled up, the water was clear enough that I could see the smooth curve of her spine and the pale globe of her ass as she tried to make herself smaller.
"Oh my," a sultry, melodic voice suddenly called out from the far side of the bath, cutting through the steam. "You certainly are a bold one, aren't you?"
My hands paused under the water. My eyes widened slightly in the mirror. I hadn't realized Jasmine wasn't alone.
I turned my head slowly, looking past Jasmine's cowering form to the far edge of the hot tub.
There, lounging against the marble rim with her arms spread wide along the edge, was a woman who looked like an older, curvier, and blonde version of Jasmine. She was breathtaking. Her blonde hair was pinned up loosely, stray wet tendrils curling against her long neck. Her skin was a rich, creamy shade, flushed pink from the heat of the bath. She made absolutely no attempt to cover herself.
She was completely relaxed, her body floating buoyantly in the water. Her breasts were large—much larger than Jasmine's—heavy and voluptuous, swaying gently with the movement of the water. They floated just below the surface, the tips breaking the water line occasionally. Her nipples were larger, a darker, duskier rose color, glistening wetly under the enchanted lights.
I let my gaze travel lower, unashamed. The water magnified her curves, showing off a soft, mature stomach and wide, birthing hips that tapered down to thick, shapely thighs. She was completely open, her legs spread comfortably in the water, giving me a tantalizing, wavering view of her mature pussy lips nestled in a patch of blonde curls.
I almost ended up thanking God—or the Maou—that they hadn't decided to use bubble bath today. It was a spectacular view.
The woman watched me watching her, a teasing, knowing smirk playing on her red lips.
"Are you sure you're not James Potter's son?" she asked, her voice rich with amusement. "You have that same arrogant stride he used to have. Walking in here like you own the place, ogling two naked witches without a shred of shame."
"Mom!" Jasmine shrieked, splashing water as she turned to glare at her mother. "We've already been over this! He is not my brother! And why are you so nonchalant about a guy walking in here and peeping on us?!"
Did she just say mom? I blinked, surprised. This beautiful, naked woman was Marlene McKinnon? Lily Evans's former best friend?
My mind raced. Lilja—my future Queen, the reincarnation of my mother—I wondered if Lilja knew Marlene was visiting the castle?
Marlene just laughed, a musical, throaty sound that bounced off the tiled walls. She lifted one leg out of the water, resting her foot on the edge of the tub, giving me a gratuitous view of her smooth calf and thigh, water running in rivulets down her skin.
"Oh, hush, Jasmine," Marlene teased, ignoring her daughter's mortification. "This takes me back, that's all." She ran a wet hand down her neck, trailing it over her wet cleavage. "Your... not-brother here just reminded me of the old days. My best friend Lily and I used to get up to all kinds of naked shenanigans in this very bathroom back in our day." Marlene's eyes sparkled with a mischievous, almost wicked glint as she looked directly at me, licking her lips slowly.
"We used to compare notes on boys or girls... compare bodies," she murmured, her hands cupping her own breasts and giving them a little squeeze, making the soft flesh bulge. "It's almost why I suggested we do some mother-daughter bonding time in here since I was visiting. I wanted to see if the current generation knew how to have fun."
Jasmine let out a strangled noise of pure embarrassment. She couldn't take it anymore. With a desperate gasp, she sank lower, submerging the lower half of her face until only her eyes were visible above the water, bubbles forming as she breathed out in frustration. Her ears were burning red.
I smirked, drying my hands on a plush towel while keeping my eyes firmly on Marlene's displayed body.
"Well," I said, my voice dropping an octave, leaning back against the sink. "If you need someone to help recreate those memories... I'm available."
"I'm sure you would be," Marlene purred, flirting right back without missing a beat. Her blue eyes raked over me, lingering on my chest and arms before drifting lower, a playful, knowing glint in her gaze.
Slowly, deliberately, she slid her leg back down into the water. The movement was graceful, the water rippling around her thigh, but she made absolutely no effort to cover the rest of her body. Her large, heavy breasts continued to float buoyantly on the surface, the dark pink nipples glistening wetly in the enchanted light, demanding attention.
Then, the playful smirk softened into something more sincere. She shifted in the water, sitting up straighter, the water line dropping to reveal her smooth stomach and the flare of her hips.
"But in all seriousness, Harry," she said, her voice dropping the teasing lilt for a moment of genuine gravity. "I came as soon as I heard the news. I needed to check on my daughter." She glanced down at Jasmine, who was still trying to merge with the porcelain of the tub, before looking back at me with intense gratitude.
"I heard everything," Marlene continued, her eyes searching mine. "About the Chamber of Secrets. About the monster you fought down there underneath the castle. You risked your life to save my Jasmine." She leaned forward, the water sloshing against the marble rim, her wet skin glowing. "You saved her life, Harry. I don't know if I can ever properly repay you for that."
