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That's not Wizard Magic! Ch 40
🕑 Added 2025-12-25 04:55:30 +0000 UTCChapter 40:
– Jasmine Potter –
Jasmine sat in the stands beside her mother, Marlene.
Following Jasmine's near-fatal encounter in the Chamber of Secrets—where a monstrous, freaky snake-like copy of Voldemort had attempted to sacrifice her and kill the young man she had a serious crush on—Marlene had been visiting her frequently.
Watching Harry enter the arena where the black dragon slept, her mom tightly gripped her hand. Her mom whispered reassuringly in her ear that Harry would be fine, reminding her that the previous champions had all done well, ”Except for the very first one, of course...” her mom trailed off, and they both cringed at the recent memory.
Yeah, watching a guy getting burned alive was not a good way to kick off the first event. She knew it was mostly in her head but she felt like she could still smell that guys cooked flesh wafting in the air, and hear his scream in her ears before it was cut very short.
Jasmine nodded, feeling that her mom was right. After all, Harry had defeated a snake monster and Voldemort. A random dragon shouldn't pose a challenge to him!
Except then, the creature spoke. A voice that scraped like stone on bone, that stunned Jasmine, her mother, and every other witch and wizard in the stands, just before it breathed black and red fire, trying to kill Harry Sitri.
Her not-brother initially looked terrified, but then she watched him gather himself, fighting back with a sudden, vicious competence against the talking, black dragon, which looked like pure evil given scale and sinew.
A cheer tore from her throat as Harry gained the upper hand.
Marlene leaned close, her breath hot near Jasmine's ear. "Damn," she hissed, a low, throaty sound. "I haven't seen something this exciting since my own Hogwarts days. It's getting me all hot and bothered." Her thighs, previously pressed companionably against Jasmine's, shifted, rubbing together with a slight shh of silk on silk beneath their robes. "Next time, we need to make sure to drag him into the tub with us. And we should absolutely drag that new girl, Lilja, too…"
Jasmine felt a furious blush stain her cheeks, a heat that had nothing to do with the arena's tension. Her thoughts flashed back to the shared baths. Was her mother, this woman whispering about threesomes and shared intimacy, some kind of unrepentant slut in her youth, and was Jasmine only just figuring out the extent of it now?
Well, technically, the possibility had certainly crossed her mind back in the baths, especially when Marlene had kept 'accidentally' giving Harry full, long views of her naked body, but this sudden, casual frankness was still a shock.
Jasmine couldn't fathom how Lilja, the new student in Slytherin, knew her mother, Marlene. But ever since the two of them had spoken a few days prior, Marlene had been a mess of raw emotion—weeping, wildly ecstatic, and clutching her daughter in an almost desperate embrace, all at the same time.
She kept watching Harry battle the evil dragon that called itself Crom Cruach.
Harry wasn’t just surviving, the battle was shifting and he was slowly dominating. Even if he occasionally got burnt or scratched he wasn’t giving up any ground!
He summoned a torrent of pressurized water that slammed into the black dragon’s snout. But it was what came next that made Jasmine gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. Harry flicked his wand again, and this time, the magic that poured forth wasn’t blue water, but a vibrant, passionate pink fire!
"Veela fire," Jasmine breathed, recognizing the unique, mesmerizing flames that Fleur and Gabrielle wielded when she watched them fight off over a hundred students on the seventh floor during the first task.
The pink inferno crashed into the dragon, setting its massive wing ablaze, and for a moment, hope flared bright in Jasmine's chest. He was going to win. He was actually going to—
And then the sky broke.
It started as a high-pitched whine, a sound like a falling bomb that pierced through the cheers of the stadium. Then, a terrifying golden light descended from the heavens, so bright it seared Jasmine’s vision, turning the world into a wash of blinding white and heavy, suffocating pressure.
"What is that?" Jasmine cried out, shielding her eyes with her forearm.
The air grew heavy, oily, and thick with a corrupted feeling of magic that made her stomach churn. It felt like the sky itself was collapsing, a weight so immense that Jasmine instinctively huddled closer to her mother, certain that they were about to die!
"Mom!" Jasmine screamed, clutching Marlene’s arm.
Marlene was staring up, her face pale, her lips parted in horror. "Get down, Jasmine!"
But before the golden death could impact, a streak of neon pink and void black energy shot upward from the VIP box like a reverse meteor.
The temperature in the stadium plummeted instantly. The crisp autumn air turned to biting cold in a second, frosting Jasmine’s glasses and stealing the breath from her lungs.
It was a woman with long, twin-tailed black hair, dressed in a scandalous, frilly pink costume that left her thighs and cleavage bare to the elements.
"Is that... is that Harry's mom?" Jasmine whispered, her voice trembling. She had seen Serafall Sitri visiting Hogwarts multiple times over the past few weeks, usually wearing that same ridiculous magical girl outfit, but she had never seen her like this! She knew Harry’s mom was powerful, but this was beyond powerful!
Serafall thrust her large pink wand upward. A freezing ray of blue-white death erupted from the tip, a beam of concentrated demonic ice so potent it seemed to freeze time itself.
The ice beam slammed into the tip of the falling golden light spear.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, a shockwave rippled outward, shaking the very foundations of Hogwarts. The massive light spear shattered, exploding into a billion harmless sparkles of frozen energy that rained down like glitter.
"She... she stopped it," Jasmine breathed, awe warring with the terror in her gut.
