Clutching a long rope that served as a Portkey for the entire squad, Harry bent his knees and landed on his feet without stumbling too much. He was still a bull in a china shop compared to Su, who looked like she had simply stepped from one place to another.

They stood atop a hillock sparsely covered with trees. Birds twittered overhead, the sun beat down, and a cool but decidedly not frigid breeze ruffled the hem of his robes. He tugged self-consciously at the scarf around his neck. At least he had skipped the ushanka.

"This is Siberia?" he said. A yellowing grassland stretched from the hill toward an grotty little village and then as far as the eye could see. Never mind a blizzard, there wasn't even a fleck of snow. It felt like he was being cheated.

Evgenij chuckled. "I keep telling you, Mr. Potter, it's barely autumn. Old women's summer, yes?"

"Indian," Su translated.

Sighing, Harry unwrapped his scarf and unbuttoned his collar. Fabric could only take so many enchantments before they started bleeding off, so he had prioritized protection over comfort. Even then, his current robes were a pale imitation of those he had worn in the last battle. With his malletspace out of commission, it was the best he could do.

Dmitry gave a command in a harsh undertone. His underlings veiled the hilltop in concealing magic and swiftly spread out to take up positions behind the trees on the side of the hill overlooking the village, somehow managing, despite their blue uniforms, to blend in with nature. Everybody retrieved Omnioculars from leather cases on their belts and directed them at the settlement.

A man nearby gave a low whistle. "Nu i siski." His female colleague retorted, causing him to mumble what sounded like an apology.

Harry shielded his eyes from the sun. About half a mile ahead, a handful of wooden houses squatted around a dirt road that meandered across the plain alongside a row of slanting poles off which electrical lines hung precariously. A herd of skinny cows grazed in a withered pasture nearby. He sidestepped to see around a tree. A commotion was taking place in a square before a church with an onion-shaped dome, but it was difficult to make out the details with the naked eye.

"Friendlies?" Su asked, her twiggy wand in hand.

He swung his head to where she was looking and saw a shimmering silhouette slide down a tree. The Russians displayed no alarm as it plodded up the hill and solidified into a blue-uniformed man. Dmitry returned his salute and asked something.

Evgenij spoke behind Harry's shoulder, startling him. "Our scouts have been monitoring the village since morning. Upon arrival, the demon enlisted every able man into its mob of followers and locked up the rest. Since then, it has been... enjoying itself, they say."

"Just the men, huh." This didn't bode well.

Dmitry nodded to the scout, and walking up to Harry and Su, produced two pairs of Omnioculars. "Here. Plan is: we clear way, you destroy demon. Simple plan always best. But first, I hear your expert opinion."

Harry lifted the Omnioculars to his glasses and was rewarded with a crystal clear view of the village. The streets were as deserted as the square before the church was packed. Motley men holding scythes, pitchforks, and an occasional assault rifle stood guard at the perimeter, their gazes straying periodically toward the middle of the square, where something of an improvised throne was fashioned out of a car seat. On it reclined a woman of unearthly beauty, waited upon by half a dozen men, who appeared ecstatic to be in her presence.

He gripped the Omnioculars tighter. The woman was tall, curvaceous, and clad in leather straps that exposed tantalizing expanses of tan skin. The strap covering her gravity-defying breasts seemed to be holding on by magic alone. Twin curved horns poked through her flowing burgundy hair, and black wings folded behind her back. Her ears were long and pointy, and her eyes shone a rich carmine. As she uncrossed and recrossed her hoof-tipped legs, he was treated to a glimpse of her black thong.

"It is as I feared," he said grimly.

"It is a very powerful demon?" Evgenij asked apprehensively.

"Worse—she's damned hot." He fiddled with the Omnioculars' knobs. "How do you record on this thing?"

Behind him, Dmitry harrumphed. "You see anything useful?"

"Not yet," he said absently as he located the knob to crank up the zoom. The succubus plucked a grape off a bunch offered by an attendant and popped it into her mouth, licking her plump lips with a forked tongue. He swallowed. "I need to observe her for a while. Gotta find her, you know, weaknesses."

There was a pinch on his forearm, and Su's enchanted cowl loomed inches from his face. He jerked back.

"Focus," she said quietly.

"Hey, it's not every day that I get to ogle—er, study a being from another plane. We ought to thoroughly document everything."

Su remained silent.

"Oh, come on," he whispered, glancing cagily at the Russians. "When will I ever get an opportunity like this again?"

She was still for a moment, then leaned to his ear. "I could wear leather."

His neck cricked as he whirled to face her. "Y-you..." He jerked his chin at the village. "That?"

Drawing back, she nodded. "Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr. Potter."

"Alright!" Springing up, he clapped his hands. "I'm done with the reconnaissance. What are we dawdling for?"

Dmitry glowered. "We wait for you."

Evgenij cleared his throat. "May I expound on the plan, Dmitry Dmitrievich?" Receiving a grunt of assent, he continued, "Okhrana will erect an Anti-Flight Jinx over the area and Apparate in in two teams. These will advance on the square from opposite sides and neutralize the mob. It is said that demons avoid churches, so it should only have one direction left to flee—and that's where you intercept her. Simple, yes?"

"Don't let it touch you," Dmitry added. "If it enslaves one wizard, with his magic it can enslave more, and more... Understand?"

"A snowball effect," Su murmured.

Dmitry nodded. "We use Portkey if it get close. Potter, handle demon until we finish. Then, if you not done, we blast it from far and you stab it with sword."