From the depths of her watery fortress, Jasmine mumbled, her voice small and wavering. "Thank you again, Harry." She didn't look at me, her face buried halfway in the water, bubbles forming as she breathed out, but I could see the tops of her ears were still burning a bright crimson.
I smiled, grabbing a plush towel from the rack and drying my hands, taking my time to ensure they were clean now.
"Of course," I said, my voice steady. "I would never let anything happen to my 'not-sister.' She means a lot to me." I paused, leaning a hip against the sink vanity. "But I didn't rescue her alone. I had help."
Marlene nodded slowly, her wet hair clinging to her neck. "I heard. The girl named Lilja, correct? She is a transfer student from Norway?"
"That's the one," I confirmed.
"I haven't had the pleasure of speaking with her yet," Marlene mused, tilting her head. "But from what Dumbledore mentioned, she sounds quite interesting."
"I'm sure it will be a very... interesting meeting for the two of you," I told her, fighting back a knowing smirk.
My mind raced for a moment. Lilja—Lily Evans reborn—was currently terrified of facing Marlene. Marlene, meanwhile, had no idea that the young girl who had helped save her daughter was actually her dead best friend. I wondered if Lilja would end up telling Marlene the truth, or if she'd keep that secret buried.
Although, she did end up telling Remus already…
Marlene shifted again. "There is something else," she said, her expression serious again. "I wanted to thank you for returning the Invisibility Cloak. It belonged to her father, even if he and I weren't close after our affair. That is still an ancient Potter family heirloom, an artifact of immense power and value." She looked at me pointedly. "By all the old laws of magic, you could have kept it. You saved her life. Jasmine owes you a life debt, Harry. You could have claimed the cloak—or anything else—as a reward, and no one in our world would have faulted you for it."
Ah, life debts. They weren't strictly a magical binding contract like an Unbreakable Vow, but culturally? They were heavy. In the wizarding world—hell, in the entire supernatural world—saving someone's life created a bond of obligation that was taken very seriously. I could have asked for the cloak. I could have asked for money. I could have asked for sexual favors.
But I just shook my head, tossing the towel onto the counter.
"I wouldn't ask for that," I said firmly. "I didn't do it for a reward, and I definitely don't want a debt hanging over her head. Jasmine doesn't owe me anything." I paused, letting a mischievous grin curl the corner of my lips as I looked directly at the girl hiding in the water. "Except maybe a date," I added smoothly.
Jasmine let out a high-pitched squeak that echoed off the tile walls, splashing water as she jerked in surprise. Her head dipped under the surface for a second before she resurfaced, sputtering and coughing, her face an impossible shade of red.
Marlene threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and delighted. Then she pouted, thrusting her chest out further, the water glistening on her skin.
"Oh, you're going to make me jealous, Harry," she teased, trailing a wet finger down the center of her chest, right between her breasts. "Passing me over for the newer, prettier model? That stings!" She gave me a sultry, hooded look, her blue eyes dark with mischief. "Or... perhaps you don't have to choose?" She shifted her legs beneath the water, opening them wider in a silent, inviting display that left nothing to the imagination. "You are rather handsome," she purred, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And you are Lily's son. You know... she and I used to be more than just best friends."
My eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?"
Marlene smirked, biting her lower lip. "Oh yes. We got up to all kinds of trouble. We shagged in this very tub many, many times." She gestured around the opulent room. "Right here. On the edge, in the water... she had quite the salacious appetite." She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, her elbows on the rim of the tub, giving me a perfect view down her cleavage. "It makes me wonder if you inherited her talents," she murmured. "Maybe we could make this a family affair? You could have both of us. Mother and daughter... I think I could teach Jasmine a thing or two about how to please a man like you."
"MOM!" Jasmine shrieked, looking like she wanted to manifest a hole in the universe and die in it. "OH MY GOD, STOP! PLEASE STOP TALKING NOW!"
Jasmine grabbed a towel from the side and frantically tried to cover her head, sinking lower until the water was practically in her ears.
I winced a bit, but then couldn't help chuckling. Man, what a fun woman. Marlene McKinnon was a force of nature. "You're terrible," I told her, grinning. "I assume you'll be sticking around the castle today?"
"I will," Marlene confirmed, looking pleased with the chaos she'd caused. "I'll be joining my daughter for dinner tonight in the Great Hall as a guest. I expect to see you there."
"I wouldn't miss it," I said. "Im sure that's when you can meet Lilja, then."
"I look forward to it," she replied, her eyes twinkling.
"Enjoy your bath, ladies," I said, giving them both one last appreciative look—Jasmine's mortified form and Marlene's glorious, naked display—before turning toward the heavy wooden door.