Marlene didn't waste time gaping. Her grip on Jasmine’s hand tightened until it was painful. "We need to go," Marlene hissed, her voice sharp and urgent. "Now, Jasmine. This is an attack. It's the Quidditch World Cup all over again!" She yanked Jasmine toward the exit, her body tense, ready to fight or run. "Move!"
But the exit was blocked by a wall of panicked students. And then, the clouds above tore open completely.
They descended like a plague of locusts—black-winged figures dropping from the sky in tight formation. There were dozens of them, hundreds maybe as they swooped down toward the stadium.
They looked like Angels to Jasmine, except they all had pitch black wings. They were all beautiful too, except for the vicious looks and sneers on all of their otherwise perfect faces.
The lead figure, a man with four black wings and a cruel face, hovered above the pitch, his voice magically amplified to boom across the screaming crowd. "We are the Fallen!" he bellowed, his voice dripping with malice. "We are the allies of the Dark Lord Voldemort! Today, this school falls, and the boy Harry Sitri dies!"
Panic erupted in the stands. Students were screaming, shoving, trampling over one another in a desperate bid to escape.
"Harry!" Jasmine cried, turning back toward the arena floor, her heart lurching.
"Jasmine, no!" Marlene shouted, trying to pull her away. "We have to leave! It’s too dangerous!"
But Jasmine dug her heels in. She looked out at the chaos and saw that not everyone was running!
Down in the Hufflepuff section, the transfer student Rias Gremory stood tall, her crimson hair whipping in the wind like a banner of war. She raised her hand, and a blast of black and red energy erupted from her palm, erasing three of the winged attackers from existence before they could even scream.
In the Ravenclaw section, Harry’s aunt, Sona Sitri, was calm amidst the storm. She adjusted her glasses coolly, then unleashed a jet of high-pressure water that punched a hole straight through a Fallen Angel’s chest.
And at the top of the stands, a beautiful woman with silver hair had risen. She shouted an incantation in a strange language, and a massive, shimmering dome of translucent silver energy expanded over the entire stadium. The Fallen were conjuring magical spears that slammed into the barrier—but they all shattered like glass against the barrier that was protecting all the students below.
Jasmine stared, her breath coming in shallow gasps. They were fighting. Harry’s family, his friends—they were standing their ground against an army of monsters.
"I can't run," Jasmine whispered. The memory of the Chamber, of lying helpless on the cold stone floor flashed through her mind. She never even got to see Harry and Lilja fight the snake monster since they had her escape first!
She wasn't that girl anymore. She was a Prefect. She was a Gryffindor. And she was done being saved.
She wrenched her hand free from her mother’s grip.
"Jasmine!" Marlene cried, reaching for her.
"No!" Jasmine shouted back, her voice cracking but firm. She drew her wand, the wood warm and familiar in her hand. "I’m not running away, Mom! I’m tired of being the damsel in distress! Harry is down there fighting a dragon and these... these things! I’m going to help stop them!"
Marlene stared at her daughter, her blue eyes wide with shock. She looked at the set of Jasmine’s jaw, the fire in her eyes, the way she stood with her feet planted and her wand raised high. For a moment, Marlene looked like she was going to argue, to drag Jasmine out by force if she had to. But then, the fear in her expression melted away, replaced by a fierce, wild pride.
A slow grin spread across Marlene’s face. She whipped out her own wand, twirling it deftly between her fingers. "Well," Marlene said, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. "I suppose you really are my daughter after all. You would have fit right in with me back in my Order of the Phoenix days." She stepped up beside Jasmine, shoulder to shoulder, facing the swarm of black-winged enemies descending toward the barrier. "We McKinnon women never surrender," Marlene declared, her voice ringing with steel. She glanced sideways at Jasmine, her grin widening. "And we don't lose. Not in battle, and certainly not in love."
Jasmine felt a sputter of embarrassed laughter escape her lips at the ill-timed comment about her love life, but it grounded her.
"Ready?" Marlene asked, her eyes locking onto a group of Fallen Angels trying to breach the lower wards.
"Ready," Jasmine said.
Together, mother and daughter raised their wands.
"Reducto!" they shouted in unison. Two beams of bright blue magic tore through the air, streaking toward the sky to meet the darkness head-on.
– Harry –
The heat of the dragon’s breath almost washed over me, singing the hairs on my arms, but I managed to avoid the worst of it. It wouldn't get me again! I wasn't falling for the beast's tricks!
I was in the zone now, a rhythm of violence and magic that felt as natural as breathing. The black dragon snapped its massive jaws, rows of serrated teeth clashing together inches from my face.
I ducked under the strike, feeling the wind of its movement whip my messy black hair across my eyes. With a grunt of exertion, I thrust my fake wand forward. A torrent of pink Veela fire erupted from the tip, slamming into the beast’s flank and scorching the obsidian scales. The creature shrieked, thrashing its tail in a blind rage, but I was already moving, pivoting on my heel to line up the next shot.
I had this. I was going to win~
And then the world ended—
Or at least, that’s what it felt like. A shockwave hammered into the stadium from above, so powerful it nearly knocked me off my feet. The ground groaned beneath my boots, the stone floor cracking as the air pressure dropped instantly, sucking the breath from my lungs.
I looked up, squinting against the blinding radiance, and my blood ran cold.
"What the fuck?" I breathed, lowering my fake wand.
A massive lightspear had been descending straight for us. But it had been stopped.