"Er, easy on the blasting, please," he said. "Throw some Patronuses at her; it worked on the last one."

The Russians exchanged a glance. "That's good to know, Mr. Potter," Evgenij said, while Dmitry turned to relay the instructions to his underlings. "Are you ready?"

Glancing regretfully toward the village, he shut his eyes and called Firo. It only took her a second to flame in and settle on his shoulder. Combined with the balmy weather, the warmth she radiated made him sweat.

"Fetch me the sword, girl. We're going to take out the big bad demon, just like you wanted."

Firo squawked and tilted her head.

"Mr. Potter?" Evgenij said.

His cheeks heated up. "Just give me a minute."

Closing his eyes again, he recalled the ridges of the ornate hilt against his palm, the gleam of the blade, the weight. He imagined gripping the sword tight and thrusting it... He exhaled. No, not at that vision of beauty. Thrusting it at a demon so ugly and misshapen that it had to be evil.

Firo flamed away. Inhaling the instantly cooler air, he maintained the image of the Sword of Gryffindor in his mind lest the birdbrain forget her task midway. Communicating with a phoenix was an imprecise art, and the fact that Firo was so—well, dumb—only exacerbated the issue.

Impatient murmurs began to spread among the Russians by the time a fireball above announced Firo's return. Trilling happily, she dived at him, in one foot clutching the pommel of the sword, and in the other something black and fluffy.

He yelped and dodged, and the blade whizzed past his ear instead of lopping it off. Slipping out of Firo's talons, it revolved once before twanging into a nearby pine. Firo plopped on his shoulder and rubbed her head against his cheek.

"Now look what you've done!" His gaze fell on the other item she had brought. "What's this?"

Prying the semicircle of flexible material out of her talons, he stared. Two fluffy triangles jutted out from its sides at an angle, black on the outside and white on the inside. No matter how he looked at it, it was a cat-ear headband. A curled scrap of parchment dangled from a string tied to one end; ripping it off, he straightened it.

In case of an emergency. -H

"Is this her idea of a joke?" he muttered. "Does this look enchanted, Su—Fennec?" He winced at his slip-up.

Her hand rose to her cowl and formed a 'V'. "Yes... but I can't tell how."

"Well, you hold on to it." He handed the headband over. "I'll go get the sword before our friends lose their patience."

The Russians had separated into two groups, their faces resolute, their polished brass buttons shining in the sun. The orderly uniformed rows inspired confidence. He tried not to think about how their victory would mean the succubus's demise.

Their stares prickled his back as he approached the sword. It was stuck deep. He braced a foot against the trunk, gripped the hilt with both hands, and heaved it up.

The blade cleaved through the trunk like a knife through butter, and losing his balance, he staggered back. A crack resounded as the tree snapped at the cut and toppled to the base of the hill. He didn't need Omnioculars to tell that the crash had attracted the attention of the people—and the demoness—in the village ahead.

He sucked in air through his teeth. "Welp."

After an instant of stunned silence, the hilltop erupted in chaos.

"Poshli, poshli!" Dmitry roared. Half of his forces aimed their wands toward the village and began chanting.

Evgenij wrung his hands. "Mr. Potter, what have you done—"

"Follow plan," Dmitry growled, pushing the diplomat aside. "Anti-Flight in ten seconds, then go."

"She has a hostage," Su said, peering through her Omnioculars.

Dropping the sword, Harry clinked his pair against his glasses. The men in the square were tilting their heads back to peer at the sky. His stomach sank when he followed their gazes: the succubus was in flight, clutching a young boy in her arms.

"Suka blyat!" Lowering his Omnioculars, Dmitry bellowed an order, and the chanting stopped.

With gritted teeth, Harry watched the demoness ascend higher and higher until she turned her back on the village and soared away. It was his fault—he had to do something

Firo's talons stabbing into his shoulder was his only warning before he was engulfed in a golden blaze. His cry of alarm made no sound, and his reflexive inhalation drew no air. He didn't have time to marvel at how the flames weren't hurting him before he crashed face-first into something warm and squishy.

Feeling gravity take hold, he instinctively grabbed on before realizing he was hugging the succubus. His grip loosened in shock, and he slid down to her shapely legs before clutching them for dear life.

With his added weight, the tangled mess of limbs that was the succubus, her hostage, and he plunged to the grassy plain below. Her leathery wings beat furiously but could not keep them aloft. Shrieking, she shoved the hostage away and slammed her knee into his chin.

His neck snapped back and his grip broke. He plummeted, scrabbling in his pockets but not finding his wand. Throwing his limbs out, wind tearing at his robes, he screamed for help, accidental magic, anything—

Mere feet from the ground, heat washed over him, and his momentum vanished. Craning his neck, he saw Firo clutching the back of his robes. She trilled and let go, and he fell heavily on his stomach, the impact driving the air from his lungs.

He rolled onto his back, then sat up with effort, his limbs shaking. "Firo, you little..."

The rebuke died on his lips as he recalled the hostage. He shot to his feet, now finding his wand, and looked around. The yellowish grassland extended toward the village on one side and a distant stand of trees on the other, empty of people, dead or otherwise.

Releasing a breath, he looked at Firo with newfound gratitude. "Well done, birdbrain."

Firo hopped his way, flapped her wings, then proceeded to cheep and scurry around like a headless chicken.

"What's wrong?" he asked, bewildered.