As I walked up the steps to the exit, I paused. I raised my right hand, feeling the demonic energy pool in my palm. I just waved my hand over the doorframe, pushing a pulse of magic into the wood and stone. A heavy, complex locking ward slammed into place, sealing the room tight.
I knew I was being a bit of a hypocrite. I had just walked in on them, after all. But the thought of anyone else—any other guy, any other student—stumbling in here and seeing what I just saw? Seeing Jasmine's perky breasts or Marlene's voluptuous curves?
No. That wasn't happening. Sue me. I was a possessive devil. Those sights were for my eyes only.
I was fully intending to head back down through the castle, navigating the shifting staircases toward the Great Hall for lunch, when a sudden pulse of magic warmed the skin of my wrist. I glanced down to see the communication sigil flaring. It was a message from Lyra, short and urgent, asking me to come to Narcissa's private quarters immediately.
I paused on the landing, weighing my options. My stomach was growling, but the hunger in my gut was nothing compared to the curiosity piqued by the summons.
With a shrug, I turned on my heel, abandoning the path to the Great Hall and making my way back up toward the seventh floor after all.
"Meh," I muttered to myself, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips as I took the stairs two at a time. "I'm still glad I stopped at the fifth floor first. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have had such an... interesting encounter."
I reached the corridor and stopped in front of the heavy oak door. This was Narcissa's bedroom—the same room I had woken up in this very morning, with her naked, warm body curled tightly next to mine. It was also the room where I'd had that other surprise...
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. My entire peerage was inside the room, waiting for me.
"Young Master!"
"Harry!"
Before I could even close the door, a blur of black and white rushed me. Lyra and Lyna, dressed in their provocative, skin-tight maid uniforms, collided with me. They didn't hold back. I grunted as four soft, heavy breasts smashed against my chest, their arms wrapping tightly around my waist and neck.
They hugged me fiercely, their bodies warm and yielding against mine. I could feel the rapid beat of their hearts and the heat radiating from their skin. They held on for a few long seconds, just breathing me in, before they pulled back in perfect sync.
Lyra leaned up, her lips soft and wet as she pressed a lingering kiss to my left cheek. "We missed you," she purred.
Lyna matched her sister, kissing my right cheek with a loud, wet smack. "You didn't spend the night with us last night," she whispered, her hand trailing down my arm. "We were lonely…"
I smiled, squeezing their waists, enjoying the feel of their hips beneath the frilly fabric of their skirts. As they stepped back, taking their places at my sides like the loyal guards they were, I looked around the room.
Hermione was sitting on the plush velvet couch, her legs crossed at the ankles. She looked radiant, her skin glowing with that subtle devil vitality she'd gained since her transformation. Next to her sat Tonks, her hair a vibrant, happy pink today, her punk boots kicked up on the coffee table. They both looked excited, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.
But they weren't the ones who commanded the room next.
"Harry, mon amour," a sultry voice cooed.
Fleur and Gabrielle sauntered over from the window. The Veela sisters moved with a liquid grace that was purely hypnotic. They looked radiant as always. Fleur reached me first. She didn't hesitate. She stepped right into my personal space, her hands cupping my face, and pulled me down for a deep, searing kiss. Her tongue swept into my mouth, tasting me, claiming me. Her body pressed flush against mine, her hips grinding subtly against my crotch.
When she finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Gabrielle was right there to take her place. The younger sister was just as bold, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me with a hunger that rivaled her sister's.
As Gabrielle stepped back, licking her lips, I saw the look that passed between the Veela sisters and the Sitri twins. Lyra and Lyna were glaring daggers at the French girls, and Fleur and Gabrielle were smirking back with cool superiority.
Both pairs of sisters were giving each other competitive looks, a silent war over who could please me better. I loved it of course.
I cleared my throat, turning my attention to the bed.
Narcissa was sitting on the edge of the mattress. And sitting next to her was Lilja. My breath caught. Lilja—my mother in a past life, my lover in this one, and soon to be my Queen. She looked beautiful, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, her emerald eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness. She was wearing her Slytherin robes, but she had loosened them, looking comfortable and at home among my women.
"I guess it's time then?" I asked, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.
I looked around at everyone—my Bishops, my Pawns, my Rooks. "Are we all here?"
My girls all nodded, the tension in the room shifting from competitive to solemn excitement. Hermione stood up from the couch, smoothing down her skirt. She walked over to stand near Lilja, her expression serious but joyful.
"It's time, Harry," Hermione spoke up, her voice clear. "It's time for Lilja to officially take her Evil Piece. It's time for her to become your Queen."
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. One of the final pieces of the puzzle—for now.
I reached inside my personal magic pocket space, focusing my will. My fingers closed around the cold, smooth surface of the chess piece. I pulled it out, holding it up to the light. It was the Queen piece. It pulsed with a deep, blue light, throbbing in time with my own heartbeat. It was the most important piece, the most powerful.