My mother hung suspended in the sky, a tempest of black and raw, searing pink demonic power thick enough to be seen with the naked eye, boiling around her.
"WHO DARES?" she roared, the power of her voice became a wave that made the very air shudder.
And then the fighting began all around.
My mother, Serafall Leviathan, was a blur of neon pink and void black, her magical girl persona stripped away to reveal the terrifying Maou beneath. She moved with a speed that defied physics, her twin-tails whipping like lashes of dark energy as she unleashed torrents of absolute-zero ice that froze the moisture in the air instantly, turning clouds into jagged glaciers.
But she wasn't winning easily. And that was what didn't make sense.
It was hard to make out from this distance. Opposite her, hovering on ten midnight-black wings, was a Fallen Angel.
"Who the hell is that guy?" I muttered, my voice lost in the thunderous boom of their collision.
Ten wings. In the hierarchy of the Grigori, that put him at the Cadre level—elite, certainly, a general among the Fallen. But my mother was a Satan. A Super Devil. She stood at the apex of the Underworld's power structure. A ten-winged Fallen should have been a stain on the pavement by now, crushed under the weight of her aura alone.
Yet, there he was, matching her blow for blow. His light spears shattered her ice shields, her freezing beams deflected his holy lightning. The shockwaves of their duel rippled downward, shaking the stadium foundations and sending tremors through the soles of my boots.
How? I narrowed my eyes, my demonic senses probing the chaotic energy above. Is Serafall holding back because of the school below?
I tore my gaze away from the titans clashing in the heavens and swept the stadium stands. It was absolute pandemonium. The vast majority of the students never faced a supernatural threat outside of a textbook. They were fleeing in a blind panic.
But amidst the sea of terrified, fleeing bodies, there were islands of resistance. Pockets of defiance that made a fierce pride swell in my chest.
My fellow devils weren't running.
I spotted Rias Gremory first, her crimson hair a beacon in the chaos. She stood tall in the Hufflepuff section, her hand outstretched, blasting a diving Fallen Angel out of the sky with a sphere of pure Destruction magic. Sona was a few sections over, calm and collected amidst the screaming crowd, directing Tsubaki with precise gestures as they erected magic barriers to shield the younger students.
But it wasn't just the devils.
My eyes locked onto a flash of fiery red hair near the Gryffindor section. Ginny Weasley, my contracted witch, wasn't retreating. She stood her ground near the railing. She looked magnificent—fierce and unyielding. She fired off a Bat-Bogey Hex with such vicious precision that the winged attacker spiraled downward, crashing into the stands. I could feel the bond between us humming, her magic amplified by the contract we shared, burning brighter than any human witch should be capable of.
Further down, near the front row, two more figures caught my eye, fighting back-to-back in a synchronization was Jasmine Potter-McKinnon and her mother, Marlene.
I spun toward the judges table. Albus Dumbledore had risen from his chair.
The eccentric, twinkling grandfather persona was gone right then. His blue robes billowed around him in an invisible wind, his long silver hair whipping about a face etched with cold, terrible fury. He held that strange, knobby wand aloft and the air around him warped and shimmered from the sheer output of his mana.
He slashed his wand through the air. A whip of pure, white fire lashed out, catching three Fallen Angels in its coil and hurling them away from the students they were trying to attack.
I stared, genuinely stunned. For a human—an old, mortal human—the power he was radiating was insane. If I had to rank it, he was easily pushing the upper limits of High-Class Devil power.
ROOOOOAAAARRRR!
I barely had time to react. The massive shadow fell over me a split second before the impact.
The black dragon had recovered from my last assault. And he was absolutely pissed that I had turned my back on him to watch the sky and stadium.
"Do not ignore me, little devil!" the dragon bellowed, its voice a gravelly landslide of rage.
I spun around just as the massive, obsidian head lunged. The jaws, lined with serrated teeth the size of short swords, snapped shut with a sound like a steel trap slamming home. I threw myself backward, the wind of the bite ruffling my hair. The dragon didn't stop. It lunged again, its neck extending with terrifying speed, faster than something that size had any right to move.
"Fuck!" I shouted, channeling demonic power into my legs to enhance my speed. I ducked under a swipe of its claws, the talons gouging deep furrows into the solid rock where I had been standing.
The dragon loomed over me, its red eyes burning with intelligence and malice. Smoke curled from its nostrils, thick and sulfurous. "You look at the insects in the sky while a god stands before you?" it hissed, its throat swelling as it prepared to unleash another torrent of breath. "Burn!" It opened its maw, and I saw the dark fire building in its gullet, a glowing sphere of death ready to erupt.
I didn't have time to dodge.
"Screw this," I snarled. I tossed the fake wand in my hand aside. The piece of wood clattered uselessly against the stone, forgotten the moment it left my fingertips. I was a devil of the House of Sitri, and I was done pretending to be anything else.
I threw both hands forward, palms open, fingers splayed and rigid with tension.
Deep inside my chest, the core of my demonic power pulsed—a cold, heavy reservoir that felt like the crushing depths of the ocean. I grabbed hold of it, not sipping from it like I usually did to maintain my cover, but yanking on the flow with reckless abandon.
The air in front of me shimmered and warped. A massive, intricate Sitri magic circle flared into existence, hanging suspended in the air between me and the beast.
A torrent of water erupted from the crest. It was a pressurized lance of hydro-kinetic fury, condensed to the point where it looked less like liquid and more like a solid beam of blue glass. It screamed through the air, the sound high-pitched and terrifying, tearing up the very bedrock of the arena as it traveled.
