Chapter 38:
– Rosseweisse –
Rossweisse shifted her weight on the hard, enchanted wood of the stadium bench, the cold Scottish wind whipping strands of her long, silver hair across her face. She tucked the silken locks behind a delicate ear, her sharp blue eyes scanning the massive, circular enclosure that had been erected on the Hogwarts grounds.
It was an impressive structure, humming with layers of protective wards that tingled against her senses, a testament to the seriousness of this "Triwizard Tournament."
She let out a breath that misted in the chilly air. She had come straight from Asgard, still dressed in her usual office attire—a form-fitting pencil skirt that hugged the generous curve of her hips and a blouse that strained precariously against her ample bosom. It wasn't exactly practical for a magical tournament in a Scottish autumn, but she hadn't had time to change.
Besides, the tickets had been shockingly reasonable—a bargain, really—and Rossweisse never turned down a bargain.
She was here for a break, yes. The endless mountains of paperwork Odin piled onto her desk had begun to feel like a prison, and the constant reminders of her single status back in Valhalla were grating on her nerves. But more importantly, she was here for support. She was here to see the man her little sister had chosen for herself. Harry Sitri.
"I thought I sensed you, Big Sister," a melodic voice drifted through the roar of the gathering crowd.
Rossweisse turned, her expression softening instantly as she spotted the familiar flash of vibrant crimson hair. Lilja Nornas wove through the row of seats, moving with a fluid grace that drew eyes from every direction.
"Lilja," Rossweisse greeted, a genuine smile curving her lips as she patted the empty space beside her.
As Lilja settled in, pressing her shoulder warmly against Rossweisse's, the silver-haired Valkyrie's smile faltered. Her nose twitched, picking up a scent that lay heavy and cloying beneath Lilja's familiar perfume. It was a dark, seductive energy, a magical signature that felt fundamentally different from the holy aura of Asgard.
Rossweisse frowned, her brow furrowing as she extended her senses, probing the energy radiating off her little sister.
It was unmistakable. The faint, undeniable hum of demonic power.
"So," Rossweisse began, her voice dropping to a low, serious octave, though she kept her tone gentle. "You really went and did it. You became an eternal servant of the Sitri clan?"
She looked at Lilja closely, noting the subtle changes.
There was a new depth to Lilja's aura, a density to her magic that hadn't been there before. It was the mark of the Evil Pieces, the transformative magic of the devils that rewrote a being's very soul.
Lilja didn't flinch under the scrutiny. She simply smiled, a look of profound contentment on her face. "I am a devil now, Rose," she whispered, leaning closer so their arms brushed, the warmth of her body seeping into Rossweisse's side. "I am Harry's Queen. And I have never been happier!"
Rossweisse felt a pang in her chest—a sharp, stinging mixture of protectiveness and something darker, something she was loath to admit. She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "A Queen... That is the most powerful piece, isn't it? Bound to him, body and soul, for eternity."
"Yes," Lilja confirmed, her green eyes drifting toward the arena floor where the champions would soon emerge. "Body and soul."
The silence that stretched between them was filled with the ambient noise of the crowd. Rossweisse became acutely aware of the attention they were drawing. It was inevitable, really. Two incredibly beautiful, voluptuous women sitting side by side, their figures distinct and imposing even amidst the sea of witches and wizards.
She could feel the weight of male gazes pressing against them from all sides. To her left, a group of older wizards were whispering behind their hands, their eyes glued to the way Rossweisse's blouse buttons struggled to contain her chest. To their right, a pair of Durmstrang students were openly ogling Lilja, their eyes tracing the line of her legs where her robes had parted slightly.
Rossweisse straightened her back, thrusting her chest out inadvertently as she crossed her legs, the nylon of her stockings rasping softly. She didn't mind the attention—in fact, she was used to it.
As a Valkyrie, and a particularly well-endowed one at that, she was accustomed to being desired. But as her gaze swept over the leering faces in the crowd, she felt a familiar wave of disappointment.
None of them were right. None of them had that spark. They were either too old, too young, too arrogant, or simply too... boring. She wanted someone interesting. Someone strong. Someone who looked at her not just as a conquest, but as a partner.
Like the way Lilja described Harry when they had ice cream together and then spent the rest of the night drinking.
Rossweisse bit her lower lip, glancing sideways at her sister. Lilja was glowing. The demonic energy hadn't tainted her beauty—it had amplified it, giving her a dangerous, sultry edge that was undeniably captivating.
She looked complete.
I'm not jealous, Rossweisse told herself silently, though the thought rang hollow even in her own mind. Okay, yes I am.
She was terribly, painfully jealous. Her baby sister had found a man—a rich, handsome, powerful devil prince—who wanted her to be his Queen. Meanwhile, Rossweisse was spending her weekends hunting for discount stickers at the supermarket and counting her coins for train fare. It wasn't fair!
Why did no one tell her Valkyries didn't get paid enough money to have extravagant lives! For a city literally covered in gold, you would think the budget for the military would be a bit higher. She supposed it made sense considering Asgard hadn't seen actual war in hundreds of years, but still!
"What is this event even supposed to be, anyway?" Rossweisse asked, her voice a little sharper than she intended, desperate to change the subject away from her own pathetic love life. She gestured vaguely at the rocky, uneven terrain of the arena floor below. "The ticket seller was maddeningly vague. He just said it would be 'quite a spectacle.'"
Lilja turned to her, and the grin that split her face was wide and filled with a fierce, predatory excitement that belonged entirely to her new nature.
"Oh, it will be a spectacle, Rose," Lilja said, her voice dropping to a whisper so no one else would hear. Her green eyes flashed. Lilja pointed a manicured finger toward the massive, chained enclosure at the far end of the stadium, where heavy iron gates were currently rattled by something immense and furious on the other side. "Harry is going up against a dragon," Lilja declared, her tone ringing with pride and thrill. "A nesting mother. It is surely going to be interesting!"
Rossweisse's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Her sister's lover was about to fight a dragon for sport? Even the weakest types of dragons could still raise entire towns if left unchecked and were thus deemed "High Class" creatures.