I walked closer to Lilja. She stood up to meet me, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. She looked so happy she had tears in her eyes, her lower lip quivering with emotion.
I stopped inches from her, the Queen piece held between us like a vow.
"Last chance to back out," I told her, my voice low and rough with emotion. "Once you do this, there's no going back. You're going to be stuck with me forever…" I trailed off with a joke.
Lilja let out a wet, breathless laugh, a tear spilling over and tracking down her cheek. She reached out, her hand shaking. "You mean you're going to be stuck with me forever, Harry Sitri," she said, her voice fierce and loving. She grabbed the piece with her dexterous fingers, her touch warm against mine. She didn't hesitate. She didn't falter. With a sharp intake of breath, Lilja slammed the Queen piece into her chest, right over her heart, pressing it through the fabric of her Slytherin robes!
It didn't tear the fabric, of course. The magic didn't work like that. The solid chess piece turned intangible as it touched her, phasing through her clothes and skin as it magically sunk into Lilja's body.
A brilliant blue light exploded from her chest, engulfing her completely for a moment. I watched as the tension left her body all at once. Her emerald eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she slumped forward, her legs giving out as the intense magical restructuring of the Evil Piece took hold.
I was ready. I stepped in and caught her easily, scooping her up into my arms. The magic was already rewriting her biology, turning a reincarnated Valkyrie into a Devil Queen.
"She's out," I murmured, carrying her over to the massive bed.
Narcissa shifted, sliding her silk-clad legs out of the way to make room. I laid Lilja down gently against the plush pillows. Her red hair fanned out around her head like a halo of fire, her breathing deepening into the slow, heavy rhythm of a transformative sleep.
"We've got a few hours until she wakes up," I said, straightening up and brushing a stray lock of hair from Lilja's forehead.
"A few hours, you say?" Tonks pushed herself off the wall where she'd been leaning. A wicked, playful grin stretched across her face, and her hair flashed a mischievous bright yellow. She patted the pockets of her leather trousers. Whatever she was looking for wasn't there. "Does anyone have a Sharpie?" she asked, eyes twinkling. "I bet I could draw a really nice mustache on our new Queen before she wakes up. Maybe a monocle, too."
Hermione, Fleur, Gabrielle, and even the maids all turned to glare at Tonks. It wasn't a hostile glare, but it was the collective, exasperated look of women dealing with a chaotic puppy.
"Tonks!" Hermione hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is supposed to be a serious moment! Lilja isn't just another peerage member. She's the Queen! That means she will technically be our boss—besides Harry—for the rest of forever. You probably shouldn't start your eternal service by vandalizing her face," Hermione scolded.
I loved her, but she was very big on following authority and that urge to follow was only enhanced by the fact she grew up worshipping devils. I knew she had trouble telling me "no" sometimes. That kind of respect was now directed at Lilja as well, and that was on top of the fact that Lilja was also at the same time—sort of—going to be Hermione's mother in law.
It was better to stop thinking about it…
Tonks just shrugged, unbothered, her boots thumping against the floor as she walked over to peer down at Lilja. "Meh," she shrugged, completely unbothered by the hierarchy. "I'm pretty good at ignoring my boss's instructions. I quit the Ministry of Magic, told Scrimgeour to shove it, and became Harry's devil servant, after all. I think I've earned the right to be a little insubordinate." She winked at me, letting her gaze drop to my crotch for a split second before snapping back up. "Unless the orders are fun, of course."
"She has a point," Narcissa drawled from her spot on the bed, smoothing down the silk of her robe. She looked at her niece with a mix of exasperation and fondness. "Though I would advise against the mustache, Nymphadora. Lilja strikes me as the type who holds grudges, and she is quite handy with a sword."
I chuckled, shaking my head, but the humor didn't quite reach my eyes. There was something else I needed to address. Something that had been gnawing at me since I woke up this morning.
"In all seriousness," I said, my voice dropping, becoming heavier. "There is something we should talk about."
I walked over to the plush velvet armchair in the corner and sat down, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. I glanced at Narcissa first. She was the only one who knew. She was sitting gracefully on the edge of the bed next to Lilja's sleeping form, her legs crossed, a knowing, wicked grin playing on her red lips.
The rest of my girls gathered around. Lyra and Lyna sat on the rug at my feet, their maid skirts fanned out around them. Fleur and Gabrielle perched on the armrests of my chair, their bodies pressing warmly against my shoulders, while Hermione and Tonks took the couch.
They all looked at me with varying degrees of curiosity and concern.
"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, sensing the shift in my mood.
I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to phrase this without sounding insane. "You all remember my Sacred Gear, right? Merlin's Magnum Opus, as my mum Serafall called it…?"