It slammed into the dragon’s breath just as the fireball erupted from its jaws.
BOOOOOOM!
Fire met water with a sound like a thunderclap that shattered the air pressure in the stadium. Steam exploded outward instantly, a blinding white cloud that hissed and shrieked, superheated and expanding violently.
For a heartbeat, it was a stalemate.
The dragon’s dark, cursed fire pushed against my water, a wall of black and red flame trying to incinerate the liquid. I felt the resistance shudder through my arms, a physical weight pushing me backward. My boots skidded through the gravel, heels digging trenches into the hard-packed earth as I braced myself, my leg muscles straining, quivering with the effort to hold my ground!
The heat was intense, washing over me in waves of dry, suffocating air, but the cold aura of my own magic wrapped around me like a second skin, keeping the burns at bay.
"Is that all you've got?" I roared through gritted teeth, sweat stinging my eyes. "You call yourself a god? You're nothing but a cheap knock-off!"
The dragon’s eyes narrowed through the steam, glowing like coals. It roared again, a sound of pure, frustrated malice, and pushed harder. The flames intensified, changing from red to a blinding white-hot core, inching closer to me, eating away at my torrent.
I narrowed my eyes. My jaw set hard. I dug deep, past the fatigue, past the adrenaline, tapping into the reserves that I usually saved for emergencies. The demonic power surged, cold and exhilarating, flooding my veins with ice-blue energy.
"Fuck... off... you... fake-ass... LIZARD!" With a guttural shout, I thrust my hands forward, pouring everything I had into the spell.
The Sitri crest pulsed, doubling in brightness. The water jet expanded, the pressure ramping up until the air around it rippled from the sheer force. It tore through the fire. It shredded the flames, snuffing them out with a hiss that sounded like a dying star, and hammered straight through the dragon's defenses.
The blast caught the beast square in the face. The dragon’s head snapped back with a sickening crack. A roar of pain was cut short, turned into a gurgling choke as thousands of gallons of high-pressure water were forced down its throat and slammed against its skull. The sheer force lifted the massive creature’s front quarters off the ground.
It flailed, claws scrabbling uselessly against the stone, wings beating frantically as it tried to find purchase, but I didn't let up. I kept the pressure on, driving it back, back, back, until its hind legs buckled.
With a final, earth-shaking crash, the "Mystery Breed"—the imposter Crom Cruach—collapsed.
It hit the ground hard enough to send a tremor through the soles of my boots. Its massive head lolled to the side, water dripping from its slack jaws, tongue hanging out. Its chest heaved once, a ragged, wheezing breath, and then it went still. Unconscious or maybe even dead if I got lucky.
I stood there for a moment, chest heaving, hands still raised, smoke and steam curling around my body. My clothes were damp, clinging to my skin, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my spine.
Slowly, I lowered my hands. The magic crest faded, dissolving into motes of blue light. "Hehe..." A dry, breathless chuckle escaped my lips. I wiped a mixture of soot and sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Task... completed."
I glanced over at the center of the nesting ground. The Golden Egg—the objective of this entire damn task—was nothing more than a flattened, glittering pancake of gold metal. "Too bad about the egg," I mumbled to myself, shaking my head. "Guess I'm not getting full points for this one."
I looked up.
The sky was a chaotic mess of lightspears and demonic blasts. My mother was up there, fighting a general of the Fallen Angels. My friends—my lovers—were in the stands, fighting off a swarm of invaders.
I wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
FWISH.
My devil wings burst from my back. They twitched, eager for the air. I opened my eyes, and they were glowing with blue power. I held out my right hand, palm up. Moisture from the air, from the damp ground, from the puddle around the unconscious dragon, swirled and coalesced in my grip. It hardened, pressurized, and took shape. In a heartbeat, I was holding a long, shimmering sword made of pure water, the edge humming with a razor-sharp vibration that could cut steel.
I gripped the hilt tight. I bent my knees and launched myself upward. My wings beat down, a powerful stroke that kicked up a cloud of dust and sent me rocketing into the sky like a missile. The wind roared in my ears, whipping my hair back as I ascended, leaving the broken dragon far below.
Fifty feet above the stands, a Fallen Angel with four black wings was hovering, a spear of light poised in his hand. He was aiming down at the student section, a cruel grin on his face as he prepared to skewer a group of terrified first-years huddled near the exit.
He never saw me coming.
I banked hard, accelerating. I hit him from behind at full speed. My water sword drove forward, the tip piercing the armor on his back like it wasn't even there. I felt the resistance of flesh and bone, then the sudden give as the blade punched clean through his chest, erupting from the front of his breastplate in a spray of blood and light.
The Fallen Angel gasped, his body arching in shock. The light spear fell from his nerveless fingers, dissipating harmlessly before it hit the ground.
"Gotcha," I snarled in his ear. I ripped the sword free with a savage twist, kicking off his back to launch myself toward the next target. His body tumbled out of the air, wings limp, spiraling down toward the pitch.
I didn't watch him fall. I was already moving, my eyes locking onto the next enemy.
I banked hard to the left. A Fallen Angel dove toward the stands, a spear of crackling yellow light poised to strike a group of cowering Hufflepuffs. I accelerated, pushing my demonic energy into my wings, feeling the surge of power ripple through my muscles.
I hit him like a freight train.