Rossweisse leaned back against the hard bench, and let out a long, envious sigh. "Well," she muttered, smoothing her skirt over her thighs. "At least I got a good seat."
– Harry –
I sat on the hard, unforgiving wooden bench in the center of the champions' tent. We were all just waiting—waiting for the headmasters, the judges to come and kick off the main event for today.
A sharp, high-pitched buzzing grated against my eardrum.
An iridescent beetle zipped past my nose for the third time in a minute. My devil reflexes flared, and my hand snapped out in a blur, fingers snatching at the air, but the bug was unnaturally quick, darting just out of reach before circling back to hover near my temple.
"Annoying little shit," I muttered under my breath, tracking its flight path. I had a pretty good idea that the beetle was none other than Rita Skeeter, looking for a scoop, but I let it go.
If she wanted to watch what was about to happen, she was welcome to the front-row seat.
I leaned back, resting my elbows on my knees, and glanced over at my competition.
Viktor Krum sat hunched over on a stool in the corner, and the guy looked like he was about to be sick. His face, usually set in a scowl of athletic concentration, was pale and shiny with cold sweat. His large hands gripped his wand so tightly his knuckles had turned stark white, the wood creaking under the pressure. He kept tapping the tip of the wand against his thigh—tap, tap, tap—a frantic rhythm that betrayed just how terrified he actually was.
I chuckled darkly to myself. Yeah, there was definitely a massive difference between chasing a shiny golden ball around a pitch on a broomstick and staring down a twenty-foot, fire-breathing reptile. And these weren't just any dragons; they were nesting mothers. They were pissed off, hormonal, and fiercely protective.
My mind drifted briefly to the Underworld. I honestly hoped the dragons down there, specifically those under the leadership of the Dragon King Tannin, never found out how wizards treated their less intelligent cousins up here on Earth. Tannin was considered a pretty chill guy after getting reincarnated as a devil under Mephisto Pheles, but a dragon was still a dragon. He viewed his species with a deep, ancestral pride. If he saw these majestic beasts chained down, starved, and goaded into a rage for sport... Well, things would not go well for the wizarding world. There weren't a lot of dragons left in the world, and Tannin was known to be very protective of his dwindling kin.
The beetle buzzed by my face again, loud and irritating. I tracked it with my eyes, considering for a split second whether I should freeze the little bugger into an ice cube or just torch it with a quick flick of Veela fire.
But then, movement across the tent caught my eye, and the beetle was instantly forgotten.
My gaze locked onto the far side of the enclosure, where my two beautiful Rooks, Fleur and Gabrielle, were preparing themselves.
They were stretching.
Fleur had lowered herself into a full split on the canvas floor, her legs extended in a perfect, straight line that showcased the incredible flexibility of her hips. She was wearing a form-fitting athletic version of her Beauxbatons uniform—pale blue fabric that clung to her skin like a second layer. As she leaned forward, pressing her chest toward the floor, the material pulled tight over the luscious curve of her ass, outlining the perfect, round shape of her cheeks.
"Gabrielle, aide-moi," Fleur murmured, her voice husky.
Gabrielle, looking just as stunning in a matching outfit that hugged her slightly smaller but equally tantalizing frame, stepped up behind her sister.
"Oui, Fleur," Gabrielle whispered.
She straddled Fleur's back, placing her hands firmly on her sister's shoulder blades. With slow, deliberate pressure, Gabrielle pressed herself down. I watched, mesmerized, as Gabrielle's torso flattened against Fleur's back. The younger Veela's breasts, perky and firm beneath the thin blue fabric, squashed deliciously against her sister's spine.
Fleur let out a low, sultry groan as the stretch deepened, her face flushing pink. "Harder, Gabrielle... push me deeper."
"Like this?" Gabrielle teased, leaning her weight forward, her hips grinding subtly against Fleur's lower back.
My mouth went dry. My Veela lovers were so incredibly sexy and flexible. The sight of them intertwined like that—limbs tangled, bodies pressing and sliding against one another—sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin.
As if sensing my heavy gaze, Fleur lifted her head from the floor. Her deep blue eyes locked onto mine, darkened with lust and amusement. She nudged her sister, and Gabrielle looked up too. They didn't look away or cover up. Instead, Gabrielle bit her lip and offered me a slow, playful wink, while Fleur arched her back further, deliberately showcasing the curve of her ass for my benefit.
I forced myself to look away before I walked over there and ravaged them both in front of the other champions. I turned my attention to the only other person in the tent who actually posed a threat to me.
My gorgeous aunt, Sona Sitri. She was standing near the entrance, arms crossed tightly beneath her modest chest, pushing her breasts up slightly in her Ravenclaw robes. She wasn't looking at the dragons outside or the other champions. She was staring at the ground, her teeth digging into her lower lip in deep concentration. She looked tense. Focused.
Her pretty pink eyes darted around the room behind her glasses, analyzing, calculating, before they finally landed on me.
I caught her gaze and let a slow, arrogant smirk curl my lips.
Sona's reaction was immediate. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin lifted. That nervous lip-biting vanished, replaced instantly by that smug, haughty look she always got whenever things turned competitive. She hated to lose. She hated the idea that I might be calmer than her right now. It was adorable, really. Mum—Serafall—and I would never make fun of her for it out loud, because we loved her too much, but seeing Sona get all fired up and determined was one of the best parts of being a Sitri.
"Don't get cocky, Harry," she mouthed silently across the tent, her eyes flashing with a competitive fire that made her look absolutely beautiful.
I winked at her before we were both distracted again.
The heavy canvas flaps of the champion's tent swept open with a rush of cool air. Tsubaki Shinra, Sona's Queen, strode in first. Skipping right behind her was Luna Lovegood.
The petite blonde looked entirely out of place amidst the nervous energy of the other champions. She hummed a soft, discordant melody, her large, silvery-blue eyes drifting around the tent's ceiling as if tracking invisible moths.
Both Ravenclaw girls moved straight toward Sona.