"Of course," Fleur said, her hand resting possessively on my shoulder. "It is the reason you can use our Veela fire. It allows you to inherit the bloodline abilities of the women you have been… intimate with."
"Did you awaken another power, Young Master?" Lyra asked breathlessly, her eyes lighting up with fanatical devotion. She clasped her hands together, pressing them between her breasts.
Lyna nodded happily as well right next to her twin. "That's great! I'm sure your mother, Lady Serafall, will be so happy to find out you're growing stronger!"
"No!" I shouted, the word bursting out of me a little too loudly.
The girls all jumped, looking shocked by my sudden outburst. All of them except Narcissa, who let out a soft, elegant laugh and covered her smirk with her hand, her blue eyes dancing with amusement.
I cleared my throat, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "I mean… no. She won't be happy. Or rather… she would be too happy. In the worst way possible."
"I do not understand," Gabrielle said, tilting her head. "The power you got… it does not make you stronger?"
"Technically… no," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "It doesn't add raw power. It's more of a… utility."
"What does it do then, my love?" Fleur asked, her voice dripping with curiosity.
I hesitated. I looked at Tonks, then at Narcissa. "It's a power I got after sleeping with Tonks," I said slowly, "and then reinforced after being with Narcissa. Since it's their family trait."
Tonks's eyes went wide. Her hair cycled rapidly through three different colors—purple, blue, and finally settling on a vibrant, excited pink. "Oh!" she gasped, clapping her hands. "You became a Metamorphmagus! That's so cool!" She bounced on her heels, practically vibrating with energy. "We can be transformation buddies now!" she crowed. "Do you know how rare this is? We could pull off so many pranks together! We could swap faces! We could turn into Snape and give Gryffindor a thousand points! No one in this castle will know there's two of us!"
I managed a weak smile at her enthusiasm. "Yeah… yeah, it's a pretty useful ability. I can change my appearance at will. Hair color, eye color, height…"
"Useful?" Hermione repeated, her brow furrowing. She was looking at me with that sharp, analytical gaze that meant she was putting the puzzle pieces together. "Harry, being a Metamorphmagus is incredibly powerful. It's perfect for stealth, espionage, hiding in plain sight… why on earth would you be worried about Serafall finding out? She'd be thrilled that you have another tool to protect yourself."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "It's not the ability itself, Hermione. It's the… other implications."
Narcissa couldn't hold back her laughter anymore. She let out a melodic, throaty chuckle that drew everyone's attention. "Oh, tell them, Harry," Narcissa teased, her voice rich with mirth. "Or shall I?"
I waved a hand at her, defeated. "Go ahead. You saw it first."
Narcissa composed herself, though her eyes were still gleaming. She looked around at the other girls, savoring the moment. "Harry stayed in my quarters last night," she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We fell asleep together. He was… quite exhausted, as you can imagine."
Lyra and Lyna giggled, knowing exactly why I would be exhausted.
"However," Narcissa continued, "when the sun came up this morning, I woke up to find that I wasn't cuddling with a handsome young man anymore." She paused for dramatic effect. "Harry had accidentally shifted in his sleep. His subconscious mind must have been wandering, or perhaps the magic was just settling. But when I opened my eyes… I was lying next to a beautiful, naked… woman."
Fleur and Gabrielle's eyes bugged out. Lyra and Lyna's jaws dropped. Tonks looked like her brain had just short-circuited. And Hermione… Hermione's eyes widened until they were saucer-sized.
"Woman?" Hermione squeaked.
"Completely," Narcissa confirmed, clearly enjoying this way too much. "And I must say... he—or she—was quite stunning. Long black hair, skin like porcelain... and breasts that would make even Lyra and Lyna jealous. And down below... well, let's just say the plumbing had been entirely rearranged."
My face was burning. I felt like I was on fire. "I FIXED IT!" I snapped defensively. "It just took me a few minutes to figure out how to reverse it! It was subconscious! It reacted to my weird dreams!"
Tonks looked confused. "So what's the problem? He should be proud, it took me years to pull off a full transformation like that! At first it was only my hair and eyes that I could change…"
Hermione's eyes widened until they were almost perfect circles. Her mouth fell open. "Oh. Oh... OH!?Uh oh..." she said so little and yet, I understood all of that…
I groaned, finishing the thought for her. "She already tries to get Sona to wear magical girl outfits. If she knows I can turn into a girl? She'll make me cosplay. She'll make me match her. She'll probably try to make me join her show again as another new character!"
I could see it now—me, in a frilly pink skirt, standing next to my mother on live TV, waving a wand while she introduced me as her "new little sister."