Louder wingbeats came from above, and tilting his head back, he gaped at the falling demoness. The Anti-Flight Jinx. Her wings worked frantically but produced no lift, and she gained speed all the way down. The impact was such that he felt it through the soles of his shoes.

He raised his wand and took a hesitant step toward her prone form, hardly daring to hope the fall had done her in. Firo hopped at his heels like some bizarre imitation of a dog.

The succubus stood and dusted herself off as though after a minor tumble down the stairs. Raw bruises marred her tan skin, but they were healing before his very eyes. She flapped her wings experimentally and folded them. Her slit pupils narrowed at Firo before she raised her gaze to him and flashed her brilliant white teeth.

"Otkuda ty upal, krasavchik? Kak tebya zovut?" She tossed her hair back and sauntered toward him, her cloven hooves leaving prints in the damp earth.

"You can speak?" he blurted out, his gaze wandering to her barely haltered breasts and swaying hips.

She laughed. "I speak, I touch, I love. Like you... better than you." Halting a short distance away, she planted a hand on her hip and stuck out her chest. "Those I embrace experience ecstasy unlike any other. Become mine, and I shall fulfill your wildest fantasies."

He gawked until something stabbed his shin. Glancing gratefully at Firo, who pressed low to the ground and hissed, he trained his wand on the succubus.

"You wouldn't hurt me, would you?" Batting her eyelashes, she sashayed closer. "I mean you no harm—quite the contrary."

Something in her husky voice made him want to listen to it forever. He stepped back, shaking his head. "Don't get any closer—Expecto Patronum!"

He had never seen the silvery octopus move this fast. Its translucent tentacles wrapped the succubus in an obscene embrace and caressed her skin with such delight that he found himself envious. Only when she hugged herself and moaned, not in pain but quite the opposite, did he catch on that something was wrong.

She opened her mouth and slurped, swallowing the unresisting Patronus like a giant silvery noodle. Her forked tongue darted out to lick her lips. "Such delicious, virile emotions. Oh, I'm falling for you, darling. What's your name?"

He gaped, more than a little distracted by her trembling in what appeared to be pleasure. "What the—it hurt the last guy!"

"The last..." Her gaze flicked to Firo, widening. "So it was you who summoned Azazel only to cast him down again! His defeat reverberated across Gehenna—to see the arrogant brute fall from grace was immensely satisfying, let me tell you." She fixed him with a considering look. "Your power must be prodigious indeed. Join me, and together we shall plunder the riches of this world."

"Oh no, I've read about your kind." The reminder that she came from the same place as that creature cleared his head somewhat. "I'll be used as a food source... which, I admit, might not be too bad... until you get bored and discard me, that is."

"It is only the weaklings who perish—and even they are happy to serve, feeling nothing but bliss in their last moments." She smiled sultrily and cupped her breasts like an offering. "Someone of your strength will surely be able to keep up with me."

He sighed ruefully. "That's exactly why I'm going to take you down. Nothing personal, but we can't have you draining those luck—poor men to death."

Her face contorted in anger, but it only made her look more alluring. "You'll regret spurning me."

Cocking her arm back, she lobbed a palmful of crimson flames. He reflexively erected a Protego before a horrific shriek made him flatten himself on the ground. The hellfire tore through the shield and went on to turn a swath of grass far behind to lifeless ash.

His heart raced as he rose to his feet. She sneered and flung up her arms, conjuring more hellfire. As the fireball grew in size, the maddened shrieks intensified, twisted faces appearing and vanishing in the blaze.

Firo scurried to the front, rose on her spindly legs, and screeched. Snarling, the succubus launched the fireball. Harry was preparing to Apparate when Firo spread her wings as if to take the hellfire head-on; he whisked his wand upward to erect an earthen barrier.

The barrier exploded into black powder, clouding his vision. Pressing a sleeve to his nose, he took aim at the hazy figure ahead.

"Confringo!"

She danced away, and the blast only threw up a gout of dirt. He didn't let up, but she batted his hexes aside with her wings. Spell resistance, if not powerful enough to shrug off everything.

A fierce chirping broke his concentration, and he saw Firo skitter across the pockmarked ground toward the succubus.

"Get back here!" he yelled.

The momentary lull in spellfire was all the succubus needed: spreading her hands, she spawned a sheet of crimson flames before her. His curses splashed against the hellfire and were devoured.

Firo closed in, chirping up a storm. The demoness growled and flung the shrieking flames at her. His heart leapt to his throat when Firo was consumed, but then golden flames burst above the succubus, and the phoenix swooped down at her with talons extended.

The demoness pivoted away and swiped her claws at her. Firo squawked and beat her wings futilely before bursting into flames and reappearing above to drop like a taloned feathery lump.

Harry let loose a hail of jinxes. The succubus twirled and contorted, blocking the lighter attacks with her wings and evading the rest, yet a lucky Impediment Jinx got through, briefly slowing her.

"Osteofragis," he spat.

His stomach sank as Firo flamed in for another dive just when the curse left his wand. The jet of white clipped her wing, and she collapsed on the grass, squawking.

"Shit!" He jabbed his wand to shield her, but she vanished and reappeared on his shoulder to peck his ear. "Ouch! My bad, my bad! Get to Su, she'll patch you up—and bring me the sword!"

Heat washed over his face as she departed. Raising his wand, he faced the succubus. She was holding palmfuls of crimson fire and regarding him with her chin raised high.

"So much for the vermin's vaunted loyalty. Last chance, human. Prostrate yourself before me and plead for mercy."