"Good luck, Sona," Luna said, her voice airy and melodic. She stopped right in front of my aunt, tilting her head to the side so her blonde hair spilled over her shoulder. "But you really shouldn't brood so hard. The Wrackspurts are terribly attracted to anxiety, and if you frown like that, you'll just invite a whole colony of Nargles to nest in your hair before the first task even begins."
Sona, who usually looked at anyone who wasn't Tsubaki with a mixture of calculation and distance, did something that actually made me blink. Her harsh expression softened instantly. A small, genuine smile touched her lips, and she reached out, wrapping her arms around Luna in a firm, affectionate hug.
"Thank you, Luna," Sona murmured, pulling the smaller girl close.
I watched them, eyebrows raising. I knew they were friends—Luna had been hanging around the Ravenclaw duo for weeks—but I hadn't realized they were that close. Sona wasn't exactly the hugging type with anyone outside me—or Serafall.
But as they held the embrace, a sudden, familiar pulse of energy washed over my senses. It radiated from Luna—a dark, cool undercurrent beneath her usual whimsical magical signature.
Luna didn't feel like a regular witch anymore. She felt like us.
I realized with a jolt of satisfaction that Sona had finally done it. Luna was a devil. My aunt had officially inducted her first new peerage member since coming to Hogwarts.
A wave of relief washed through me. This was good. This was really good. Sona and Tsubaki were brilliant, but they were also intense, serious, and prone to overthinking. They needed someone like Luna—someone grounded in a completely different reality, someone with enough whimsy to balance out their rigidity. And unlike Sona's last peerage back in Kuoh—specifically that obsession-riddled creep, Saji, whose very existence had made my skin crawl—I knew Luna's friendship was genuine. She wasn't here for power or status.
I was glad Sona had scrubbed that previous mistake from her life. Luna was a massive upgrade.
"Here, Kaichou," Tsubaki said, stepping forward as the hug broke. She held out a tall, condensation-slicked glass of water. "You need to stay hydrated. We don't know exactly what the arena conditions will be, but dragons breathe fire hot enough to melt stone. You cannot afford to overheat."
Sona nodded, taking the glass and sipping gracefully, her eyes narrowing as she shifted back into combat mode.
I was about to call out to them, maybe offer a thumbs-up, when my world suddenly went dark.
A pair of hands clamped over my eyes.
The skin was incredibly soft, cool, and smelled faintly of expensive vanilla and roses. I didn't even have time to tense up before a body pressed firmly against my back.
I froze, my breath hitching. Two large, incredibly soft mounds of flesh squashed against my shoulder blades, flattening deliciously against my spine. The heat of her body seeped through my thin shirt instantly. I could feel the heavy, plush weight of her breasts shifting as she leaned in closer, molding herself to me. Hot breath ghosted against the sensitive skin of my neck, followed by the wet, teasing press of lips just below my ear.
"Guess who..." a sultry, playful voice whispered, the vibration of her words humming against my back.
A grin split my face. There weren't many women in this school with a chest this magnificent who would dare sneak up on me like this.
"Well," I drawled, leaning back into her warmth, letting my head rest against her stomach. "Judging by the fact that I currently have two very large, very soft, and very perfect pillows trying to suffocate me from behind... these breasts can only belong to my beautiful fiancée, Rias."
The hands pulled away from my eyes, and I turned just in time to see Rias Gremory circling the bench to stand in front of me. She was wearing her Hufflepuff robes, but even the loose fabric couldn't hide the impressive hourglass figure beneath. She crossed her arms under her chest, the motion pushing her breasts up and together, emphasizing the deep cleavage that hinted at the sheer size of what she was packing.
She pouted at me with feigned indignation. "Is that really all you remember me for, Harry?" she teased, arching a delicate eyebrow. "My large, supple, perfect breasts? I like to think I have other qualities."
I let my eyes travel down her body, slow and deliberate. I took in the cinched waist, the flare of her hips, and the long legs hidden beneath her skirt.
"You're right," I admitted with a wicked grin. "That's not all. I'm also a massive fan of your thighs. And your ass. Really, the whole package is pretty spectacular."
Rias's cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. She reached out and smacked my arm lightly, though her smile ruined the scolding. "You are incorrigible, Harry Sitri," she said, shaking her head. Her expression softened, the playfulness melting into something warmer, more intimate. "I just wanted to come and wish you luck. Before you have to go out there and fight a literal dragon."
"I appreciate it," I said.
Then, before she could react, I reached out, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled.
Rias let out a startled yelp as she tumbled forward, landing squarely in my lap. Her arms instinctively flew up to wrap around my neck to steady herself. She adjusted her position, her soft thighs bracketing my legs, her heavy chest pressing right up against mine as she settled in.
"Harry!" she laughed, breathless, though she didn't try to move.
"I'm glad you decided to drop by," I murmured, tightening my arm around her waist to keep her close. "Better than sitting here staring at Krum looking like he's about to vomit."
Rias leaned in and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to my cheek, her lips warm and soft. "Just be careful out there, okay?"
I shrugged, feeling the comforting weight of her in my arms. "I'm not too worried. From what I've read, these earthly dragons aren't exactly geniuses. They're basically just oversized reptiles that fly and breathe fire. Compared to the dragons back in the Underworld? This should be a walk in the park."
Rias smiled, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of my neck. "Just don't get cocky. Even a dumb dragon has sharp teeth."
"I'll be fine," I promised, stealing a quick kiss from her lips. "Especially now that I've got my good luck charm."
Rias preened under my praise, her chest puffing out slightly with pride. She shifted her weight in my lap, her soft thighs pressing firmly against mine as she leaned back, looking every inch the confident Devil nobility. "Of course I'm your good luck charm," she declared, a smug, satisfied smile curving her lush lips. She ran a manicured finger down the front of my shirt. "I am the Heiress of the Gremory Clan, after all. And while most people focus on our Power of Destruction, they forget that one of our most potent secret Clan traits is actually incredible luck. We Gremorys always land on our feet no matter the odds!"
I couldn't resist the urge to tease her. I raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. "Really?" I asked, keeping my voice deadpan. "That's funny. Because Sona told me your Clan trait was actually taming camels. Something about a ranch near your main estate with over a thousand of them?"