"Well," Hermione said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye, struggling to keep a straight face. "I'm sure it won't be too bad. Maybe you'd look cute." She grinned playfully at me. "Actually, I'm kind of curious now. Narcissa said you were beautiful?"
"Stunning," Narcissa confirmed, smirking. "Soft skin, lovely curves. I admit, I was quite surprised when my hand went searching for his cock this morning and found… absolutely nothing."
Tonks burst out laughing again. "Oh my Maou, Harry! Did you have tits? Were they big? Did you keep your own face or did you make a new one?"
"I didn't make anything, it just happened!" I protested, my face burning. "And yes, I had… everything. It was a full transformation."
"His face changed as well. He looked a lot like a younger Serafall," Narcissa added for Tonks' benefit.
Forget about the cosplay," Fleur murmured, and then her blue eyes darkened with a strange lustful and contemplative look. She exchanged glances with her younger sister. "What about the bedroom… this opens up… many possibilities, non?"
Her words just now and that look she was giving me made me shiver.
"So many possibilities," Gabrielle agreed, biting her lip and rubbing her thighs together.
I pointed a finger at them. "No. None of that. I am a man. I like being a man. The girl thing was an accident! Bad horny Veela!" I scolded both of them—but that only seemed to make them more excited!
Hermione then pointed out the obvious. The fact that they were all part of my peerage and that they were loyal to me first and foremost. "...If you don't want us to tell your mother, then she will never find out!" Hermione declared.
"She has hidden cameras," I mumbled into my palm.
"What?" Tonks asked.
"She has hidden cameras!" I repeated, dropping my hand and looking around wildly at the corners of the room. Seriously, where the hell was she hiding them because I know my girls actually check for listening devices and spells all the time!? "Luna told me! My mother installed undetectable magical cameras in my bedroom! And in all of your bedrooms! She watches everything."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Lyra and Lyna looked thrilled.
"Lady Serafall watches us sleep? How attentive!"
"As expected of the Maou Leviathan! I hope she has been enjoying the shows we put on!"
Hermione, however, looked horrified. "She… she watches? Everything?" Her face turned a deep shade of crimson as she realized what 'everything' entailed—the nights we spent together, the things we did.
Narcissa looked up at the ceiling, her expression unreadable, though her cheeks were faintly pink. "Well. That certainly explains how she always seems to know exactly what is going on…"
Fleur and Gabrielle looked embarrassed for a few seconds before shaking their pretty blonde heads.
"I am not ashamed, are you Gabby?"
"Of course not, Fleur. We have nothing to be ashamed about!"
I then turned to Tonks, who was next to Hermione and not moving for some reason—OH—she fainted…
I walked over and scooped her up, placing her on the bed next to Lilja. We'd let her sleep off her shock until Lilja's transformation was done later tonight.
We could try putting this all out of our heads, and they could instead help me strategize for the next upcoming task with different ways to take down a dragon—other than just drawing it in waves of water.
– Raynare –
Hours later that night…
Raynare stood perched atop the jagged, wind-swept cliffs of the North Sea, the salt spray stinging her flawless pale skin as she gazed down at the imposing, fortress-like silhouette of Azkaban Prison rising from the churning black waters. The wind whipped her long, lustrous black hair around her face, but she didn't bother to brush it away. Her violet eyes drifted sideways, landing on the creature standing a few feet away from her.
The so-called "Dark Lord" was ugly as fuck.
Voldemort's new form was a grotesque mockery of life—a pale, hairless monstrosity that looked as if a snake had been struck by a double-decker bus, and then the bus had reversed over the mess just for good measure. His skin was chalk-white and scaled, stretched too tight over a skeletal frame, and his nose was nothing but two flat, vertical slits above a lipless, cruel mouth. He had regained a functioning body through some dark ritual involving that pathetic Arthur Weasley, but it was clear the result was imperfect.
Raynare watched as Voldemort flexed his long, spider-like fingers, his crimson eyes narrowing as he glared at his own hands. He clenched them into trembling fists, his sharp nails digging into his palms.
"Weak," he hissed under his breath, his voice a high, cold shriek carried by the wind. "That blood traitor Weasley was a poor sacrifice. The magic is... thin. I should have used someone stronger."
From the shadows behind him, Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, his head bowed low in submission. The once-proud aristocrat looked like a broken man. His fine robes were stained with travel and fear, and his left sleeve hung empty and limp at his side, pinned up to hide the cauterized stump where his arm used to be—a permanent reminder of his failures.
"My Lord," Lucius murmured, his voice trembling as he refused to meet the Dark Lord's gaze. "The forces are assembled as you commanded. They await your signal below."
Raynare scoffed internally, crossing her arms beneath her ample bosom. She looked at these pathetic wizards and felt nothing but disdain. Her true loyalty lay elsewhere—with the Grigori, and specifically, with the Governor General, Lord Azazel.