His lips curled. "Tempting, but I'll pass."

She shrugged. "So be it. You will become the latest voice in my chorus of the damned."

Her arms shot forward, unleashing streams of cursed flames that pincered him from both sides. Holding his breath, he Apparated to reemerge some distance to her side. Before his brain fully came to terms with the sudden relocation, he spat off a curse.

She whirled aside and chucked a firebolt his way. His eyes scrunched as he conjured a block of wood in its path; the flames devoured it and vanished with a howl. He breathed easier. This was nothing compared to the torrents that Azazel had belched out.

Phoenix song rang as Firo burst in, clutching the Sword of Gryffindor in her talons. The song became an indignant caw when she promptly plummeted until the blade sank into the soil and she fell off the pommel and onto the grass.

He broke into a run even as he pelted the succubus with jinxes. Coming to a halt before the sword, he transferred his wand to his left hand and tugged on the hilt with his right.

A ravenous firebolt hurtled at him, its crimson hue reflecting in the blade. Obeying a strange impulse, he swung at the incoming projectile, and the shriek cut off as the sword absorbed the hellfire. The succubus's eyes widened.

Allowing himself a smirk, he advanced. Uncertainty crossed her face, and she backtracked, windmilling her arms to barrage him with firebolts. Pocketing his wand to add another hand to the hilt, he swept the sword through the air, and the hellfire dissipated. Firo's mocking warble accompanied his own laughter.

The succubus planted her hooves and bared her fangs. The nails of her splayed fingers lengthened into obsidian claws that made his right arm itch.

His grip on the hilt tightened. If she was too proud to run, that made things all the easier. All he had to do was pierce her heart: the nigh-indestructible crystal that allowed demons to take corporeal form on Earth.

Her wiry limbs coiled like a spring as her eyes tracked his approach. Two more steps, and she lunged.

Leaping back from her spinning kick, he retaliated with a stab that came short. She pirouetted around the blade to rake a claw across his ribs. Howling, he slashed at her and forced her to retreat.

Her wings whipped up a gust that made him blink. An instant later, his feet were swept from underneath him, and he fell, swinging wildly as he did. She yanked back the claws that had been aimed at his throat with a frustrated snarl.

He sprang to his feet. Recalling something he had seen on the telly, he slashed diagonally, then rotated the sword and came back from the other side. The tip of the blade shore off a lock of her hair, and she flinched back.

The blade whistled through the air, tracing a figure-eight over and over. He felt like a monkey swinging a stick, but graceless as his swordsmanship was, the succubus retreated, peering at him warily.

He feigned a thrust, then raised the sword overhead and swung, missing by an inch. With a jolt, he realized he could actually win, but the realization only made him squeamish. His next swing was sluggish, and the demoness capitalized on it by darting in and slicing a gash across his chest.

"What's wrong, warrior?" she taunted, evading his counterblow. "Is that fatigue I sense? Or perhaps... reluctance?"

He touched his chest and irritably wiped his slick fingers on his robes. The wounds stung, but he could tell they were shallow. Adjusting his grip, he tried to inject his voice with confidence. "I'm going to finish this."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Exhaling, he evened his breathing. His mind began to settle, and the pain of his cuts retreated, acknowledged but not dwelled upon. Pointing the blade down, he stalked forward.

Her claws exploded toward him, but he parried with a flick of his wrist, and she reeled backward. He advanced. She gasped and unfurled her wings, stumbling when her attempt to take off failed. His blade whistled through the air and finally connected, leaving a gash along her upper arm.

She bled red.

Shaking off his momentary stupefaction, he pressed his advantage. His swings acquired a machine-like precision, and his face must've looked like it was set in stone, but even Occlumency couldn't keep at bay his remorse.

He tilted his head, allowing her claws to whoosh by, and responded with a thrust at her shoulder. She ducked, and the blade only severed a leather strap, baring more skin. He squared his jaw.

Her hooves slipped on the dewy grass and she fell on her rump. He dashed in with the sword aloft even as his inner voice screamed that someone this beautiful was not to be harmed. When his shaking hands rotated the sword to deliver the final blow, he could no longer bear looking. Squeezing his eyes shut, he stabbed down.

He stumbled forward as the blade sank in without resistance. A rush of displaced air buffeted him, and his eyes flew open to witness a very much alive succubus pushing off with her wings to flip onto her hands. To his shame, he felt relieved—at least until her hoof hurtled at his forehead.

Then he only felt pain.

"Gah!" Blinking the stars out of his vision, he brandished the sword before him. Blood trickled into his eyes, and the moment he lifted his sleeve to wipe, she darted around the blade and thrust her claws at his neck.

Ducking, he stabbed at her. Her wing unfurled with a whip-like snap, propelling her aside even as her hooves never left the ground. She dodged another slash before leaping up in a flying kick.

He avoided her hoof but was unprepared for the ropy tail lashing out at his face. His eyes shut reflexively, and when he opened them, she was inside his guard. He desperately turned the blade, then froze when a razor-sharp claw pressed to his neck.

"Got you," she whispered.

Hardly daring to breathe, he swiveled his eyes to watch her claw creep almost gently his neck. Then her other hand dug into his hair and yanked him in for a kiss.

Her lips were hot, and her forked tongue doubly so. Everywhere her body touched his burned. The hilt slipped from his fingers, and before he knew it, he was embracing her of his own accord. She moaned against his mouth, and his consciousness drowned in a pleasant haze.