Rias shuddered violently, a visible ripple of revulsion running through her voluptuous body. Her nose scrunched up in genuine disgust, and she actually recoiled slightly, pressing her back against my chest as if trying to distance herself from the mere idea.
"Ugh! Don't even say that word," she groaned. "Camels are gross. They spit, they smell, and they have terrible attitudes. I hate them."
"So the ranch is a lie?" I pressed, enjoying the way her composure cracked.
"No," she admitted miserably. "The ranch exists. But not because of some noble affinity!" She turned in my lap to face me, her blue-green eyes wide with second-hand embarrassment. "It exists because of a certain ancestor of mine—who had a… disturbing fetish for all things camel-related." She leaned in close, whispering to me, her breath warm against my ear. "Harry, you should see the old shared bathhouse on the estate. It is a nightmare. There are camel statues spitting water. Camel mosaics on the floor. It's haunting."
I laughed against her. Rias huffed, but then her expression softened. She leaned forward and pressed another playful, lingering kiss to my cheek, her lips soft and wet.
"Come on," she said, hopping nimbly off my lap. She smoothed down her Hufflepuff robes, though they did little to hide the curves beneath, and grabbed my hand. "Let's go bother Sona before you have to fight."
She dragged me across the tent toward the entrance where Sona was standing with Tsubaki and Luna. My aunt looked up as we approached, her expression composed, though her eyes flickered to our joined hands.
Rias stopped in front of her rival, planting her hands on her hips and thrusting her chest out defiantly.
"You're going down today, Sona," Rias announced, her voice brimming with competitive fire. "My fiancé is going to win this task, hands down. I've already placed a massive bet on him!" She paused, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "And I bet with money that's actually worth something, now that your family runs the bank and fixed the currency!"
Sona narrowed her pink eyes behind her glasses. She crossed her arms beneath her modest chest, her posture stiffening.
"So," Sona said coolly, though I could hear the amusement laced underneath, "you've chosen to betray me, Rias? Is that it? After we worked so well together against my nephew in the last task?"
Rias flipped her long crimson hair over her shoulder. "Fate is a cruel mistress, Sona," she declared dramatically. "But it seems we have found ourselves on opposite sides of the battlefield today."
The tension in the air was thick, charged with the history of their rivalry.
Then, Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice cut right through it. "That's okay," she said, blinking her large, silvery eyes. "We can all go get ice cream together and make up once this is all over. Daddy says rocky road mends all ruined friendships..."
Everyone froze. We all looked at Luna. Her expression was perfectly serene, completely unbothered by the posturing of two high-class devils. I honestly couldn't tell if she genuinely thought they were fighting, or if she was trolling us all by playing the airhead.
Knowing Luna… she was probably doing both.
"Don't worry, Lady Sona," a sultry, melodic voice drifted from the tent entrance. "I will be rooting for you."
I turned to see Akeno Himejima sauntering into the tent. She was wearing her Hufflepuff uniform, but she'd modified it—the skirt was shorter, the socks higher, and the blouse unbuttoned just enough to tease.
I frowned slightly. "Are all of you even allowed to be in here right before the task?"
"No one told us we couldn't," Akeno replied with a shrug and a smile that promised trouble.
I stepped closer to her, raising an eyebrow. "And why are you siding with Sona, Akeno? Aren't you Rias's Queen?"
Akeno brought a finger to her lips, her violet eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Ara, ara, Harry-sama. It's nothing personal. I just hope you get hurt today."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Not a lot," she amended quickly, stepping into my personal space until I could smell the scent of lightning and flowers that clung to her. "Just a little bit. A scratch here, a burn there." She leaned up, her lips grazing my ear as she whispered, "Because if you get hurt, Rias and I can nurse you back to health together! We finally use those slutty nurse uniforms she's had stashed away in her closet all this time."
My breath hitched.
"You should see them," Akeno purred, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent blood rushing south. "They are translucent pink, Harry-sama. Latex. And the skirts are so short they barely cover our asses. When we bend over…"
"AKENO!"
Rias lunged forward, her face a brilliant shade of scarlet. She slapped a hand over her Queen's mouth, physically cutting off the description.
"Those outfits were supposed to be a secret!" Rias hissed, looking mortified. She turned to me, her smile tight and forced. "Good luck, Harry! I'm going to go sit in the stands now." She grabbed Akeno by the arm and began hauling her toward the exit. "Right after I discipline my naughty Queen."
Akeno didn't look the least bit sorry. As she was dragged away, she looked back at me and winked. "Ara, ara… I've been a bad girl~"
We watched them go, the tent suddenly feeling quieter.
Sona let out a long, suffering sigh, adjusting her glasses. She turned to Tsubaki and Luna. "You two should head to the stadium seats as well. The judges will be here any minute."
Tsubaki nodded sharply. "Understood, Kaichou."
Luna, however, didn't just walk away. She turned to Sona and, without warning, launched herself forward. She glomped onto Sona, wrapping her arms around my aunt's waist and burying her face in Sona's shoulder.
Sona stiffened for a second, her arms hovering awkwardly, before she softened and patted Luna's back.
"Good luck," Luna hummed. She pulled back, beaming, and then skipped over to me. She rose on her tiptoes, pressed a soft, quick kiss to my cheek, and whispered, "Don't get eaten."
"Um…thanks…?"
"Bye bye!" she chirped, waving as she drifted out of the tent, Tsubaki following in her wake like a stoic bodyguard.
I watched them leave, then turned back to Sona. We were alone in our corner of the tent now.
"I'm glad you recruited her," I said quietly. "Luna… she's going to be good for you. Much better than your last peerage."
Sona's expression darkened for a flicker of a second at the mention of her old peerage, specifically the memories of Saji's obsession. She nodded slowly, stepping closer to me.
"I agree," she said, her voice firm. "I won't make the same mistake again. I won't rush to fill my spots just to catch up with Rias or the others." She reached out, her hand finding mine. Her fingers were cool, her grip gentle but solid. "Trust is the most important thing in a ten-thousand-year-long relationship, Harry. I need people I can stand to be around for eternity."