A flush of heat pooled low in her belly just thinking about him. She would do literally anything for Azazel. If he asked, she would happily drop to her knees right in the middle of their headquarters, spread her legs, and let him fuck her senseless in front of every single Fallen Angel in the Grigori. She wanted him to use her, to degrade her, to fill her with his seed until she couldn't think of anything but him.
But the tragic reality was that Azazel likely didn't even know her name. That was why she was here, shivering on a rock in the middle of nowhere with these freaks—working for Kokabiel was the only way to prove her worth, to make a name for herself big enough that Azazel would finally have to look at her.
Voldemort turned his serpentine head toward Lucius, his lips curling in a sneer. "You have done... adequately, Lucius," he spat.
The Dark Lord moved to the edge of the cliff, looking down at the army gathered on the rocky beach below. It was a motley collection of scum dredged up from the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley—werewolves with matted fur, pale vampires who looked half-starved, and dark wizards with more ambition than talent.
"Look at them," Voldemort muttered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Filth. Scavengers. Even if every single one of them dies tonight breaching the walls, it matters not. They are fodder." He spread his pale, skeletal arms wide, the wind catching his black robes and making them billow like bat wings. "Their deaths are a small price to pay," he declared, his voice rising. "For tonight, we reclaim the true elite! My most loyal servants, who have rotted in that stone hell for nineteen years without once wavering in their devotion!"
He spun around, his red eyes boring into Lucius. "Unlike some of my followers who lived comfortably while I was less than a spirit."
Lucius flinched violently, his hand instinctively clutching the empty fabric of his left sleeve as he cowered back.
Voldemort offered a cruel, high-pitched laugh before dismissing Lucius with a sharp wave of his hand. "Wormtail!" he barked. "Step forward!"
Peter Pettigrew emerged from behind a cluster of rocks, scuttling forward with a hunch that made him look more rat than man. His watery eyes darted around nervously, sweat beading on his receding hairline despite the cold wind.
"M-my Lord?" Wormtail squeaked, wringing his hands together against his chest. "What... what do you require of your servant?"
"The Dementors guard the perimeter," Voldemort hissed, looming over the small man. "But it has been proven that they are blind to the forms of animals. An Animagus can slip past them unnoticed."
Voldemort reached into his robes and withdrew a bundle of wooden wands, tied together with a rough cord. He thrust them into Wormtail's chest.
"Take these," Voldemort commanded. "Once the assault begins and chaos takes the guards, you will shift into your rat form. You will scurry through the drains and the cracks in the walls. Find Bellatrix. Find the Lestranges. Find Dolohov. Pass these wands to them."
Wormtail clutched the bundle, nodding frantically. "Yes... yes, my Lord. I understand."
"We will assault the gates from the front," Voldemort said, a sadistic grin stretching his wide mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "And my loyal Death Eaters will slaughter the guards from behind. The Ministry's dogs will be crushed between us like insects."
Raynare had to admit, it was a solid plan. She shifted her weight, deciding she had been standing still for too long. With a deliberate, slow movement, she brought her arms up and folded them underneath her chest, pushing her large, heavy breasts upward until they nearly spilled out of her tight, black leather corset. The pale, creamy flesh heaved with her breath, the deep cleavage on full display.
With a mental command, she unfurled her black feathered wings. They burst from her back with a powerful whoosh, spanning wide and majestic against the stormy sky. A gust of sea breeze caught her long black hair, blowing it back dramatically, framing her beautiful face.
She smirked as she saw the reaction. Every man on the cliff—Lucius, Wormtail, even the asexual monstrosity that was Voldemort—paused. Their eyes were drawn instantly to her, lingering on the exposed swells of her breasts, the curve of her hips in her tight skirt, and the sheer, dark majesty of her wings.
"Stop staring," she teased, though her voice dripped with satisfaction. She summoned her magic, and a crackling lightspear materialized in her right hand, glowing with a dangerous purple aura. She twirled the light spear effortlessly between her fingers, the hum of its power vibrating in the air.
"I'm eager to spill some blood," Raynare declared, her violet eyes flashing. "Sitting around for days while you wizards plotted and whispered in the dark was boring me to tears. I need some action."
Voldemort's crimson eyes lingered on her heaving chest for a second longer than necessary before he finally tore his gaze away, turning back to the prison across the water.
Voldemort nodded in agreement, raising his own wand high into the air. "The waiting is over. Tonight, the Wizarding World will remember why they fear the dark. Tonight, they learn to fear the name of Lord Voldemort once again!"
Raynare's black feathered wings beat powerfully against the frigid, salt-laden gale as she plummeted from the storm clouds above, her body cutting through the air like a dark arrow aimed straight at the heart of Azkaban. The wind roared in her ears, whipping her long, raven-black hair into a frenzy behind her, but she didn't blink. Her violet eyes were locked on the stone fortress rising from the churning black sea, a monolith of misery and decay.