When she drew back, he almost keened with the loss. Her scent of burning wood and spice was sweeter than anything, and he longed to bury his face in the crook of her neck and breathe it in forever.

She nudged him away. "This is but a taste, darling. Let us continue once we're free of the interlopers."

He looked around in confusion and anger. A phoenix bounded toward them, its wings flapping stupidly and its beak ajar in a discordant screech. The very idea that it would dare assault his Mistress offended him to his core. Grabbing the sword, he swiped at the bird.

An instant before the blade could connect, the phoenix vanished in a ball of fire. Seeking out Mistress's eyes, he hoisted his weapon proudly, but it grew impossibly heavy in his hand. He let go with a cry and stared at his blistered palms.

"Poor thing," Mistress crooned, lifting his hand to kiss it. "Let me show you just how grateful I am."

His burns hurt at her touch, yet he smiled contentedly, preferring that painful contact over none. He stepped closer, his mind awhirl with daydreams of the promised reward.

A series of Apparition cracks heralded another interruption. He clenched his fists so hard his nails drew blood. They dared—they dared

"Mr. Potter! We rounded up the villagers, but they're still under her thrall. Mr. Potter? Why are you..."

Harry's eyes flicked to the one called Evgenij, discarded him as a threat, and scanned the blue-uniformed rows behind. His pulse drummed with anticipation.

"Don't waste breath, Zhenya," Dmitry growled. "Potter is thrall."

"Harry?" said a female voice.

Startled for no reason he could place, he swiveled his head in search of the speaker, but his agitation evaporated when a soft hand reached from behind to caress his cheek.

"Won't you please protect me from these ruffians, darling? I know it wasn't the full extent of your strength that you used against me. Show me what you're capable of."

Guilt crushed him at the reminder that he had raised his weapon against her, but when she planted a kiss on his jaw, he knew his transgression was forgiven. While his enemies eyed him with varying degrees of wariness, he faced them with a smile. His wand found its way into his hand, and he flourished it in a challenge.

Dmitry spat. "I tell them calling foreigner is mistake. Make it easy, Potter, or we hurt you."

"We need him, Dmitry Dmitrievich—he's the only one who can wield the sword!" Evgenij stepped forward and waved his hands. "Mr. Potter, snap out of it, please!"

Harry's smile widened; now the largest cluster of enemies couldn't attack lest they hit that fool in the back. He jabbed his wand at the ground before them. "Confringo!"

Empowered by his desire to protect the one most dear to him, the curse blew Evgenij and several others off their feet; most did not stand up. Mistress's laughter rang in his ears like the sweetest music, and he stepped forth, eager to prove himself.

A white-hot arc clashed against his timely Protego. Canceling the shield, he strode toward the enemy firing a mishmash of hexes. The Russians did little but defend and yell in their incomprehensible language.

A twirl of his wand dismantled a shield and a swish cursed its owner to suffocate. The wizard's eyes bulged out and he scrabbled at his throat before grabbing one of his brass buttons and vanishing in a blur of a Portkey. Harry's Shieldbreaker already zoomed toward his next victim.

Seeing more of their number fall, the Russians formed up into ranks, the front erecting overlapping shields and the back launching Stunners. He spun on his heel and reappeared behind the formation to unleash a gale that scattered his enemies like bowling pins.

He methodically cursed three of the fallen before the remaining troops found their feet. Spreading out in a semicircle, their formation bristled with wands, and spellfire flew his way.

Barking a laugh, he Apparated a dozen meters to the side and nailed a witch at the edge with a Paralysis Curse. The Russians homed in on his new location, and the shield he erected crumbled. A Cutter grazed his arm, making him wince, but he could tell the enchantments on his robes had taken the brunt of it. That the enemy had switched to lethal force was of no consequence.

He ran perpendicular to their diminished ranks, jets of light fanning out from his wand. Between his poor aim and their deft shielding, his curses found no targets.

A scream reached his ears, and he skidded to a halt, not even blinking when a lance of energy passed inches above his head. Beyond the row of shimmering shields, Mistress danced in battle, wreathed in flames.

He Apparated in without a second thought. The air was thick with sulfur and hostile magic. His Mistress stood tall and proud, fending off attacks from a stray group, and for a moment, he was struck by how majestic she looked.

A jet of angry yellow tore into her wing, and she screamed.

"Forgive me!" he cried, leaping between her and the attackers. Heedless of the curses hurtling at him, he snarled, "Expulso!"

The explosion rocked the field, leaving nothing but a crater; the cowards must've fled. The main force reoriented themselves and marched closer. He spun his wand between his fingers. Should he incapacitate them, so that his Mistress would have more faithful to serve her? The idea of sharing her love made him shudder in revulsion, and he mentally begged her forgiveness for being so selfish.

She caught his eye and gave him a fanged smile. "They hurt me, darling." Her wing fluttered, already healing. "You won't let this pass, will you?"

He glared righteously at the approaching enemy. Some remained behind to evacuate the fallen, and he had to tamp down his irritation at them getting away. What was important was that they were no longer here to hurt her.

The enemies' wands lit up. He flicked his wrist, raising an earthen barricade, but the spellfire wrecked it, showering him and Mistress with dirt. As he coughed and sputtered, a conjured whirlwind rose up, tugging at his sleeves and making it difficult to breathe.

Blinking painfully against the particles of dirt, he staggered toward his Mistress. What felt like a troll's punch smashed into his back, sending him stumbling into her arms, but more than pain, he felt jubilant about taking the curse in her stead. Hugging her, he spun on the spot.