I looked down at our joined hands. I ran my thumb over her knuckles, feeling the delicate bones beneath the skin. "You've got that with me," I promised.
"I know," she murmured, a small, private smile touching her lips.
We stood there in comfortable silence, hand in hand, ignoring the nervous energy of the other champions, waiting for Dumbledore and the judges to arrive and start the madness.
…The heavy canvas flaps at the entrance of the tent swept open again. Albus Dumbledore strode inside, his presence immediately commanding the room despite the gentle twinkle in his eyes behind those half-moon spectacles.
He wasn't alone. Flanking him were the other heads of schools. Madame Maxime had to duck significantly to enter, her massive, fur-clad frame towering over everyone else, her face set in a mask of haughty elegance. Igor Karkaroff followed close on her heels, his silver goatee twitching, his dark eyes scanning the room with a cold, calculating gleam that made me want to punch him on principle.
Behind them bounced Ludo Bagman, the former Quidditch star—or something like that?—who looked like he was vibrating with excitement.
He was wearing bright robes that clashed violently with the serious atmosphere. This was the guy who had thrown this whole tournament together—at least, he had been the architect before my mother, Serafall, had swooped in with her checkbook and basically usurped the entire event with enough money to fund a small country!
Dumbledore's gaze swept over the champions, pausing for a fraction of a second on me and Sona.
He looked down at our joined hands.
He didn't say a word, didn't even raise an eyebrow, just offered us a polite, grandfatherly nod before moving toward the center of the enclosure.
Beside me, Sona stiffened. She snatched her hand away from mine as if she'd been burned, clasping her hands tightly in front of her stomach. Her posture corrected instantly, snapping back into the rigid, perfect elegance of a High-Class Devil heiress.
"Stupid," she muttered under her breath, her voice tight with self-reproach. "I let my guard down. I shouldn't be displaying public affection like that with you so openly in front of humans."
I leaned in close, bumping my shoulder against hers, enjoying the way she refused to look at me. "It's okay, Sona," I whispered, my voice dropping to a low, teasing purr. "Holding hands isn't exactly a scandal. It doesn't give away the fact that we're probably going to be fucking like rabbits someday soon."
Sona gasped, her head whipping around to glare at me. Her face went from pale porcelain to a brilliant, vivid scarlet in less than a heartbeat. She lifted her foot and stomped the heel of her boot down hard on my toes. "Harry!" she hissed, though the heat in her voice wasn't anger. "Please do not be as vulgar as Serafall. I love you, but you cannot emulate her that much in public."
The stomp didn't hurt—perks of being a strong devil—but her words hit me like a physical blow. I froze. My breath hitched in my throat.
"Oh…." She had turned away immediately after saying it, trying to compose herself, adjusting her glasses with trembling fingers. She was staring intently at a knot in the wood of the tent pole, her neck flushed a deep, rosy pink that disappeared beneath the collar of her robes.
I love you.
She'd just said it. Casually. Like it was a fact she'd accepted long ago and just forgot to mention until now.
I felt a rush of heat climb up my own neck, a stupid, wide grin threatening to split my face. My heart hammered against my ribs, a heavy, rhythmic thud. I wanted to grab her, pull her back into my arms, and kiss her until we both forgot about dragons and tournaments and judges.
But Dumbledore was speaking.
We walked over to join the circle of champions, Sona keeping her head down, her shoulders hunched slightly as if trying to hide the blush that still stained her cheeks. I stayed close, my arm brushing hers with every step, letting her know I wasn't going anywhere.
"Good afternoon, champions," Dumbledore said, his voice grave but calm. "The first task will begin shortly. The spectators are assembled. The judges are ready."
He paused, looking at each of us in turn—Fleur and Gabrielle standing tall and proud, Krum looking like he was about to vomit, and finally Sona and me.
Were we missing someone?
"I must remind you all," Dumbledore continued, his tone dropping an octave, becoming heavy with warning. "What you are about to face is dangerous. There is a very real possibility of severe injury, or even death. If any of you wish to withdraw... now is the time."
A heavy silence settled over the tent. I almost snorted. Withdraw? Was that even an option? I knew the rules of the Goblet of Fire. It was a binding magical contract. If a regular wizard or witch tried to back out now, the Goblet would likely strip them of their magic, turning them into a squib on the spot. It was an ancient, brutal penalty designed to ensure commitment.
I doubted it could do that to us. Sona, Fleur, Gabrielle, and I... we were Devils. But I wasn't about to test it. Besides, I'd joined this tournament for the thrill, for the challenge, and yeah, maybe to show off a little for the beautiful women surrounding me. I wasn't going anywhere.
I glanced around the circle.
Fleur and Gabrielle looked tense, but determined. Sona had regained her composure, her face a mask of icy calm.
The only ones who looked like they might actually take the offer were Krum and... that other guy. My eyes landed on the second Durmstrang champion in the corner.
Fuck, I thought, blinking. Was that guy in the tent with us the whole time?
I actually had to search my memory, scrolling back through the last hour. And yeah, there he was. Sitting on a stool in the darkest corner, hunched over, staring at his boots. His physical and magical presence was so incredibly weak, so utterly devoid of charisma or intensity, that my brain had just... filtered him out. He was like a background character in a movie, the guy without a name who gets eaten in the first five minutes to show how scary the monster is.
Poor guy…
"My students do not fear death!" Karkaroff barked suddenly, puffing out his chest and placing a heavy hand on Krum's shoulder. He sneered at Dumbledore. "Durmstrang instills iron in the blood!"
It was a weird thing to brag about—basically saying, 'My students are ready to die for my ego'—but okay, sure.
Then, the background character surprised me.
The forgotten Durmstrang boy stood up. He was lanky, with a face that was somehow both sharp and indistinct, like a sketch someone hadn't finished. He took a step toward Ludo Bagman, his hands trembling at his sides, but his chin jutted out.
"I am a proud son of Bulgaria and Durmstrang!" he declared, his voice cracking slightly before he found his volume. "I am not scared of any challenge! I will go first!"