The sensation of flight was intoxicating. She could feel the powerful muscles in her back flexing with every downstroke of her wings, propelling her forward with frightening speed. Her outfit—a daring, skin-tight ensemble of black leather straps, lace, and a skirt so short it was purely decorative—did little to protect her from the biting North Sea chill. But Raynare didn't mind the cold. It made her nipples harden against the constraints of her corset, a sensation that only heightened her adrenaline and battle lust.
As she drew closer to the prison, a thick, unnatural fog began to coalesce around the upper towers. From that gloom, shadowy figures detached themselves, rising like smoke to intercept her.
Dementors.
Raynare sneered, her full lips curling in disgust. In this world, wizards feared them as soul-sucking wraiths, but she knew them for what they truly were: low-level, scavenger demons. The bottom feeders of the Underworld. They were so pathetic, so utterly lacking in power and prestige, that the Devil clans had kicked them out of Hell centuries ago, forcing them to scrape out a miserable existence in the human realm by feeding on the misery of mortals.
A cluster of them, perhaps a dozen, swarmed upward to meet her dive. Their tattered, rotting cloaks fluttered around their skeletal forms, and a wave of supernatural cold washed over Raynare, trying to freeze the blood in her veins.
They hissed in unison, a sound like dry leaves skittering over a grave.
"Halt..." one of them rasped. The language was guttural, an ancient dialect of the netherworld that no human tongue could reproduce, but to Raynare's ears, it was as clear as day. "Follower of the Creator God... your kind is not welcome in this place of despair."
Raynare slowed her descent, her wings snapping open to catch the air, bringing her to a hovering halt fifty feet in front of the floating monstrosities. She crossed her arms beneath her heavy breasts, pushing them up until they spilled invitingly over the top of her leather bodice, and leveled a look of pure, unadulterated arrogance at the creatures.
"Follower?" she laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "Do not insult me, you eyeless sacks of rot. I turned my back on the Old Man in the Sky a long time ago. I am Raynare, a Fallen Angel of the Grigori, and I go where I please."
The lead Dementor drifted closer, its hooded head tilting. "You carry His stink... the stink of Light. Be gone, or we shall feast upon your corrupted soul."
"You think you can give me orders?" Raynare asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low purr. "You think you can threaten me? You are refugees. Scavengers. You exist only because the Devils didn't care enough to exterminate you."
She uncrossed her arms and raised her right hand, fingers splayed. She called upon her power, and the air around her hummed with energy. A sphere of violet light coalesced in her palm, crackling with electricity. It elongated, stretching and solidifying until she gripped a magnificent, buzzing Light Spear. The weapon glowed with a tainted, holy energy—fatal to devils and demons alike.
"Let me show you your place, trash," she hissed.
With a fluid, athletic motion, Raynare cocked her arm back. Her back arched beautifully, the leather of her outfit straining against her curves as she put her entire body into the throw. She snapped her arm forward, releasing the spear with a thunderous crack.
The projectile moved faster than the eye could follow, a streak of violet lightning cutting through the gloom.
It struck the lead Dementor squarely in what passed for a face.
There was no scream, only a wet, sizzling sound as the holy energy collided with the dark matter of the demon's body. The Dementor convulsed violently, the Light Spear piercing straight through its hood and erupting out the back of its skull. An instant later, the creature detonated. It exploded into a cloud of oily black smoke and ash, purged completely from existence by the Fallen Angel's tainted light.
The shockwave of the blast scattered the remaining Dementors, their formations breaking as they screeched in confusion and rage.
"Is that all?" Raynare taunted, summoning a fresh Light Spear into her hand, twirling it dexterously between her fingers. "I thought you fed on despair? Right now, all I smell coming from you is fear."
That really pissed them off.
The swarm reoriented, their collective rage palpable. They abandoned their patrol routes, shrieking in their vile tongue as they surged toward her, moving with a speed she hadn't expected from such ragged creatures. They came at her like a tidal wave of shadows, skeletal hands outstretched, hungry to tear the wings from her back and suck the soul from her lips.
Raynare threw her head back and cackled, the thrill of combat sending electricity coursing through her limbs. This was what she wanted. This was why she had come.
"Yes! Come and die!" she screamed.
She didn't retreat. Instead, she flared her black wings wide and flapped hard, launching herself straight up into the air, gaining altitude over the swarming demons. She looked down at the mass of writhing darkness below her, her eyes glowing with violet intensity.
"I need to finish this quickly," she muttered to herself, a sadistic grin stretching her lips. "If I take too long playing with the pets, Voldemort and his death eaters will kill all the human guards inside. I want to hear some humans scream tonight, too…"
XXX