It felt like running into a brick wall. Teetering back, he clutched his head. The whirlwind gained force, blackening as it tore up the soil. Angry jets of light lanced from the other side; one slugged him in the stomach, making him double over and no doubt destroying whatever was left of the protections on his robes.

He saw red. His wand grew hot as he traced a pentacle in the air and growled an incantation that, for a moment, drowned out even the howling wind. Orange streaks of flame erupted from his wand and swelled into fiery dragons, hydras, and basilisks.

The Fiendfyre obliterated the whirlwind in a scorching blast and rolled down the field. A chimera burst out of the river of flame, gave a furious roar, and doubled back at him. He thrust his wand forward in silent command, but more flaming beasts spread in every direction. His hand trembled. He had fed too much anger into the curse, allowed it to proliferate too quickly.

Mistress's hand rested atop his, and his trembling ceased. What was there to be afraid of? Unlike the flames she wielded, this pathetic imitation was but mindless fury.

With a flourish, he sicced the Fiendfyre upon itself. The beasts howled and lunged at one another, biting and clawing and melding into a great fiery gyre. It spun faster and faster as it shrunk until only a white-hot ball the size of a Quaffle remained. Sweat dripped down his brow, but his lips stretched into a victorious smile as he extinguished it with a flick.

He wiped his brow. The plain before him was charred, but among the ashes, a patch of grass stood out, ensconced in a translucent amethyst cube. Huddling underneath was all that remained of the enemy.

A blue-uniformed woman took the front, her wand poised to cast. Behind her stood the one named Dmitry, his lips moving in what had to be the chant hindering Apparition. Barely reaching up to his shoulder was a grey-robed witch holding up a metallic cube with both hands. Despite her face being obscured by darkness, it felt as though she was staring at Harry in accusation.

Fixing his gaze on Dmitry, he strode closer. Take him out, and Harry could flee with his Mistress and revel in the rewards he deserved. No doubt her caress would take away these muddled feelings of guilt.

His wand traced a curvy pattern, and a spiral of green energy impacted the cube, causing but a ripple along its amethyst surface. The Russians glanced at the witch clutching the metal cube.

Eyebrows rising, he recast the spell as his unhurried steps brought him closer. The second and third Shieldbreakers too fizzled out against the cube. The fools inside jabbered, no doubt thinking themselves safe. How irksome.

He considered a Killing Curse, but somehow, it felt wrong. Surely that was because he wanted to savor the terror of his foes, he told himself, not because he harbored any clemency. No matter. His Mistress would soon make everything simple and beautiful again.

Casting his gaze beyond the charred area, he located an unconscious Okhrana wizard. He sketched the diamond of a Stunning Spell before adding a sinuous curl that shaped the energies into a flexible strand. The crackling crimson whip undulated loosely until a flick of his wrist snapped it to wrap around the unconscious wizard's ankle.

Flashing the fools inside the cube a savage grin, he reeled in the body before swinging his arm forward. The wizard hurtled at the amethyst barrier and impacted it with a sickening crunch. Harry's grin widened at the horrified exclamations, and he drew his arm back for another go.

Crunch.

Smack.

Crunch.

"Bozhe moy, on ego ubyot!" cried the Okhrana witch. She grappled with the grey-robe for the metallic cube, and it fell on the grass.

The amethyst shield crumbled with a sound like breaking glass. Cocking his arm back, Harry flung the body at the trio; the witch slowed its momentum with a frantic wave of her wand, but the blue missile still slammed into her, knocking them both down. Harry's crimson whip flew toward them, but Dmitry ceased his chant and deflected it. Behind him, the fallen vanished in a blur.

Snarling, Harry retracted the whip and lashed it at the metallic cube the grey-robe had been reaching for to fling it farther afield. At a jerk of his wand, the whip then coiled around Dmitry's ankle, and the man collapsed like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Harry laughed as he tossed the limp body aside and raised his wand for another attack, but his deranged mirth evaporated at the sight of the grey-robed witch. His wand hand sagged, jerked up, sagged again. The whip sizzled in the ashes and faded.

Footfalls came from behind, and his nostrils flared at the heady scent of his Mistress. Her bosom pressed to his back, and the bloodlust drained from him, replaced by a different kind of hunger. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on the—the interloper, who just stood there defiantly.

Mistress embraced him from behind. "Truly, I exchanged a handful of pawns for a rook. These were no ordinary magicians, yet you've exceeded them all. Watching you deal with them was intoxicating."

He inhaled deeply and basked in her praise.

"Yet you have left your task unfinished." A nail raked his cheek, causing him to flinch—not from the pain, but from the anguish of having disappointed her. "She is of no use to me. Dispose of her."

His wand came up, inch by inch, to point at the witch. It was shaking badly, and he tensed his muscles to steady it. One last foe, and...

The witch pulled back her cowl, and the warm autumn sun illuminated her pale skin, delicate features, and inky hair tied in a ponytail. His heart skipped a beat. Su. She was... To him, she used to be... He bit the inside of his cheek. That was no longer important.

"Oh my. Do I sense a lingering attachment?" Mistress's lips brushed his earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine. "There is no need to hesitate, my darling... my brave, strong knight. You have me now." Her voice gained an edge. "Do not keep me waiting."

"Don't give in, Harry!" Su called. "Remember your Occlumency!"

He wrenched his gaze from hers in discomfort.