Bagman blinked, clearly surprised that the furniture had started talking, but he recovered quickly. He grinned, holding out a purple silk sack.
"That's the spirit, lad!" Bagman cheered, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Step right up! Ladies first? No? Very well, reach in and pick your destiny!"
The boy took a deep breath, steeling himself, and thrust his hand into the sack. He rummaged around for a second, his face contorting in concentration, before he yanked his hand back out.
Clutched in his fist was a tiny, perfect model of a dragon.
It was red, with smooth scales and a ridge of sharp spikes running down its spine. It moved in his grip, its tiny wings snapping open, its head whipping around to snap its jaws at his thumb. A tiny puff of real smoke curled from its nostrils.
Reality snapped back and the guy stared at it, his face draining of all color.
"The Common Welsh!" Bagman announced happily to the room. "A native breed! Don't let the name fool you, though. She's nesting, and she's got a temper to match. Lucky for you, she's on the smaller side... relatively speaking."
Bagman clapped the guy on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "That will be the first of the six dragons we've prepared for you all to face today! Good luck, son. You'll need it!"
The Durmstrang champion—I still didn't know his name—looked like he was regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. The bravado evaporated, replaced by the stark, terrifying reality of a forty-foot reptile waiting outside to turn him into ash.
Bagman turned back to the rest of us, holding the sack open wide, his grin stretching ear to ear.
"Now!" he boomed. "Who wants to go next? There's one dragon for each of you!"
– Serafall –
Serafall Leviathan bounced enthusiastically on the plush velvet cushions of the VIP box!
She was dressed, as always, in her signature Magical Girl Levia-tan costume—a frilly, pastel-pink confection that barely qualified as clothing. The bodice was skin-tight, sculpting her generous breasts and pushing them upward until they threatened to spill over the lace-trimmed neckline with every energetic hop. Her short, pleated skirt fluttered dangerously high around her thighs, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination regarding the smoothness of her pale skin or the curve of her hips.
In her hands, she clutched a pair of sparkling pink pompoms, shaking them violently toward the arena below!
"Go, Harry-kun! Go, So-tan!" Serafall squealed, her voice pitching up into a register that could shatter glass. She thrust her chest out, shaking the pompoms with a vigor that made her twin-tails whip through the air. "Show that lizard who's boss! Mommy is watching you! Do your best! Fight! Win! Don't forget to look cool!"
Beside her, her mother, Selene Sitri, sat with the poise of an ice sculpture. She adjusted her glasses, her sharp pink eyes flicking from the empty arena to her eldest daughter. She let out a long, suffering sigh that seemed to deflate her entire posture.
"Serafall," Selene said, her voice dry and deadpan. "You do realize that this booth is magically soundproofed, do you not? No matter HOW LOUDLY you cheer—Harry and Sona cannot hear a word you are screaming…"
Serafall froze mid-bounce. She blinked, lowering her pompoms slowly. For a second, she looked disappointed, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Then, a wide, mischievous grin split her face. She shook her head, her optimism instantly rebounding.
"That doesn't matter, Mama!" Serafall chirped. She pressed her hands over her heart—or rather, over the ample cleavage heaving beneath her hands. "Harry-kun and So-tan will always be able to hear me in their hearts! Our bond is too strong for silly things like soundproofing wards to stop!" She wiggled in her seat, her thighs rubbing together audibly as she leaned closer to her mother, dropping her voice to a sultry tone. "Besides... I'm pretty sure they can sense my excitement. Whenever I think very lewd, very naughty thoughts about the two of them, I just know they can feel it. Like a shiver down their spines." She giggled, a wet, throaty sound. "And right now? I'm thinking about how sweaty and out of breath they're going to be after they slay their dragons... and how much fun it would be to lick all that sweat off of them in a big family pile later~"
Sebastian Sitri, who had been staring stoically at the arena floor with a glass of wine in his hand, closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like a man carrying the weight of several centuries of dealing with his daughter. "I think we failed as parents, Selene," Sebastian muttered, his voice heavy with resignation.
Selene nodded slowly, taking a sip of her tea without looking at him. "I am inclined to agree, dear."
Serafall gasped, puffing out her cheeks in an adorable display of indignation. She spun in her seat to face them, her skirt riding up high enough to flash the white lace of her panties. "That is so mean!" she whined, stomping one knee-high pink boot on the floor. "You guys are the ones who approved of us all loving each other! You're the ones who said the Sitri clan needed to be strengthened and that keeping the bloodline pure and powerful was important!" She pointed an accusing finger at her father. "Papa, you literally encouraged Harry to build a harem!"
"We approved of Harry and Sona getting married," Selene corrected sharply, setting her teacup down with a clatter. Her gaze was stern. "We approved of a union between the heiress and your son to consolidate power. We did not explicitly approve of you, the current Satan Leviathan, forcing your way into your own son's harem by seducing him..."
Serafall just grinned, completely unrepentant. She leaned back, crossing her legs and letting one boot dangle provocatively. "Well, you didn't say I couldn't," she countered brightly. "And besides, who is going to stop me? I'm a Maou! I'm too powerful for anyone to tell me 'no.' Not you, not the Devil Council, and certainly not Harry-kun, who clearly enjoys it." She licked her lips. "Hehehe... it's awesome, right? Being powerful enough to take exactly what you want?"
She hugged herself, shivering with delight as she fantasized about the celebration later. Once this task was over, once Harry and Sona proved their dominance... oh, the party they would have. Maybe she could convince them to try out that new outfit she bought—and she had even bought multiple sets for Harry because she was going to see him in his girl form in person no matter what it takes!
Her filthy daydream was cut short by the booming, magically amplified voice of Ludo Bagman echoing through the stadium.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Witches and Wizards!" Bagman roared, the sound vibrating against the glass of the VIP box. "Welcome to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament! Our champions have made their selections, and it is time to face the beasts!"
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers and screams. The massive iron gates at the far end of the rocky enclosure groaned and creaked open, the heavy chains dragging against the stone floor.
From the darkness of the tunnel, a dragon emerged.