The impact jarred my arm all the way to the shoulder. My blade sliced cleanly through his flank, biting deep into flesh and bone. He screamed—a high, ragged sound that was cut short as I twisted the blade and kicked off his back, launching myself toward the next target. Blood sprayed hot against my face, metallic and coppery, but I didn't stop to wipe it away.
I was in the zone now. The hesitation, the fear I'd felt staring down the dragon—it was all gone, burned away by the adrenaline flooding my veins.
I saw them then. My peerage. My girls.
They were huddled near the Gryffindor section, back-to-back, a tight circle of defiance in the middle of the battle.
My first girlfriend Hermione stood at the center, her wand raised, face pale but determined. She was firing hexes with rapid precision, her curly hair wild around her face, but I could see the tremor in her hands. She wasn't used to this. None of them were. Fighting practice duels in a classroom was one thing, fighting for your life against ancient, winged soldiers was another beast entirely.
Except for Lyra and Lyna. My twin maids were laughing.
"Die, you bastards!" Lyra shrieked, her voice pitched high with manic glee. She stood with her legs braced wide, her short maid skirt fluttering around her thighs. A massive blue Sitri crest flared in the air before her, pulsing with power. "How dare you ruin our Master's special event!"
"Filth! Scum!" Lyna echoed, matching her sister's stance perfectly. "You will drown for this!"
Water surged from their crests, not in jets, but in spheres. They caught two diving Fallen Angels mid-air, the liquid expanding and enveloping them instantly. The Angels thrashed, clawing at the water, their wings beating uselessly against the surface tension as they were suspended, drowning in floating prisons of magic.
I felt a surge of fierce pride, but it was cut short as I saw three more Fallen peel away from the main group, their eyes locking onto Hermione. They dove, lightspears forming in their hands, coming at her from three different angles.
She saw them coming. Her eyes widened, panic flashing across her face as she tried to track all three at once. She raised a shield, but I knew it wouldn't hold.
Not against three of them.
"Hermione!" I roared. I didn't have time to reach her. I was too far out. I focused on the sword in my hand, pouring my will into the water. The blade writhed, lengthening, thickening until it was a heavy, shimmering spear of pressurized liquid. I cocked my arm back, muscles straining, and hurled it with everything I had.
It screamed through the air, a blue streak of death.
It caught the lead Fallen Angel square in the chest just as he pulled his arm back to throw his light spear. The impact was brutal. The water spear punched through his armor, through his chest, and carried him backward with sickening force. He hit the wooden rafters of the stands with a dull thud, pinned there like a butterfly on a board, his wings twitching once before going still.
The other two flinched, their formation breaking.
I didn't give them a chance to recover. I tucked my wings and dove, plummeting out of the sky like a stone. I flared my wings at the last second, the air buffering around me as I slammed into the ground next to Hermione, the stone cracking under my boots.
The shockwave knocked the remaining two Fallen back. Before they could recover Lyra and Lyna were on then, finishing them off!
Hermione let out a strangled sob. "Harry!" She threw herself at me before I could even straighten up. Her arms wrapped around my neck, tight and desperate, her body slamming into mine with enough force to make me stumble. She buried her face in my neck, shaking uncontrollably. "Oh, Harry," she gasped, her voice muffled against my blood-spattered skin. "I thought—I heard the dragon say its name—I thought you were going to die!"
I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her close, feeling the rapid, frantic beat of her heart against my chest. She felt so small in my arms, but she was still standing. Still fighting.
"I'm okay," I murmured into her hair, breathing in the scent of parchment that clung to her some days. "I'm right here."
She pulled back slightly, her hands coming up to cup my face. Her brown eyes were wide, searching mine, scanning me for injuries. Her gaze snagged on the cut on my cheek, the soot on my forehead. "I can't believe it," she whispered, a tremulous smile touching her lips. "You beat it. You actually beat a legendary Evil Dragon. I watched you. It was... it was incredible!"
I let out a rough laugh, leaning into her touch. "I don't think that was the real Crom Cruach, Hermione. If it was, we'd all be ash right now. But yeah... I took down a sentient dragon one-on-one. Pretty good, right?"
She laughed, a wet, choked sound, and then she was kissing me. It wasn't gentle. It was hard and messy, fueled by adrenaline and fear and relief. Her lips were soft but urgent, pressing against mine, her tongue sweeping into my mouth as if she needed to taste that I was still alive.
I kissed her back just as fiercely, my hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her flush against me. For a second, the battle faded. The screams, the explosions, the roar of magic—it all blurred into background noise. There was just her warmth, her taste, the feel of her body against mine.
We broke apart, breathing heavily, foreheads resting together.
"Stay close to the others," I told her, my voice low. "Don't get separated."
She nodded, eyes fierce. "I won't."
A flash of light drew my attention.
To our left, Narcissa stood with her wand raised, her posture elegant and deadly. She wore her teaching robes like battle armor, her face set in a mask of cold fury. Beside her, Tonks—my pink-haired pawn—was a whirlwind of motion, dodging a lightspear with enhanced reflexes I knew came from the Evil Pieces.
"It seems we need to teach this filth a lesson," Narcissa said coolly. She flicked her wand, and a whip of dark, purple energy lashed out, wrapping around a Fallen Angel’s throat and yanking him out of the air. He crashed to the ground at her feet, and she stunned him without even looking down.
"That we do, Aunty," Tonks agreed, grinning. Her hair flashed a violent, angry red. She pointed her wand, blasting a Stunning Spell that hit another attacker mid-flight, sending him spiraling into the pitch. "These guys are annoying!"