"Appealing to his conscious mind is futile, girl. I dominate men through their base instincts—their deepest carnal desires." Mistress stroked his cheek, and he unconsciously leaned into the touch. "And he desires me."

"That so," Su said.

Her fingers flew over the buttons of her robes, parting them to reveal a white shirt and a pencil skirt. She dipped her hand into her pocket to withdraw the cat-ear headband before shrugging off the robes. Reaching back, she loosened the ribbon holding her ponytail, and her silky black hair billowed free.

Mistress's laughter rang through the field. "Do you intend to challenge a succubus at her own game? Even if my darling truly cared for you, this is no fairy tale: no true love can break my control."

"You talk too much," Su remarked as she slipped on the headband. It blended with her hair so perfectly that the fluffy ears looked like they belonged atop her head. After a moment's hesitation, she undid the top two buttons of her shirt.

Harry swallowed, his eyes roving over her slender form, her faintly flushed cheeks, her hair that flowed around her face with the breeze. His stomach roiled at the thought of betraying his Mistress, but he was unable to tear his gaze away.

Su leaned forward and arched her hands as if they were paws. The blush in her cheeks deepened, and she opened and closed her mouth several times.

"Nyaa," she said at last, pawing at the air.

The scales fell from his eyes. Breaking out of the demoness's embrace, he ran toward the heavenly vision. A few steps away, he spread his arms wide, nearly weeping in happiness.

He wept for real when Su slapped him. Falling on his arse, he rubbed his stinging cheek. For her size, she packed quite a punch.

"I wasn't enthralled anymore!"

"I know," Su said stonily.

"It wasn't my fault!" No man would've done better in his shoes, someone as rational as Su had to see that. "She's just so—I mean, her kind literally evolved to seduce men!"

"You held back." Her lip trembled. "When she stabbed your neck, I thought..."

Scrambling to his feet, he extended a hand toward her. "I'm sorry—"

She shook her head. "I know it's difficult." Her gaze fixed on something over his shoulder, and her expression hardened. "But don't forget what she is."

Releasing a shaky breath, he wheeled around. The succubus gaped at them as if petrified. Despite her bending him to her will, he still couldn't muster a shred of animosity, so when Su stepped up and lifted her wand, he nudged it down.

"Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

"Then follow." Ignoring her askance look, he strode to where the Sword of Gryffindor lay halfway between them and the succubus.

The demoness rediscovered her gift of speech. "How? How can a mere mortal throw off my thrall?" Crimson flames shrieked above her splayed hands.

He stooped to grasp the bejeweled hilt, and with the sword loose at his side, walked to meet her. His casual demeanor was at odds with his inner turmoil. He missed the clarity that had suffused him when he battled the Okhrana, but he deserved a choice of his own will... and so did she.

The succubus raised her hands, but he spoke before she could attack. "I've got a proposition."

The hellfire in her palms flickered. "You are hardly in a position to negotiate. I'm not confined to a circle, and my powers are unbound."

"Yet you're talking instead of trying to incinerate me." He pointed the blade at her, making her stiffen. Despite its shallowness, the cut on her shoulder hadn't healed.

She considered him, then extinguished her fires and tossed back her hair. "You do hold a potent bargaining chip. Let me hear your offer, human."

He laid the sword flat atop his shoulder. "It's simple and mutually beneficial. Swear an Unbreakable Vow not to enslave or kill humans, and I'll protect you from anyone who wishes you harm." He ran his eyes over her. "I'll also be happy to, uh, tend to your needs."

Her lips parted in surprise. "Demons have been the scourge of humanity for millennia before your puny magic grew in sophistication enough to banish us, yet you offer me refuge?" She peered behind him. "What would your minder say, hmm?"

"She's not—" He bit back his protest when he realized that was exactly why the Ministry had sent Su along. "Not everyone understands the beauty of your existence like I do. Don't worry, people will come to terms with you being a demon if I can convince them you're harmless."

Her nostrils flared, and she stood silent for several seconds. "And if you cannot?"

"Then we'll fight our way out of the country and find one where they don't care if you have horns and hooves." He shrugged at her incredulous stare. "I mean it."

She threw her head back in laughter. "This is too much! I lost count of the times I was summoned to your plane, but no one ever offered me protection voluntarily."

"Do you accept, then?" He tapped the tip of the blade against his shoulder.

Her slit-pupil eyes contemplated him. "Yes... yes, how could I refuse such benevolence? Come bind me, darling." She smiled broadly and raised her empty palms.

He flipped the sword and stabbed it into the soil—he really had to find a scabbard for it one of these days—then eyed the succubus. She remained still, save for her spade-tipped tail wagging behind her back. Letting go of the hilt, he cautiously came closer.

Su held him back by his robes. "Are you serious?"

He turned around and was met with a wand in his face. "Su—"

"You're still under her charm."

"You said you trusted me," he hissed. Glancing back, he saw the demoness observing with an amused air. "She agreed to give up preying on humans—the things we could learn from her, your department would be delighted—"

Su's cat ears flattened against her head. "I don't trust her."

"Hence the Vow. This is the only way to solve this without bloodshed." His shoulders drooped. "I can't... I won't fight her, not unless I absolutely have to."

The wand before his nose wavered.

"Su, please. We need a Binder."

She whisked her wand away. "You and your damn monster girl thing."

Exhaling in relief, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Thank you."

She shrugged it off but nevertheless followed him toward the demoness, who had waited for them to iron out their differences like the epitome of patience.