It was the Common Welsh Green—not very impressive by her standards, but it was a start. A heavy iron collar was chained around its neck, staked to the ground, limiting its range but doing nothing to dampen its rage.
The dragon roared, a sound like tearing metal, and a jet of fire erupted from its jaws, scorching the rocks black. It circled protectively around a clutch of eggs nestled in the center of the arena—real dragon eggs, speckled and heavy, and right in the middle, gleaming with a taunting shine, was a Golden Egg.
"Our first challenger, representing Durmstrang Institute!" Bagman announced. "He must retrieve the Golden Egg to receive a clue for the next task! Let's see what he's made of!"
A hush fell over the stadium as the student stepped out onto the rocky terrain.
Serafall leaned forward, pressing her nose against the glass, her breath fogging it up slightly. She didn't actually care about this boy—he wasn't Harry or Sona—but she did enjoy a good show!
But—could he give them one?
The boy was lanky, with a face that looked completely forgettable. He stood there for a moment, trembling, his wand gripped so tight his knuckles were white. He looked at the dragon. The dragon looked at him, its slit pupils dilating, smoke curling from its nostrils in snorts of irritation.
Then, the boy did something incredibly stupid.
Instead of casting a disillusionment charm, or transfiguring a distraction, or doing literally anything tactical... he screamed.
"I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU, BEAST!" the boy bellowed, his voice cracking with terrified bravado. He raised his wand high, puffing out his chest in a display of young master arrogance that made Serafall blink in confusion. "YOU WILL BOW DOWN BEFORE YOUR HUMAN MASTERS AND—"
He charged. He actually ran, headfirst, straight at the nesting mother, his wand pointed forward like a lance.
"Oh my," Sebastian murmured, taking a sip of wine. "He's going to die."
The dragon simply opened its maw. The boy's words were cut off by a roaring torrent of liquid fire.
The stream of flame engulfed him completely, a blinding column of orange and white heat that turned the air in the stadium hazy. There was a brief, high-pitched scream that lasted maybe half a second before it was drowned out by the roar of the blaze.
The crowd gasped in unison, a collective sound of horror and shock that rippled through the stands. Witches covered their eyes, children screamed.
Serafall watched, unblinking, as the fire subsided.
There was nothing left. Just a scorch mark on the stone in the vague shape of a person, and a pile of gray ash that was already being scattered by the wind created by the dragon's wings.
The boy had been incinerated instantly.
Silence stretched over the stadium, heavy and suffocating. Even Bagman seemed too stunned to speak.
In the VIP box, the mood was... indifferent.
Serafall shrugged, leaning back in her chair and popping a grape into her mouth. "Well, that was quick," she mumbled around the fruit. "Boring."
Selene didn't even look up from her tea. "A complete lack of strategy," she critiqued coolly. "Charging a superior opponent without a plan? It is simply natural selection at work."
Sebastian swirled his wine, looking bored. "Indeed. Weakness is punished. It is the way of the world."
They were devils. They had fought in the Great War against Angels and Fallen Angels. They had survived the brutal Civil War of the Underworld. They had seen battlefields littered with thousands of corpses, rivers of blood, and destruction on a scale these humans couldn't comprehend. Watching one foolish human boy turn himself into charcoal because he had an ego problem? It didn't even register as a tragedy. It was just a lackluster opening act.
"I hope Harry-kun's dragon is bigger," Serafall said brightly, shaking her pompoms again. "He needs a real challenge to show off how cool he is!"
– Dave the Dragon Handler –
Dave liked to think he was pretty good at his job. He wasn't a prodigy, and he certainly wasn't a "Dragon Whisperer" like some of the lads in the canteen liked to claim after three shots of firewhisky.
He showed up, he did the dirty work, and he kept his limbs attached to his torso. In this line of work, retaining all ten fingers and toes was the only performance review that actually mattered.
He wasn't the absolute best, of course. That title, without a shadow of a doubt, belonged to Charlie Weasley. Charlie moved around these beasts with a fluidity that made Dave jealous on his best days and terrified on his worst. Charlie didn't just handle dragons, he understood them. He read the twitch of a tail or the dilation of a slit pupil the way other men read the morning Prophet.
But Charlie, unfortunately, was not here.
The news had hit the camp like a bludger to the gut days ago that his father, Arthur Weasley, was dead. Charlie always bragged about what a great man he was. Charlie had left in a whirlwind of grief and pale-faced shock, leaving a massive, gaping hole in the operation right when they needed him most. The Triwizard Tournament was days away from the First Task, and the enclosure was a powder keg waiting for a spark.
Which meant that Dave, the reliable second-stringer, had to step up. He had to take over the beast Charlie had been personally overseeing these past few days.
"Just until this dumb tournament is over," Dave muttered to himself, wiping a layer of greasy soot from his forehead with the back of a thick leather glove. "Just get them through the task, get them back in the crates, and ship them home to Romania. Then they can live in peace, and I can go back to shoveling dung in the nursery."
He stood on the catwalk overlooking the temporary containment sector, the metal grating vibrating under his boots. The air here was thick enough to chew, a suffocating mixture of sulfur, ozone, raw meat, and the acrid, metallic tang of fear sweat.
It was chaos.
To his left, the Swedish Short-Snout was currently testing the tensile strength of a chain thick enough to anchor a ship. She threw her head back and let out a roar that rattled Dave's teeth in his skull, her pearlescent scales shimmering as she thrashed. She was a nesting mother, hormonal and furious, her maternal instincts dialed up to eleven.
Further down the line, the Chinese Fireball was gnawing on the iron bars of her cage, smoke billowing from her nostrils in angry, rhythmic chuffs.
They were all like that. Agitated. Violent. Restless. They could smell the magic in the air, taste the hundreds of students in the castle nearby, and they hated every second of their confinement.
Dave turned his attention to the enclosure directly below him, the one Charlie had assigned to him before vanishing. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" Dave whispered, gripping the railing.
While the other five nesting mothers were busy trying to dismantle their cages brick by brick, the dragon in Dave's charge was… silent.