Further down, Fleur and Gabrielle were a vision of terrifying beauty.
They weren't using wands. They were using their bodies—their enhanced Rook strength and speed—and their Veela fire. Fleur moved like a dancer, dodging a strike before grabbing a Fallen Angel by the wrist. I heard the bone snap from here. She spun him around and hurled him into the wall with effortless power. Gabrielle was right beside her, palms open, unleashing torrents of pink fire that incinerated the feathers off their wings, leaving the Fallen screaming as they fell.
"Don't touch my sister!" Gabrielle shouted, her voice fierce, eyes glowing.
Finally I turned my attention to the upper sections where I saw Lilja in her full Valkyrie armor, right next to her silver haired older sister as the two of them kicked ass together, not giving the crows an inch.
I watched them all for a heartbeat, a swell of pride nearly choking me. They were magnificent. My peerage. My family. Every single one of them was fighting, holding their own, refusing to break. They were sexy, they were scary, and they were mine.
BOOOOOOOM!
A massive explosion rocked the stadium, drowning out the fighting for a split second. The air pressure dropped again, heavy and suffocating.
I snapped my head up, looking toward the sky.
High above, the clouds were swirling in a vortex of pink and black energy. My mother was still up there. Serafall Leviathan, the Satan, was locked in combat with the leader of the attack. Flashes of ice and light erupted constantly, lighting up the gloom like fireworks.
"Mum," I whispered, my hands clenching into fists. I looked back at Hermione, then at the rest of my girls. They were holding the line. They were safe for the moment. "I have to go," I said.
Hermione grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard. "Harry—"
"She's fighting their leader," I said, looking up at the chaotic sky. "I can't leave her up there alone. I don't know why she hasn't won against a ten winged fallen angel yet, but she might need help!"
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. She let go of my hand. "Go. Help her. We'll hold them here."
I didn't look back. I bent my knees, channeling my power into my wings, and launched myself into the air again, soaring upward into the heart of the storm in the sky!
– Serafall –
Serafall Leviathan, magical girl extraordinaire, did not know how it had come to this.
One moment, she had been sitting pretty in the VIP box, vibrating with delight as she watched her darling So-tan absolutely dominate that oversized lizard in the arena. She had been clutching her pompoms, screaming encouragement that no one could hear, and practically squirming in her seat with anticipation for Harry-kun’s turn.
And oh, the plans she had for later!
She had mapped it all out perfectly in her head. Once the tournament round was over, once the cheers died down and the adrenaline was still pumping hot and heavy in their veins, she was going to drag both of them away. Her precious little sister, Sona, with her adorable blush and those serious glasses, and her handsome, brave son Harry. She was going to find the most private, luxurious room in the castle—or maybe just teleport them all back to her own bedroom in the Underworld—and she was finally going to fuck their brains out!
No interruptions. No phone calls. No goblin rebellions or diplomatic crises. Just the three of them, tangled in silk sheets, until none of them could remember their own names.
It was going to be glorious!
And then came this massive, rude, sky-shattering interruption.
Serafall gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on her pink wand until the reinforced magical metal creaked. She spared a quick, frantic glance downward through the breaks in the clouds. Below, amidst the chaos of the stadium, her parents were holding the line. Selene and Sebastian Sitri stood back-to-back near the VIP box, unleashing torrents of high-level magic that swatted eight-winged Fallen Angels out of the air like annoying flies. Keeping the most powerful fallen angels from causing too much damage.
Good. Mama and Papa were fine. She was a bit ashamed about flying off without sparing them more thoughts, but she knew they’d want her to protect Harry and Sona over them.
Her attention snapped back to the annoying, arrogant Fallen Angel hovering in the sky across from her.
Kokabiel. The warmonger. The fanatic who had spent centuries trying to reignite the Great War just because he was bored. And all his plans always failed, but she could admit this might be the closest he’d ever come…
He hung there on ten black wings, his face twisted into a sneer that made Serafall want to freeze his tongue off. But it wasn't his wings or his attitude that had turned this fight into a stalemate. It was the gauntlet on his right arm.
It was a bulky, red dragon-shaped gauntlet with a glowing green jewel embedded in the back of the hand. Serafall recognized it instantly. She had seen it multiple times throughout history. Each wielder always had a habit of going out in blaze of glory and flipping the supernatural world on its head.
The Boosted Gear.
"That stupid Sacred Gear is pure bullshit!" Serafall hissed under her breath, dodging a lance of light that sizzled past her ear, singing the tip of one of her perfect twintails.
She had no idea how Kokabiel had gotten his hands on it. The Red Dragon Emperor was supposed to be reborn into a human host in every generation. Had he found the current host? Had he killed some poor, unsuspecting human boy just to rip the gear from his corpse and graft it onto his own arm?
It didn't matter how. What mattered was that he had it. And every few seconds, a mechanical voice echoed from the gauntlet, shouting BOOST!, doubling his power again and again. It was the only reason he was still breathing.
Without that cheat code, Serafall would have turned him into a popsicle ten minutes ago.
"You put up a strong fight, bitch Leviathan," Kokabiel taunted, his voice booming over the wind. He flexed his gauntleted hand, the green gem glowing brighter. "I didn't think you were this strong. I always thought you were just a pretty face. A cocksleeve for Sirzechs or Ajuka to pass around when they got bored."