The demoness's gaze flicked to Su's headband. "To overcome my control, this must be a powerful artifact indeed... but I do not understand the appeal of these fluffy appendages."

"There's a lot you don't understand," Su said.

The succubus bared her fangs. "Watch your mouth, little girl."

Harry shot Su a chiding look. "Now, now, we'll have time to discuss humanity's cultural achievements later."

He held out his left hand with the palm facing sideways. The demoness clasped it. Her skin was smooth and hot, and with her scent tickling his nose, he had to turn to Occlumency to focus.

"This is usually done between humans, but it should work," he said. "What's your name?"

The demoness leveled her gaze at him. "Lilith."

Su asked, "Is it?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I would not lie to the only person to offer me sanctuary."

He cleared his throat. "Alright, then... Su, if you would."

Her wand rose haltingly over their clasped hands. Keeping a vigilant eye on the succubus, she mouthed something to herself. He resisted the urge to hurry her; the Russians could return with reinforcements any minute, but the Vow needed to be foolproof. He squirmed with embarrassment as his palm started to sweat. Lilith's body temperature was clearly higher than his.

Drawing a breath, Su spoke. "Do you, Lilith, swear not to enthrall nor purposely hurt humans while you remain in our world?"

He looked at Lilith. A small smile played across her lips as she held his gaze. He motioned her to go on with his right hand, not speaking lest it interfere with the ceremony.

The silence stretched on. His left hand was growing blistering hot, and he frowned, wondering if it was a side effect of the Vow. Then the temperature spiked, and he yanked his hand back with a cry, but the demoness held on with a vice grip.

Su pressed her wand under Lilith's jaw. "Let him go!"

She laughed and unfurled a wing to swat Su aside. A wisp of smoke rose from their clasped hands, and the stench of burning flesh wafted out. He yowled and thrashed to no avail, dimly registering the malevolent glee on the demoness's face. Among the sizzle of his flesh and the popping of his joints rose a shriek.

His right hand found his wand, and he aimed shakily below his left wrist. "L-Lacero!"

The purple ribbon sliced through his forearm in a spray of blood and continued on an ascending trajectory, but he and Lilith lurched apart, and instead of taking off her head, it only lopped off a horn.

His blood spattered on the blackened soil. He machinely staunched the bleeding and wrapped the stump in conjured bandages before his brain caught up to his body and he faltered mid-spell. For better or worse, dealing with mutilation appeared to be inscribed in his muscle memory.

He redid the botched Numbing Charm, but while it did dull the pain, his missing hand still throbbed. Turning his teary gaze to the demoness, he saw grey ashes drifting out of her open palm. His jaw quivered.

"Ah, I'll never get tired of that look of betrayal," she exclaimed. "You mortals just don't learn. How can you expect a demon to willingly put herself under your rule?"

"That," he rasped, straightening up, "was my second-favorite hand."

"Alone and crippled, you still fight?" She summoned hellfire. "Such a shame. You would have made an excellent minion, but I have no use for defective specimens."

He assumed a sideways stance, but before he could do more, a crackling white arc slammed into her, causing her limbs to twitch uncontrollably. His heart soared when Su came up, sporting a bruise on her cheek but no other obvious injuries.

"He isn't alone," she said, brandishing her wand. "Bitch."

Pivoting, he dashed up to the sword, shoved his wand down his pocket, and grasped the hilt. Lilith was jinking away from Su's curses while kneading a ball of hellfire.

"Get away!" he yelled as she heaved the fireball.

Su jabbed her wand to the side, staring unblinkingly at the nearing hellfire. For one heart-stopping moment, the flames hid her from sight, but then an amethyst wall shimmered into being, and the hellfire crashed against it with a frustrated shriek.

"This cannot be," Lilith murmured, watching the hellfire creep along the cube's surface but fail to eat through.

Shaking off his own surprise, he lifted the sword and sprang forth. Lilith twisted away at the last moment, and he only nicked the membrane of her wing as she unfurled them to regain balance. Her hooves hovered above the ground for several seconds before touching down.

Both their eyes widened in realization. Lilith cried triumphantly and beat her wings, making him shield his eyes from the blast of ashes. By the time he regained his sight, she was flying.

Dropping the sword, he drew his wand to conjure a stun-whip and flung it at her retreating figure. The crimson tendril extended against the backdrop of azure sky until coiling around her torso. Her wings seized up, and she plummeted to crash in a puff of black powder a dozen steps away. In a testament to her spell resistance, she still scrabbled at the ground, but Su threw half a dozen of binding spells at her, and she stilled.

He stowed his wand, picked up the sword, and trudged toward her fallen form. Every step made his throat tighten further. Her lithe muscles strained against the bindings, her eyes narrowed with the effort, yet as he came near, she sighed and went slack.

"Look at me... mocking Azazel, yet falling into the same trap of hubris." She laughed mirthlessly.

His hand shook as he rotated the sword to point downward.

She watched him, unflinching. "You have won today, but know this: Azazel swore not to rest until he drags you kicking and screaming to Gehenna, and many others share the sentiment. Demonslayer is a dangerous title."

A tear trickled down his cheek. "Thanks for the warning, Lilith... or whoever you are. I'm sorry."

He plunged the blade down, sobbing when it encountered a momentary resistance. Her body burst into flames and became ash. As the wind carried it away, leaving nothing behind but a lingering smell of sulfur, a faint whisper reached his ears.

"What a strange human..."

The hilt slipped from his hand, and he sank to his knees and wept into his palm.