It was a massive beast, easily the largest of the lot, curled up in the center of the enclosure like a oversized cat. Its scales were pitch black—not the dark grey of a Hebridean Black, but a true, light-absorbing void-black that seemed to drink in the torches flickering on the walls. It lay perfectly still, its massive ribcage rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence.
It was sound asleep. That shouldn't have been possible. The noise level in the tent was deafening—roars, shrieks, the clang of metal on metal, the shouting of handlers. Yet this thing slept through it all with an unnatural stillness that made the hair on Dave's arms stand straight up.
A sudden, high-pitched scream tore through the air, snapping Dave's head to the right.
"Argh! FUCK! Put it out! Put it out!"
Dave winced as he saw Jenkins, one of the junior handlers, scrambling backward across the dirt floor of the Hungarian Horntail's pen. The Horntail, a particularly nasty piece of work with spikes running down her tail that looked like medieval torture devices, had managed to snake her head through a gap in the suppression wards.
She had sneezed—just a little sneeze—but for a dragon, that meant a jet of flame hot enough to melt steel.
Jenkins was clutching his right hand to his chest, rolling in the dust. His glove was smoking, the leather charred black and fusing to the skin beneath.
"Aguamenti!" another handler shouted, blasting Jenkins with a jet of water. The steam hissed loudly, rising in a white cloud, but Jenkins didn't stop screaming.
Dave grimaced. Dragon fire injuries were nasty business. They almost always scarred, resisting even the best magical healing. The venom in the fire, the magical residue—it lingered in the flesh long after the heat was gone.
"Get him to the medical tent!" the Shift Supervisor roared, his voice barely audible over the Horntail's triumphant screeching. "And tighten those bloody wards! If she gets loose, we're all gonna be in trouble!"
Dave watched them drag Jenkins away, his stomach churning. He should have gone to help. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the black dragon.
"What breed are you supposed to be again?" Dave murmured. He pulled a crumpled manifest from his pocket, smoothing it out with his gloved hands. The ink was smudged, but he could make out Charlie's hasty scrawl.
Entry 6: Unknown Variant. Possible Hybrid? Treat with EXTREME CAUTION. Do not engage alone.
"Helpful, Charlie. Really helpful," Dave muttered, stuffing the paper back into his pocket.
He stepped closer, right up to the enchanted iron bars, peering at the sleeping leviathan.
Up close, the dragon was even more baffling. It didn't look like any European breed he knew. The snout was shorter, more predatory, and the horns swept back from the skull in a sleek, aerodynamic curve rather than jutting out aggressively. But it was the anatomy that confused him the most. Dave had spent fifteen years looking at dragons. He knew the sexual dimorphism of the species better than he knew his own wife's cooking. Nesting mothers—females—tended to be broader in the hips to accommodate egg-laying. Their scales were usually duller to blend in with nesting environments, and their spinal ridges were generally less pronounced than the males, who needed the flash and the weaponry for territorial disputes.
This dragon, though…
Dave gripped the bars, his eyes tracing the line of the creature's spine. A row of razor-sharp, serrated spines ran from the base of the skull all the way down to the tip of the tail. They were massive, aggressive, and clearly designed for combat, not camouflage. The chest was broad and heavily muscled, tapering down to a narrow waist—a classic V-taper that was almost exclusively seen in apex males.
"You're a bloke," Dave whispered, the realization settling in his gut like a stone. "You have to be."
He shifted his gaze to the dragon's throat. There was a dewlap there, a thick fold of scaled skin that looked armored. Another male trait. And the sheer size of the claws…
But that was impossible. The Ministry had specifically requested nesting mothers. Yet, the other dragons weren't reacting to this one. They were ignoring it completely, as if… as if it wasn't even there.
Or were they all panicking because they were terrified of it? Dave felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down his spine, unrelated to the heat of the tent.
Dave swallowed hard. He needed to report this. He needed to find Bagman, or Dumbledore, or anyone who would listen. He needed to tell them that Dragon Number Six was wrong. That it wasn't a nesting mother. That it might not even be a dragon in the conventional sense.
"Lives are on the line," Dave muttered, steeling himself. "Students. Kids."
He turned away from the cage, his mind made up. He would go to the command tent. He would demand they inspect this thing before they let a teenager walk into an arena with it.
"DAVE!"
The shout was loud, desperate, and right in his ear.
Dave jumped, spinning around. It was Miller, another handler, his face soot-stained and eyes wide with panic.
"Dave, we need you on the Horntail! Now!" Miller yelled, grabbing Dave's shoulder and shaking him. "The stunners aren't working! She's shaken off four volleys already! We need two more wands on the suppression line or she's going to melt the bloody bars!"
Dave looked back at the black dragon. It hadn't moved. It lay there in the dark, a pool of ink and silence, breathing slow and deep.
"But—" Dave started, pointing a trembling finger at the black mass. "Miller, look at this thing. It's—"
"I don't give a toss if it's dancing the waltz!" Miller screamed, spittle flying. "The Horntail is awake and trying to kill us right now! Move your arse!"
Miller yanked him, hard.
Dave stumbled, his boots skidding in the dirt. The urgency of the situation crashed over him. The Horntail was the immediate threat. The Horntail was active. The Horntail was currently trying to incinerate his friends.
He looked back at the black dragon one last time. It was just sleeping. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was just a rare breed he hadn't seen before. Maybe the male characteristics were a mutation.
"I'm coming," Dave groaned, suppressing the knot of dread in his stomach.
He turned his back on the silent cage and ran toward the roaring flames and the screaming men, leaving the pitch-black dragon to its dreams.
As Dave's footsteps faded into the chaos, the black dragon's eyelid slid open.
There was no pupil. Just a burning, glowing crimson slit that pierced the darkness, intelligent and malevolent. It watched Dave go, a low, vibration-less hum emanating from its throat, before the eye slowly slid closed again.
It was waiting…
XXX
Thanks for reading!!! You can check out more of my stories on my profile.
Do you also want to read chapters ahead of my posts on this site? You can!
You can check me out on "Pat-reon.-com / Starwaves" to support me and read ahead of everyone else!
Right now, this story is on Chapter: 44 over there!