Serafall growled, a low, dangerous sound that rumbled in her chest. Her aura flared, a blinding storm of neon pink and void black that made the air around her crackle. "I am the strongest female devil to ever fucking live, thank you very much!" she screamed back, thrusting her wand forward. A beam of absolute-zero ice erupted from the tip, freezing the moisture in the air into jagged spikes that hurtled toward him. "It isn't my fault people underestimate me because I like acting cute and wearing frills! Magical girls can kick ass too, you feathered asshole!"
Kokabiel swatted the ice away with a wave of light, though the effort made him grimace. “You won't stop me!" he roared. "I will start a war today! I will kill the heirs of the devil clans, and then Heaven and Hell will have no choice but to clash again!"
"This won't start a war!" Serafall shouted back, her voice ringing with the authority of a Satan. "You failed, Kokabiel! Look down!" She gestured wildly with her free hand toward the stadium below. "Even with that meanie cheating gauntlet on your arm, you can't beat us! My parents are down there beating up your eight-winged elites! And anyone weaker is getting their asses kicked by my darling So-tan and Harry-kun!"
She had seen them fighting. They made her so freaking proud as a big sister and mother!
"You lose!" Serafall declared.
Kokabiel’s face twisted in rage. He was, objectively, the ugliest angel Serafall had ever seen. His features were sharp and cruel, his skin sallow, his eyes burning with a fanatical madness that made her skin crawl. God must have hated him when He made him.
"We are just getting started!" Kokabiel bellowed. He raised the red gauntlet high.
BOOST! BOOST! BOOST!
The power surged off him in waves, distorting the air, making the clouds boil. "I can keep boosting my power all day long, Leviathan! Eventually, you will get tired! Eventually, you will slip!" He grinned, a rictus of hate. "And I know your weakness. I know you can't transform into your true form here. Not in the human world. Not without killing everyone you're trying to protect!"
Serafall cursed internally. That was the problem.
Every Satan had a true form—a state where they became their own demonic essence incarnate. For Serafall, that meant becoming a being of pure, living ice. An entity so cold that her mere presence would drop the temperature to absolute zero for miles.
If she unleashed her true form here, she would win instantly. Kokabiel would shatter like glass.
But so would Hogwarts. So would Hogsmeade. So would every student, teacher, and creature below. Scotland would be devastated, turned into a frozen wasteland for centuries. And the Celtic Gods, who were already touchy about devils entering their territory, would be absolutely pissed.
Not that those useless bastards were any help right now. They had to have felt the power Kokabiel was unleashing. They had to know a Fallen Angel General was dropping lightspears on their turf. And yet, where were they? Probably drinking mead and ignoring the problem.
"Ugh, no wonder everyone in England and Scotland switched to Christianity," Serafall muttered bitterly, summoning another shield of ice to block a volley of light arrows. "The Celtic gods suck."
She glared at Kokabiel. He was charging up another attack, a massive spear of light forming in his hand, fed by the endless boosts of the dragon gear.
She couldn't go all out. But she couldn't lose, either. She had to win this the hard way!
"Fine," Serafall snarled, her blue eyes glowing with determination. She tightened her grip on her wand. "If I can't freeze you instantly, I'll just have to freeze you piece by piece until there's nothing left to break!"
The two immediately engaged in combat once more. Serafall's wand, infused with ice magic, repeatedly struck Kokabiel's immensely powerful light-spear. Each clash saw the tainted light slightly scorching her skin and pink magical girl outfit, while her ice chipped away at his armor and black wings.
She ultimately finished the exchange by punting him in the face with her pink heel, sending him flying backward!
“I wonder if I kick your face in enough, will that actually make you less ugly?”
Kokabiel was screaming again.
Honestly, for a creature as ancient as a Fallen Angel General, he had the emotional regulation of a toddler who had been denied a sweet.
Serafall hovered amidst the churning storm clouds, her twin-tails whipping violently in the gale-force winds generated by their magical clash. Her chest heaved, her breasts straining against the tight pink fabric of her magical girl bodice with every ragged breath she took.
"You think you can mock me, Leviathan?" Kokabiel roared, his voice cracking with hysterical rage. He hovered fifty meters away. "I survived the Great War! I survived God's fall! I will not be humiliated by a cosplaying harlot!"
Serafall rolled her blue eyes, twirling her pink wand between her fingers. "Technically, you're humiliating yourself, Koko-chan," she shouted back. "You have a legendary Sacred Gear that doubles your power every ten seconds, and you still haven't managed to scratch my perfect, porcelain skin. It's embarrassing, really."
The vein in Kokabiel's forehead bulged so prominently Serafall thought it might burst. He raised his right arm, the bulky red gauntlet of the Boosted Gear glowing with a menacing, pulsating green light.
BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST! BOOST!
The mechanical voice echoed through the heavens, unnatural and grating. With every announcement, the aura around Kokabiel swelled, transforming from a dark haze into a blinding column of corrupted golden light.
Ok… That was a lot of Boosts in a row. She was starting to get a bit nervous…
"I will erase you!" Kokabiel shrieked, his eyes wide and bloodshot, spittle flying from his lips. "I will erase you, and that school below, and every miserable devil spawn you hold dear! witness the power that kills Maous!"
He raised his hand high above his head. The light began to coalesce, drawing in the ambient mana of the atmosphere, twisting it into a shape that made Serafall’s stomach turn. It wasn't just a spear this time. It was a lance the size of a castle tower, a phallic construct of pure, holy wrath that crackled with enough energy to vaporize a mountain range.
Serafall’s grip on her wand tightened until her knuckles turned white. She bit her lower lip, tasting copper.
He’s going to drop it, she realized with a jolt of cold dread. He’s not aiming at me. He’s aiming at the stadium.
She shifted her stance, her legs tense, ready to intercept. She would have to catch it. She would have to use her body as a shield. Even with her ice barriers, taking a hit like that head-on...
It was going to hurt. It might even scar her flawless skin, which would be a tragedy of the highest order.
"Die, Leviathan!" Kokabiel bellowed, his body arching backward like a bowstring pulled taut. "DIE WITH YOUR FAKE DREAMS OF PEACE!"
He roared, his abdominal muscles contracting as he prepared to hurl the massive construct of light. The air screamed as the spear began its descent—
SPL-CRACK!
The sound was distinct. It wasn't the boom of thunder or the sizzle of energy. It was the sharp, wet crack of high-velocity liquid impacting solid matter.
A jet of water, compressed to the hardness of diamond and moving faster than sound, shot upward from the clouds below. It wasn't a wide spray—it was a focused, razor-thin lance of hydro-kinetic fury, shimmering with a deep, royal blue hue that Serafall knew better than her own reflection!
It bypassed Kokabiel’s magical defenses, which were entirely focused on his front and the massive spell he was holding. It struck him from directly below, threading the needle between his armored greaves.
It nailed him dead-center in the crotch.
Kokabiel’s roar of triumph strangled instantly into a high-pitched, gargling squeak of absolute agony.
"Ghhhuuurrrk!" His eyes bulged out of his skull. His back arched, not in power, but in a spasm of excruciating pain. His legs clamped together instinctively, but the damage was done. The force of the water jet lifted him bodily into the air, spinning him like a ragdoll.
The concentration required to maintain the massive light spear shattered instantly. The golden construct destabilized, flickering violently before imploding into a shower of harmless sparks that drifted away on the wind.
Kokabiel clutched his groin with both hands, the Red Dragon Emperor’s gauntlet looking ridiculous as he curled into a fetal ball in mid-air. He wheezed, his face turning a fascinating shade of purple. "My... my stones..." he whimpered, the terrifying general reduced to a sobbing mess.
Serafall stared, her mouth hanging open in uncharacteristic shock. She blinked once, twice, trying to process the sudden turn of events. Who had—?
"GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!"
The shout tore through the clouds, raw and furious and fiercely possessive.
Serafall’s heart skipped a beat. She knew that voice. She knew it in her soul, in her blood. She looked down, peering through the mist.
A figure burst through the cloud layer, propelled by two large, leathery black wings that beat against the air with powerful, rhythmic strokes.
It was Harry. Her son. Her beautiful, handsome, brave Harry-kun.
He looked like he had been through a tough fight against that cloned dragon. His shirt was shredded, hanging off his torso in tatters that revealed the hard, sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen. His skin was smeared with soot and dirt, and there was a cut on his cheek that bled sluggishly, but his blue eyes were blazing with a cold, terrifying icyness that matched her own.
He flew upward with the speed of a missile, placing himself directly between her and the whimpering Fallen Angel.
"Harry-kun?!" Serafall shouted, the name tearing from her throat in a mix of panic and overwhelming delight.
He didn't look back at her immediately. He hovered there, devil wings spread wide, a protective wall of muscle and magic shielding her from harm.
"You heard me, you feathered freak!" Harry snarled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl that sent a thrill of heat straight to Serafall’s core. "You touch her, and I'll cut off whatever that water jet didn't already destroy!"
Serafall wasn’t even standing, she was flying, but she still felt her knees go weak. A flush that had nothing to do with the cold air at this altitude spread across her chest and up her neck.
Oh, he was magnificent!
He had defeated the dragon. And instead of staying safe on the ground, he had flown up here, into the domain of gods and monsters, just to protect her.
She watched the way his back muscles shifted under his skin as he flexed and called on his demonic power. She saw the demonic energy radiating off him—Sitri blue, but still purely Harry.
"My hero..." Serafall breathed, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. "He really came to save his Mommy!"
Kokabiel managed to straighten up, though he was still hunched over, one hand hovering protectively over his injured nether regions. His face was a mask of pain and humiliation.
"You..." Kokabiel hissed, his voice trembling. "You dare? A half-breed brat? You struck me in the—"
Harry literally ignored the current Cadre Red Dragon Emperor and instead turned to Serafall. He glanced back at her then, just for a second. His blue eyes met hers, and the ferocity softened into concern. "You okay, Mum?" he asked in concern.
Serafall felt a tear prick the corner of her eye. She floated closer, unable to resist the gravitational pull of him. "I am better than okay, Harry-kun," she whispered, reaching out to brush her fingertips against his shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch, vibrant with life. "I am the luckiest mother in the world!" She licked her lips. "Now," she said, her voice turning dark and sweet, a promise of violence wrapped in sugar. "Let's finish this trash so we can go home. I have so many rewards to give you!"
XXX
Comments
Drake Serr
I think that is the first time I have ever read someone hit kokopuff in the family jewels, and wow, was that vicious.
Ariakan
Harry: "I aimed at his head. Fired. Hit the target" Serafall: "But Harry....dear....you hit his crotch...." Harry: "Like i said mom: i hit the target i was aiming for....the head 😈"
willowskeith
Harry: "get away from my mother!!" Serafall: *in shock* "Harry!? How did you hit such a small target!?"
